The Lost Village(95)

Robert’s flails have started to weaken. In the flickering light I see blood bloom out into the water from his face.

I get to my feet and suddenly—

everything stops.

Aina has frozen on the spot. The muscles in her arms tense up and release, tense up and … release.

The knifepoint that has sprung through her neck releases a trickle of blood that pools in the depression above her clavicle. She puts one hand to her neck and runs her fingertips over the blade, which glitters like a necklace beneath her jaw.

She opens her mouth as though to say something, but no sound escapes her lips.

Slowly she falls off Robert and down under the surface. I see the shadow that is Aina sink, lightly and gracefully, toward the bottom, and then start to drift toward the edge of the passage.

Tone stays standing there, her legs spread wide, her eyes on Aina’s body. Her breaths are heavy, and her face is covered in sweat. The cut that has now dried on her neck is in almost exactly the same spot as where the knife pierced through Aina’s.

Her hands are still clenched in front of her, as though around the handle of a knife.

My stupor is broken, and I throw myself at Robert. I grab hold of his arm and pull him up over the surface, then drag his leaden body halfway onto dry land and turn him faceup. His nose is a fleshy mess, and the blood drips from it in slow quivers that mix with the water in his hair. His lips are slightly parted, and his eyes are closed.

“No, no, no,” I whisper, hardly aware of the tears spilling from my eyes. “No. Please, no.”

I lean down toward his smashed face, and my tears drip down and mix with his blood, but just as I’m about to put my hand over what remains of his nose, he makes a sound.

His eyes flutter open.

His body lurches and he coughs, a gurgling sound that brings with it a belch of water. I move back slightly, sobbing, laughing, shaking, and Robert rolls over onto his side and throws up. He makes to wipe his mouth, but his hands are still bound. Trembling, I crawl around and untie the rope.

I look out over the water and see Tone standing there, her eyes still fixed on the dark shadow about ten feet from her. It drifts ever closer to the spot where the passage turns down into the underworld, leaving a mirage of blood in its trail.

Then suddenly she’s gone.

Aina has dropped over the edge.

It’s completely silent. Tone clenches her fists once, twice. I hear the echo of a little sigh, and then her shoulders relax.

I think I hear something in the distance.

It sounds like tinny kids’ cries.

Then Tone suddenly sinks to the floor, as though the strings holding her up have been cut.

She looks me in the eye and smiles, a small, shaky smile.

“Is she home now?” she asks quietly.

Then her eyes roll back into her head and she loses consciousness.





THEN



The pastor raises his torch high above his head.

“Today we have taken a great step,” he says in his smooth, singsong voice. “We have taken one step toward enlightenment. Toward the kingdom of heaven.”

Elsa can’t see the congregation behind her, but she can sense them: their glittering, staring eyes; the scent of their anxiety and excitement.

The dark water shimmers behind him, languid and impenetrable, and the air smells of clay and minerals.

“God sees our sacrifices and endeavors. But He doesn’t only see those who live in His truth; He also sees those who have turned their faces from Him. He sees those who have strayed from the true way, those who have allowed themselves to be seduced by Satan’s lies.”

The pastor lowers his torch so that it is in line with Elsa’s eyes.

“He sees them, and He welcomes their return,” he says. “None of God’s children are strangers to Him. Like the prodigal son, one can always return to God’s embrace and be welcomed home. God is love.”

Elsa hears Dagny give a quiet sob beside her. She gropes around for her hand, and when she finds it she gives it a squeeze. She gets no response. It hangs soft and limp in Elsa’ fingers.

“Would you like to return to God?” he asks them, staring at Elsa. The torch’s flame dances in miniature in his eyes.

“Yes,” Dagny sobs sloppily. “Yes. Yes.”

Ingrid says nothing. She stares resolutely ahead, down into the water. Perhaps she, like Elsa, understands what awaits them. Her face is hard and determined. Her nose is swollen, but it isn’t bleeding anymore.

“God’s arms are open to you,” he says to them, but in a loud, vaulting voice, as though sermonizing. “You can return. You can be cleansed of your sins. You can rise anew, freed of your burdens and regrets.”

Dagny’s sobs intensify until her shoulders start to shake. Elsa lets go of her hand. She can’t bear to feel her trembling.

“Let us help them,” says Pastor Mattias, raising the torch once again so that the sharp shadows transform his lovely, androgynous features into the cruel vision of an avenging angel. “Let us restore them to our Lord. Let us cleanse them, and cleanse ourselves.”

“Amen,” Elsa hears behind her, nearly nine hundred whispering voices that spread in caresses along the cavern’s dripping walls and tunnels. “Amen.”

The pastor nods at the boys behind them. Heavy hands land on Elsa’s shoulders, forcing her roughly to her knees. The rocks scrape the skin on her knees and calves.