Pilgrimage (17 page)

“I don't want to fight you, Griffith. There's no need for this.”

“I don't want to fight you either. I won't fight you. But I won't let you pass unless you take the deal. What's one more life between you and your vengeance?”

“It's not about revenge.”

“Prove it.”

“Do you really want to die this badly?” Caia stepped up close to Griffith and placed her hand around his neck. “Is this what you want?” Roland watched without making a sound. He'd already seen Griffith's devotion to protecting life. Last time, Griffith stood between him and Caia. Now he stood in front of Caia the same way.

“I don't want to die but I'm ready to give my life. Are you ready to take it?” There was no fear in his voice. Roland was amazed. There was no doubt that Griffith's devotion to pacifism and to the sanctity of life was the most annoying thing about him but he had to respect the lengths Griffith was willing to go to be a fucking idiot. Staring down Caia, Griffith looked different, in a way Roland couldn't quite explain. He could have stared down a tank and made the tank hesitate. That devotion made Griffith as much a mountain as a man. He wanted to punch Griffith for being willing to die so easily but Roland found it hard to hate somebody with that kind of guts.

Caia released him. “You win. We'll do it your way.”

“Thank you, Caia.”

“Come on. There's a clearing not far from here where they make camp.” Griffith let her pass and Caia marched forward. She walked angry, stepping fast and pressing down the undergrowth as she went. Griffith kept close behind her and Roland brought up the rear. Nobody talked but Roland considered sneaking away, back to the Red Lion and staying there. Then he remembered he'd lost his wallet along with everything else back at the motel in Guyra.

Exactly as Caia had told them, they found themselves in a natural clearing after only a short walk. The grass grew shorter here and a few smaller, younger trees dotted the roughly oval patch. There were no bushes or shrubs, just a wooden shack, weathered and decrepit. The door and windows overflowed with backpacks and tent poles and piles of clothing. A lot of the various camping gear had rotted or grown mould but some looked like it had been added to the pile more recently. In the centre of the clearing several sleeping bags and fold-out chairs circled a fire pit. The tree closest to the shack had a chain wrapped around it. The other end of that chain wrapped around the neck and wrists of another enormous chimera. This one was bigger than all the others, made up of a patchwork of animal skins, furs and features. Most prominent on this creature was a golden lion’s mane around its neck and its two bulging compound eyes. The monster lay motionless against the tree, bleeding from the neck.

Beside the giant corpse, in a fold out chair, sat a man in ragged clothes and mismatched shoes. Even from a distance, Roland could spot the white hairs in his beard. Richard sat with a long hunting knife on his lap, watching Caia, Griffith and Roland approach him through the clearing.

“I've seen him before,” Griffith said.

Roland nodded.

Caia slowed her pace and called out to him. “Richard, put the knife down.”

“Stay back!” Richard croaked back. He put one shaking hand on the knife's hilt. “The knife isn't for you, anyway. We both know there's only one way this is going to end.”

“It's not going to be like that.”

“Don't try to trick me, Caia. I've seen you do this act before!” Richard shouted, and then continued quiet, as if talking to himself. “You were always the strongest of us. The way you looked that day the master exiled you, I knew this would happen. I knew you'd come back.”

“I'm not here to kill you, Richard. Just talk to me. What happened to Juan?” Caia took a single step forward and stopped.

“I said stay back!” Richard shot up and waved the knife at Caia.

“Okay. Okay.” Caia rooted herself to the spot and raised her hands slowly to her side.

“I killed him.” Richard shot a quick glance at the nearby corpse then turned his gaze back to Caia and tightened his grip on the knife. Then, seeing she hadn't moved, he relaxed. “I thought maybe if he was dead, like you wanted, then you would leave. But that's not enough, is it? Nobody crosses Caia and lives to brag about it. This has been coming to us for years.” Richard began to cry. His whole body quaked but he pulled the knife back and held it flat against his chest. “I always hoped I'd be one of the first. Seeing the others die like that was even harder than I thought it would be. Seeing you again is harder too.” He paused to sob and wipe his nose on his sleeve. “I miss the old days when we were family.”

“Put the knife down, Richard.” Caia inched her feet forward. “This can end right now.”

“You're right. It can. I'd rather it be quick. Not the way you do it.” Richard turned the point of the blade against his skin.

“Richard.”

“You always said I was a coward. You're right.”

“Richard!”

Richard sobbed loud, unable to form words through his tears. Caia sprinted towards him. Richard shut his eyes tight and pushed the knife into his body. He didn't make a sound as the blade pierced his heart. Caia stopped a full six paces away from Richard. She wasn't fast enough. It was over. Richard fell back, knocking over his chair. His hands slipped off the knife, onto the ground. A stream of blood leaked out of the wound and pooled in his shirt.

Caia stared at him in complete silence. Roland watched her from the edge of the clearing, waiting for some kind of reaction. Caia didn't do or say anything for a long time. She stared, silent, dry eyed, just as cold and lifeless as the body before her. Finally she spun around to face Roland and Griffith.

“We can go now. It's done.”

“I can still help him.” Griffith started forward, as if suddenly coming out of a trance.

“It is done.” Caia repeated.

“No!” Griffith rushed past her and knelt by the body. “I can,” He turned the body over and stared at it. “I can...” He paused and sighed. “I can't. He's gone. I waited too long.”

“It is done.”

“Are we just going to leave this here?” Roland asked. “What if somebody finds the bodies? Or all this stuff?”

“I'll deal with it. They were my brothers. It's my duty to bury them. I'll make sure nobody finds any of this. But you should go now.” Caia turned again to look at Richard's corpse.

“Just what kind of person were you?” Griffith asked, still holding the body.

Caia didn't turn around. “If you still haven't figured that out, I hope you never do.”

Chapter 11

Thomas clapped what dust and dirt he could off his hands and wiped the rest off on his jeans. He took one look out at his fields, all the cows spread out like they should be and munching on the grass. He had a fine, healthy herd this year and a big one, too. Penning them in together to draw out the dogs had been a complete failure and he'd lost his bull. But he was alive and he'd be able to make up the losses. The wild dog problem didn't seem so big any more.

Thomas turned back to his house and went inside.

“Well, they're all back where they should be!” he called. He went straight to the bathroom and began washing his face and hands. “I don't know where those boys from last night got to. I went out to the road a little while ago and I didn't see any sign of their car. A shame. I sure would like to thank them.”

Thomas towelled off and left the bathroom. In the hallway he stood and listened. Nothing. His house was silent.

“Georgia?” He called. “Georgia, you in?” He headed for the stairs when something heavy hit him upside the head. Thomas dropped; the world swam and melted in front of him. Somebody leaned down over him. The stranger's long grey hair draped over his face. He smiled, and raised a gloved hand. The last thing Thomas saw was a fist coming down on him.

He woke up with the worst headache he'd had in years. Georgia sat across from him, strapped into one of the dining room chairs. Her head hung limp to the side. Thomas blinked a few times to clear his vision. Then he screamed. His screams echoes through the house until his voice was hoarse and his cries turned to sobs. He tried running to her but his whole body was fastened to a chair, just like hers.

Dried blood was caked in Georgia's burnt, matted hair. Blood and brain matter splattered the wall behind her. One half of her face was gone entirely; the other was deformed and lifeless. Her one, remaining eye stared across the room at Thomas.

“That didn't take long.” The pale stranger entered from the hallway. He spoke through a mouth half full of beef pot-pie. “I hope you don't mind. I thought I'd have some dinner while you were napping.”

“Who are you?” Thomas asked.

“Call me Lloyd.”

“What? Who are—”

“My name is Lloyd. Any more than that is unimportant.” Lloyd kicked Georgia's chair over and sat on the couch behind her. He put his plate down on the floor and leaned forward. “What is important is that you cooperate with me.”

“What do you want with me? Why did you kill Georgia?” A flood of fear and sorrow and anger rushed through Thomas' body, too much to feel at once and leaving him feeling numb.

“You ask a lot of questions, Thomas. It is
Thomas,
isn't it? Your wife kept telling me to wait until you came home.”

Thomas nodded.

“Truth is, Tommy, that's one of the reasons I killed her. She wouldn't stop talking. I didn't come here to hurt you. That doesn't mean I won't, though. Believe me I will hurt you in ways you can't imagine. I mean that, too. You go ahead and imagine the worst thing in the world for me. Go ahead, I'll wait.”

“Please...”

“No? Fine. To business then.” Lloyd stood up and circled Thomas, moving out of sight. “I'm looking for a man. His name is Griffith. He probably looks a bit younger than he acts. He probably wanted to be helpful. Chances are he annoyed you with how nice he was. It's fine, everybody thinks that. Oh yes, and he's travelling with a friend.”

“They're not he— Aaah!”

Lloyd yanked Thomas' head back by his hair. “I know that!” He roared and then broke into soft laughter. “I know that, Thomas. Your wife was dead a long time before you came home, so I had plenty of time to look. So where are they?”

“I don't know.”

“Thomas.” Lloyd let his head go, pushing him so hard he rocked his chair. Thomas heard him step away and pick something up.

“I don't know.”

“Thomas.”

“Please, I swear—”

Lloyd cut him off, forcing the barrel of his rifle his mouth. Thomas stared at him, stared him right in the eyes and he saw fire. Where every other man, deep down, had a kind, human soul, Lloyd only had passionate evil burning in him.

“You know, Thomas, I always wondered what a shot in the head looked like. Turns out it's real messy.”

Thomas gagged around the gun. His eyes filled with tears. He kept trying to plead, unable to form words around the steel in his mouth.

“Listen to me, Thomas. I'm going to take this out, now. I don't want to hear any
I don't knows
or
please don't kill me
and so help me god, if you start blubbering and choking up I will end you. Now think real careful about how you want this to go.” Lloyd pulled the rifle out of his mouth, smiling as he did.

“They ran off into the bush last night. They disappeared. But when they were here, they said they were on the way to Salem.”

“Salem? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Lloyd laughed and tossed the rifle aside. “Oh, Griffith. I should have known all along.”

“Now, please, let me go,” Thomas asked. Lloyd whipped around and struck him across the jaw.

“Shut up!” Lloyd took a moment to collect himself and then smiled. “It's pathetic, isn't it? He brought this on himself, really. Oh, but you don't need to know about that.”

“I've told you everything I know. Please, just leave me alone.”

“That's hardly hospitable, Thomas. Did you know your wife wasn't even going to let me in? And did she offer me a drink when I was in? A glass of water, maybe? Of course not.”

“I'm sorry.” Thomas swallowed, fighting tears as he spoke. He kept his voice low and turned away from Lloyd.

“Yes, I know. But I'm afraid sorry isn't good enough. That's the thing. People always think they can say sorry and it'll all be okay. But good people, really good people, they don't do things to be sorry about in the first place.”

“I don't—”

“Hush now, Thomas.” Lloyd grabbed the chair Thomas was tied to and began and dragging him out of the room. “I'm not here to judge. No one is perfect. But you and your wife have hurt my feelings and. for that, you have to die.”

“What? No. Please. Please you can't! You can't!”

“But I can, Thomas. I can and I will.”

Lloyd dragged Thomas outside, and across his yard. He pulled open the door to his tool shed. Thomas smelled petrol the moment the door opened. He turned to look over his shoulder and the fumes burnt his eyes. Lloyd dragged him into the centre of the shed and left him there. Beneath his chair, Thomas saw petrol spilling out of a jerrycan and spreading across the whole shed.