Prayers to Broken Stones (45 page)

Loud horn from the river. Ship’s bells. Reminds me of the cowbells tinkling from the masts of the small craft at anchor in Yarmouth.

The story is right on schedule. Donna, Sara, and Alice were crying today. (So were some of the boys but they tried to hide it.) They’ll be relieved to hear Monday’s episode. It’s not time for ol’ Raul to die yet—when he does it will be in the finest epic tradition. If nothing else, this tale is a great lesson in friendship, loyalty, and honor. The ending will be sad—with Raul sacrificing himself to free the others—holding off the Wizards until his friends can activate the teleportation device. But hopefully the last episode where Gernisavien & Dobby bring the humans back to Garden to clobber the Wizards will offset the sad part. At least it’ll be a hell of a finalé.

I’ve
got
to write this thing down! Maybe this summer.

Totally dark out now. The streetlight outside my second story window here is shining through the maple leaves. A breeze has come up. Think I’ll go for a walk down to the river and then come back to do some work.

Gernisavien awoke to an icy wind whipping at her face. The nine Wizards’ platforms were floating above mountaintops that glowed white in the starlight. The air was very thin. Gernisavien’s arm hung over the side of the platform. If she rolled over she would fall hundreds of feet to her death.

The little neo-cat could dimly make out the other platforms silhouetted against the stars and could see the robed Wizard figures on each, but there was no sign of Dobby.

A hissing from a Wizard on her own platform, directed at the lizard at the controls, made Gernisavien look ahead. The platform was headed for a mountain that loomed up like a broken tooth directly ahead of them. The lizard
made no attempt to change their course and Gernisavien realized that at their present speed they would crash into the rock and ice in less than thirty seconds. The neo-cat prepared to jump, but at the last second the lizard calmly touched a button on the panel and the platform began to slow.

Ahead of them the side of the mountain rose up into itself and revealed the entrance to a huge tunnel. Light as red as newly spilled blood poured out of the aperture. Then the platform was inside, the wall had lowered into place behind them, and Gernisavien was a prisoner in the Wizards’ Stronghold.

On Saturday morning Mr. Kennan took Sara, Monica, and Terry on an all-day outing. Terry was not pleased with the presence of the two giggling girls, but he occupied the front seat with an air of proprietal indifference and ignored the silly outbursts of whispers emanating from the back. Mr. Kennan joked with all three children as he drove across the river into Daniel Boone National Forest. The girls dissolved into more giggles and frantic whispers whenever they were addressed, but Terry answered the jests with his usual humorless drawl.

Kennan parked near a picnic spot and the four spent an hour clambering around on a heap of boulders in among the trees. Then the teacher sent Terry back to the car and the boy returned with a wicker picnic hamper. Mr. Kennan had purchased sandwiches at the supermarket delicatessen and there were cans of soft drinks, bags of corn chips, and a pack of Oreo cookies. They sat on a high rock and ate in companionable silence. As always, Kennan marveled at the ravenous appetites of such little people.

In the early afternoon, he drove them back across the bridge and headed north along the state highway that soon headed back west again along the river. Fourteen miles and they were in Hermann, a picturesque little German community that had preserved all of the Victorian charm that nearby towns had either lost or never possessed. The
Maifest
was still underway and Kennan treated the kids to a ride on a wheezing Ferris wheel and to genuine chocolate
ice cream at a sidewalk cafe. Women in bright peasant garb danced with older men who looked pleasantly ridiculous in
lederhosen.
A band sat in a white bandstand and gamely produced polka after polka for the small crowd.

It was almost dinnertime when Kennan drove them home. Monica whined and wheedled until the teacher told Terry to ride in the back and allowed Monica up front. This arrangement pleased no one. Terry and Sara sat in frozen silence while Monica fidgeted in paroxysms of nervousness whenever Kennan spoke to her or looked her way. Finally they stopped at a gas station under the pretext of a restroom break, and the old arrangement was restored for the last eight miles.

Both girls shouted their perfunctory “Thank-you-very-much-we-had-a-very-nice-time” while they ran pell mell for their respective front doors. Kennan heaved a melodramatic sigh after Monica was out of sight and turned to his last passenger.

“Well, Terry, where to? Shall we stop by the Dog’N’Suds for dinner?”

Surprisingly, the boy suggested an alternative. “How ’bout the fish fry?”

Kennan had forgotten about the fish fry. Held at the Elk’s Lodge Recreation Area, three miles out of town, the annual event was evidently considered a big deal.

“OK,” said Kennan, “let’s go try the fish fry.”

Half the town was there. Two huge tents sheltered tables where diners gorged themselves on fried catfish, French fries, and coleslaw. A few dilapidated carnival rides made up a midway in the high grass adjacent to the parking lot. Homemade booths sold pies, opportunities to throw a softball at weighted milk bottles, and raffle chances at a color television set. Out on the baseball diamond, the men’s softball teams were playing their last tournament games. Deeper in the meadow, two opposing groups of volunteer firemen aimed their high pressure firehoses at a barrel suspended on a cable. They pushed it back and forth to the cheering of a small crowd.

Kennan and Terry sat at a long table and ate catfish. They strolled past the booths while townspeople greeted Kennan by name. The teacher recognized about one person
in ten. Together they watched a ballgame, and by the time it was over the sun had set and strings of hanging lights had come on. The merry-go-round cranked out its four tunes of imitation calliope music while fireflies blinked along the edge of the woods. Some boys ran by in a pack and called to Terry. Kennan pressed two dollars into the surprised boy’s hands, and Terry ran off with the others toward the rides and games.

Kennan watched the beginning of the next game under the yellow field lights and then wandered back to the tent for a beer. Kay Bennett, the district’s school psychologist, was there and Kennan bought a second round of beers while the two sat talking. Kay was from California, was in her second year here, and felt as trapped as Kennan in this small, Missouri backwater. They took their plastic cups and wandered away from the lights. Broad paths ran from the Elk Lodge to small cabins in among the trees. The two walked the trails and watched as the full moon rose above the meadow. Twice they came upon high school students petting in the darkness. Both times they turned away with knowing smiles and amused glances. Kennan felt his own excitement rising as he stood near the young woman in the moonlight.

Later, as he was driving home, Kennan slammed the steering wheel and wished that he had gotten to know Kay earlier in the year. How different the winter would have been!

Back in his apartment, Kennan got out the bottle of Chivas Regal and sat reading Voltaire at the kitchen table. A gentle night breeze came in through the screen. Two drinks later he showered and crawled into bed. He decided not to make a journal entry but smiled at the fullness of the day.

“Shit!” said Kennan as he sat up in bed. He dressed quickly, ignoring his socks and pulling on a nylon wind-breaker over his pajama tops.

The moon was bright enough that he could have driven without headlights as he pushed the Volvo around tight turns in the county road. The parking lot was empty and there were deep ruts and gouges in the field. The rides were still there, but folded and ready to be loaded on trailers.
The meadow was moon-dappled and, to Kennan’s first relieved glance, empty. But then he saw the shadowy figure on the top row of empty bleachers.

When he came close enough the moonlight allowed him to see the streaks on the boy’s dusty face. Kennan stood on a lower level and started to speak, found no words, stopped, and shrugged.

“I knowed you’d come back,” said Terry. His voice seemed cheerful. “I knowed you’d come back.”

Raul was alive. He struggled to free himself from the pile of lizard bodies. It had been the shirt. Since Carvnal he had worn the brightly decorated tunic that Fenn had given him at Treetops.
It is more than decoration.
Isn’t that what the strange little Fuzzy had said? Indeed it was. The shirt had stopped six high-velocity crossbow bolts from penetrating. Certainly it had been more effective than the loose-link armor that still adorned the lizard corpses all around.

Raul made it up onto all four legs and took a few shaky steps. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious. It hurt to breathe. Raul felt his upper torso and wondered if the impact had broken a rib.

No matter. He moved around the clearing, first picking up his bow and then retrieving as many arrows as he could. He found his short sword where it had cleft a lizard’s shield, helmet, and skull. His clan warspear was broken, but he snapped off the sacred metal spearhead and dropped it in his quiver. When he had armed himself as well as he could, picking up a long lizard war lance, he galloped to the edge of the clearing.

Some of the palm trees were still smoldering. The Wizard platforms could not have been gone for long. And Raul knew where they must have gone.

To the north gleamed the high peaks of the Fanghorn Mountains. Wincing a bit, Raul strapped his shield and bow to his back. Then, breaking into an effortless, distance-devouring canter, he headed north.

Night. Bugs dance in agitated clouds around the mercury vapor lamps. Kennan is standing in a phone booth near a small grocery store. The store is closed and dark. The side street is empty.

“Yes, Whit, I
did
get it …” Only Kennan’s voice is audible in the darkness.

“No, I know what … I am aware that it isn’t easy to get to see Fentworth.”

“Sure I do, but it isn’t that simple, Whit. Not only do I … I have a
contract.
It specifies that …”

“Those last days
will
make a difference …”

“So what did he say?”

“Look, I don’t see what difference it makes if I see him now or when he gets back in August. If he has to decide on the position, they can’t fill it ’til he gets back, can they? If I can just make arrangements to …”

“Oh, yeah? Yeah, I see.
Before
he goes? Yeah. Yeah. Uh-huh, I see that …”

“No, Whit, it
is
important that you’re going to be there. It’s just a matter of … it’s just that I don’t have the money to fly. And then I’d have to fly back to get my stuff.”

“Yeah. Yeah. That’d work out, but I can’t afford to miss those last few … I don’t know. I suppose, why? Hell, Whitney, you’ve been to Europe before … why don’t you … no, really, why don’t you tell your folks you can’t join them until late June or …”

“Yeah. You did? Your folks won’t be there? What about … whatshername, the housekeeper, yeah, Millie … Until when?”

“Damn. Yes, it
does
sound good.”

“No, no, I
do
appreciate it, Whitney. You don’t know how much it means to me …”

“Yeah. Uh-huh, that all makes sense but, look, it’s hard to explain. No, listen, there’s tomorrow. Friday, yeah … and then Monday’s off because of Memorial Day. Then they go Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday’s their last day. No … just report cards and stuff. Look, couldn’t it be just a
week
later?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. OK, I understand that. Well, look, let me think about it overnight, all right?”

“I
know
that … but he’s around on Saturday, isn’t he?”

“OK, look, I’ll call you tomorrow … that’s Friday night … and I’ll let you know what … no, goddamn it, Whit, I’m poor but I’m not
that
poor, I don’t want your parents getting billed for … look, I’ll call you about nine o’clock, that’s … uh … eleven your time, OK?”

“Well, you could call him on Saturday then and tell him I’d be there Wednesday, or I can just wait and hope something else opens up. Uh-huh, uh-huh … well, let’s just … just let me
think
about it, OK? Yes … well, I
will
take that into consideration, don’t worry.”

“Look, Whit, I’m running out of quarters here. Yeah. About nine … I mean eleven. No … me too. It’s real good to hear your voice … Yeah. OK. I’ll talk to you tomorrow then. Yeah … I look forward to seeing you soon, too. Me too. Bye, Whit.”

After Dobby’s unsuccessful escape attempt, they hung him from chains on the wall. From where Gernisavien was strapped to the table, she could not see if he was still breathing. The red light made it look as if he had been flayed alive.

Tall, shrouded shapes moved through the bloody dimness. When the Wizards weren’t turned her way, Gernisavien strained against the metal bands at her wrists and ankles. No use. The steel did not budge an inch. The neo-cat relaxed and inspected the steel table to which she was pinned. The smooth surface had metal gutters on the side and small drain holes. Gernisavien wondered at their purpose and then wished she hadn’t. Her heart was racing so fast that she feared it would tear its way out of her chest.