The Book of Lost Things(59)

David stared into the flames. Roland’s words resonated within him. That was how he had felt about his mother. He had spent so long being terrified at the thought of losing her that he had never really enjoyed the time they spent together toward the end.

“And you?” said Roland. “You’re only a boy. You don’t belong here. Aren’t you frightened?”

“Yes,” said David. “But I heard my mother’s voice. She’s here, somewhere. I have to find her. I have to bring her back.”

“David, your mother is dead,” said Roland gently. “You told me so.”

“Then how can she be here? How can I have heard her voice so clearly?”

But Roland had no answer, and David’s frustration grew.

“What is this place?” he demanded. “It has no name. Even you can’t tell me what it’s called. It has a king, but he might as well not exist. There are things here that don’t belong: that tank, the German plane that followed me through the tree, the harpies. It’s all wrong. It’s just…”

His voice trailed off. There were words forming in his brain like a dark cloud building on a clear summer’s day, filled with heat and fury and confusion. The question came to him, and he was almost surprised to hear his own voice ask it.

“Roland, are you dead? Are we dead?”

Roland looked at him through the flames.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I think I am as alive as you are. I feel cold and warmth, hunger and thirst, desire and regret. I am conscious of the weight of a sword in my hand, and my skin bears the marks of the armor that I wear when I remove it at night. I can taste bread and meat. I can smell Scylla upon me after a day in the saddle. If I were dead, such things would be lost to me, would they not?”

“I suppose so,” said David. He had no idea how the dead felt once they passed from one world to the next. How could he? All he knew was that his mother’s skin had been cold to the touch, but David could still feel the warmth of his own body. Like Roland, he could smell and touch and taste. He was aware of pain and discomfort. He could feel the heat from the fire, and he was sure that if he put his hand to it, his skin would blister and burn.

And yet this world remained a curious mix of the strange and the familiar, as though by coming here he had somehow altered its nature, infecting it with aspects of his own life.

“Have you ever dreamed of this place?” he asked Roland. “Have you ever dreamed of me, or of anything else in it?”

“When I met you on the road, you were a stranger to me,” said Roland, “and although I knew there was a village here, I had never seen it until now, for I have never traveled these roads before. David, this land is as real as you are. Do not start believing that it is some dream conjured up from deep within yourself. I have seen the fear in your eyes when you speak of the wolf packs and the creatures that lead them, and I know that they will eat you if they find you. I smelled the decay of those men on the battlefield. Soon we will face whatever wiped them out, and we may not survive the encounter. All of these things are real. You have endured pain here. If you can endure pain, then you can die. You can be killed here, and your own world will be lost to you forever. Never forget that. If you do, you are lost.”

Perhaps, thought David.

Perhaps.

*

It was deep in the third night when a cry went up from one of the lookouts at the gates.

“To me, to me!” said the young man whose job it was to watch the main road to the settlement. “I heard something, and I saw movement on the ground. I am certain of it.”

Those who were sleeping awoke and joined him. Those who were far from the gates heard the cry and were about to come running too, but Roland called to them and told them to stay where they were. He arrived at the gates and began to climb a ladder to the platform at the top of the walls. Some of the other men were already waiting for him, while others stood on the ground and stared through the slits that had been cut into the tree trunks at eye level. Their torches hissed and sputtered as the snow fell upon them and melted instantly.

“I can see nothing,” said the blacksmith to the young man. “You woke us for no good reason.”

They heard the cow lowing nervously. It rose from its sleep and tried to pull itself free from the post to which it was tethered.

“Wait,” said Roland. He took an arrow from a pile against the wall, each one with a rag soaked in oil at its tip. He touched the wrapped point to one of the torches, and it exploded into flame. He took careful aim and fired where the guard on the wall said that he had seen movement. Four or five of the other men did the same, the arrows sailing like dying stars through the night air.

For a moment, there was nothing to be seen but falling snow and shadowy trees. Then something moved, and they saw a massive yellow body erupting from beneath the earth, ridged like that of a great worm, each ridge embedded with thick black hairs, each hair ending in a razor-sharp barb. One of the arrows had lodged itself in the creature, and a foul smell of burning flesh arose, so horrible that the men covered their noses and mouths to block the stink. Black fluid bubbled from the wound, spitting in the heat of the arrow’s flame. David could see the shafts of broken arrows and spears stuck in its skin, relics of its earlier encounter with the soldiers. It was impossible to tell how long it was, but its body was ten feet high at least. They saw the Beast twist and turn as it pulled itself free from the dirt, and then a terrible face was revealed. It had clusters of black eyes like a spider, some small, some large, and a sucking mouth beneath them that was ridged with row upon row of sharp teeth. Between eyes and mouth, openings like nostrils quivered as it smelled the men in the village and the warm blood beneath their skin. There were two arms at either side of its jaws, each one ending in a series of three hooked claws with which it could pull its prey into the maw. It did not seem able to make any sound from its mouth, but there was a wet, sucking noise as it began to move across the forest floor, and clear, sticky strands of mucus dripped from its upper body as it raised itself up like a huge, ugly caterpillar reaching for a tasty leaf. Its head was now twenty feet above the ground, revealing its lower parts and the twin rows of black, spiny legs with which it propelled itself along the ground.