Death Weavers (22 page)

Cole stayed away from the brink of the channel as he walked but felt invigorated by the hustle and fury of its spirited music. Eventually, the other music he had heard became clearer, conveying a sense of safety.

Soon a white stone bridge came into view, spanning the channel in a single broad arch. As Cole approached the bridge, he saw a man standing off to one side, toward the center of the span, peering over the edge at the frantic slipstream below.

On the older side of middle-aged, the man was fairly tall, with a long face and the rugged overalls of a farmer. As Cole started across the bridge, the man edged closer to the low railing at the edge of the span, eyes downward.

Curious what exactly the man might be staring at besides the slipstream, Cole sidled up to him. Gazing down with blank eyes and slack features, the man began to tip forward. Cole grabbed his overalls and yanked him back from the edge.

The man jerked, glanced down at Cole without recognition, then hastily checked his surroundings. Stepping away from Cole, he brushed at his overalls. “Thank you, young man,” he mumbled absently. “Don't know what came over me.”

“You were staring over the side,” Cole said. “You started to lean like you were going to tip.”

“I suppose I must have,” he replied, seeming flustered and embarrassed. “Can't be too careful about the homesong.”

Looking over the side, Cole listened to the whistling music. “That sounds like home to you?”

The man gave a soft chuckle. “New to the echolands, are you?”

“Pretty new.”

“I can see the glow on you,” the man said. “Hard to hear the homesong at first. Especially as a tourist. Slipstream just sounds like a pretty blizzard.”

Cole thought that was a good description. “Were you in a trance?”

The man put his hands on his waist. “I suppose so. I've been trying to hold out until my youngest brother comes across. Been coming to listen by the channel more and more the last while. Woke up on the bridge not too long ago. I was alone that time. Here I am again.”

“Maybe you should stay away from the channel,” Cole suggested.

Hooking his thumbs in his pockets, the man squinted at the countryside beyond the bridge. “I could maybe last a bit longer if I went far away. Someplace loud. But I'm expecting my brother in yonder township any day now. I don't want to wander off too far. When I'm alone, I hear the call wherever I go. That's how Ainsley, my wife, got before she moved on.”

“Your wife already . . . ?”

“We were here together a good spell. She started getting dreamy. I don't blame her. Hard not to around here. I blame myself. I got distracted with word of Hank about to cross and lost track of her. Off she went. And now I catch myself lingering by the slipstream.”

“I'm sorry about your wife. Isn't it dangerous to hang around here if you want to see your brother? Don't you want to wait for him?”

“Mostly I do. In theory, yes. Be good to see Hank. Show him around. But this place . . . I don't know, young man. A body couldn't rightly demand more beauty, but it's not really a place for living. Take my meaning?”

“I think so.”

The man smiled. “I'm Clint.”

“Bryant,” Cole said, using his middle name.

“Thanks for tugging me back,” Clint said. “Just prolonging the inevitable, I expect, but it was a neighborly gesture. I would have gone in headfirst without a helping hand.”

“No problem,” Cole said.

“If you don't mind my asking, what brings a live boy your age to a place like this?”

“I'm delivering a message from the Temple of the Robust Sky,” Cole said.

Clint shook his head. “Wicked if you ask me, sending a young person to a place like this. Piece of free advice—deliver your message and get out. You have a body on the other side? Go use it. Save this place for when the time comes. It's meant to be temporary. You don't want the homesong to claim you before your time. And you don't want to get comfortable here. I haven't met a single soul who makes a career living here that seems right in the head.”

“Thanks,” Cole said.

“I mean no offense,” the man added. “You hauled me back from the plunge. Just returning the favor. Know where you're going?”

“I'm trying to find the Sweet Channel Charnel House. Sort of near the Hundred Forests.”

Clint puckered his face in thought. “Don't know those names. Might be far off. Can you hear the township?”

Cole listened. He mostly heard the bridge and the slipstream, along with a little of the countryside beyond. “Not really.”

The man extended an arm. “That way. You'll hear it when you leave this ruckus behind. Somebody in the township can steer you.”

“Do you want to come with me?” Cole asked.

Clint gave a nod and started walking toward the far side of the bridge. Cole joined him.

“It's just a matter of time,” Clint said.

“What?”

“Before I move on. Nothing wrong with taking the next step. This place is just an echo of really living.”

“I guess that explains the name.”

Clint frowned. “It's no place to live. I don't know how much longer I can hold on.”

“But you want to see your brother.”

Clint rubbed his nose. “Yes and no. What kind of welcome is diving in the slipstream? My days are numbered. Might be kinder just to let him hear about it. Less dramatic.”

They reached the far side of the bridge and started walking on grass again. A grove of tall trees with coppery bark and purple leaves sang off to one side.

“Won't he be sad you didn't wait?” Cole asked.

“Hank'll want to see me, sure. But I'm afraid I won't be good company. Might be best to meet up in the Other. I wouldn't mind seeing how Ainsley is getting on.”

Cole wasn't sure what to tell him.

“Know what, Bryant? You go on ahead. Being in town makes me itchy of late. I'm going to sit a spell.”

Cole hesitated. “What about—”

Clint held up a hand. “I'm not saying I'm going for a swim. I make no pledge that I won't, either.” He sat down on the grass, knees bent. “I just want to turn a few things over in my mind. You did a good deed. I was lost in the homesong, sure enough. You pulled me back in case I wasn't in my right mind. I thank you for the courtesy. People move on from this place all the time, son. You did your part. Run on ahead now.”

Cole still wasn't certain what to do. “Are you sure?”

Clint gave a small smile. “You're very new here. Make every stranger with an ear for the homesong your burden, and that message may never get delivered. I'm in my right mind. No trance. I have no current plan to ride the channel. I just need to sit a spell. Maybe I'll listen a bit and head back to town. I've done it before.”

“All right,” Cole said.

“Head between those hills,” Clint said, extending an arm. “Can't miss it.”

Looking that way, Cole heard hints of new music. “Okay. Bye.”

Clint gave an acknowledging grunt.

Cole started walking. He checked over his shoulder a few times. Clint still sat there, hands on his knees, gazing out over the channel.

As Cole went up the shoulder of the hill, he glanced back again to see Clint stepping up onto the railing of the bridge. He must have started moving just after Cole last glanced back. The distance made the man less than an inch high. Panicked, Cole considered the distance. Was there any chance he could make it back in time?

“Clint!” Cole called.

Eyes on the slipstream, Clint lifted his arms above his head.

Cole dashed toward the bridge.

Clint toppled forward into the ether. When he hit the surface, a brief, yearning melody tugged at Cole's heart. Then the tune was gone.

Clint's body rushed along the channel at a good pace, but not as quickly as the slipstream seemed to flow. Still, there was no chance of catching up to him from where Cole stood. Clint wasn't struggling. In a few moments the man passed out of view.

Cole stared at the channel, an empty feeling in his gut. Should he have tried to drag Clint back to town? How could he have done it? Clint was a lot bigger than him. And he had acted intent on staying.

Cole reminded himself that Clint was already dead. Who knew how long he had been in the echolands? He probably missed his wife.

One thing Cole now knew for sure—the call of the Other was real and deadly. He might not hear it yet, but he would need to keep his guard up. There was a lot of living he hoped to do before leaping into a slipstream.

16

G
olden ivy smothered the houses in the little town, and bright gardens bloomed on the rooftops. The playful, welcoming music set Cole at ease. If the music could be trusted, he figured this should be a good place to ask for directions.

Narrow roads crisscrossed the town. The people on the streets meandered and conversed. Nobody drove a cart or manned a stand or carried a load or hammered a nail.

It didn't take long for Cole to notice a sizable crowd around one of the larger homes. He went to see what was happening.

At the edge of the crowd a balding man with a bulbous nose and a saggy gut came up to Cole. “What's your interest, tourist?” he accused.

“Just curious,” Cole said, keeping his tone light and friendly. “What's going on?”

The man folded his arms. “Fun to come see the real echoes in action?”

“Lay off, Stu,” a woman scolded. “He's a kid.”

“All the more reason he belongs back in the real world,” Stu said.

“The echolands are just as real,” the woman said.

A cheer went up from the group.

“What happened?” Cole asked the woman.

“A fellow just crossed over,” she said.

“To stay,” Stu grumbled. “Not a vacation.”

“Hank?” Cole asked.

“I think that was the name,” the woman said.

“Yes,” Stu said. “Hank Groat. How'd you know?”

Cole winced. “His brother just jumped into the channel.”

Head pivoting, Stu searched the crowd. “Clint's not here?”

“It was Clint,” Cole said.

Stu gave a scathing laugh. “I bet you loved that! Little tourist gets to watch the echo ride the slipstream?”

Cole didn't appreciate his tone. “I found him on the bridge and pulled him back before he went over the side. He told me to go on to town. He insisted. When I looked back, he . . .” Cole found the words too hard to say.

The woman pushed Stu in the chest. “Shame on you. Look at the boy! He didn't take it lightly.”

Cole tried his best not to cry. Echoes might not have blood, but he could feel they had tears. He managed to keep his from spilling down his cheeks.

Stu heaved a sigh. “Happens sometimes. People take the plunge right before a loved one comes across.”

“That's right,” the woman said. “Clint had been dwelling on the homesong for a good while. And his wife went not too long ago.”

The crowd shifted to accommodate a moving center of attention. Stretching tall, Stu craned to see. “You got me gabbing and now I'm missing the brother.” He shouldered his way closer to the center.

“How'd you know he was coming?” Cole asked.

“In a slow death, the music can signal a new arrival well before the end,” the woman said.

“Why so many people?” Cole asked.

The woman smiled incredulously. “Why attend a funeral? Or a birthday? We all lived in Weatherby. Friends, relatives, acquaintances. I never knew Hank well, but his sweet mother was a friend, on the other side and here as well. Several boys in that home. Five or six. Don't know how she did it.”

“Have you been here long?” Cole asked.

“Longer than most in town,” the woman said. “The homesong still doesn't hold much appeal. I'm Nina.”

“Bryant.”

“Do you live near Weatherby?”