The Child Eater (34 page)

He rolled through the air, he sped forward, he darted back, he turned over like a swimmer so he could watch the sky instead of the Earth. Below him the forests and villages, the rivers and mountains, rolled out like a ribbon off a spool. He remembered all the times he'd imagined flying, all the times he'd demanded the secret, and realized it was always to become better than everyone else. To escape his past, escape himself. He'd never thought about the absolute joy.

Even though he knew it was cold, the way you know the Sun rises in the east, he didn't feel it. He no longer felt hungry, and the wind appeared to have cleansed his wounds and washed away the blood from the beating the men had given him when he'd tried to steal their lord's wallet. He laughed and gave thanks that he'd been so bad a pickpocket.

Where should he go? No, that wasn't the question, he knew very well where he needed to go, what he had to do. But how? How could he even figure out the direction? It was only when he looked down and saw the twisted forest of the College of Trees, and not long after that the Library of Ants, that he realized he didn't need to control where he went. The flying carried its own knowledge.

Streams of red dust clung briefly to his face and arms, only to let go and be carried off behind him. He looked down and saw the Great
Rock, the Child Eater's hiding place. When he saw the circle of chanters and the mountainous woman and then the man in the thin green robe, arm raised as if to draw down lightning, he realized that flying could free you from time as well as the Earth.

If he thought that he might go back before his great crime, he soon gave up the hope when he came to a place of very cold air and discovered himself drifting down to a small valley. As the ground became clearer, he could see withered trees and dull flowers.
I did this
, he thought, and an immense sadness weighed him down. Maybe they escaped. Maybe he'd ruined the garden but the Guardians had shaken off his foolish, hateful spell as soon as he'd stepped away. Then he saw them and all hope vanished.

Two squirrels, one red, one gray, stood facing him, side by side, each with a glittering walnut in its front paws, one of silver, the other gold. Matyas spread himself face down in the dirt. “Forgive me,” he said, “though I do not deserve it.”

From somewhere inside him, he heard the girl's voice. “It is not for us to forgive.”

Matyas raised himself to his knees, bowed his head. “I understand. What I have done cannot be undone and therefore never forgiven.”

The boy said, “No, no, Matyas. You understand nothing. You did what was necessary.”

He lifted his head to squint at them. He remembered Veil, years ago, telling him that everyone has a purpose and sometimes that purpose belongs to something bigger than themselves. He clung to this idea only for a second before he realized he had to let it go. The crime was still real. He said, “What is given cannot be taken back. I cannot break my own spell.”

“Of course not,” the girl said.

“But I can give you something new. A Spell of Alleviance.” He tried to think, but no magic came other than a statement that somehow felt right. “Freedom will come with the one thousandth child.”

The voice of the boy sighed. “Thank you, Master Matyas.”

The girl added, “You have given and we have accepted. We release you and bless you.”

“I don't understand,” Matyas said. “All I do is cause pain.”

The red one shook its head, and the gold walnut flashed with light. Within Matyas, the boy's voice said, “Your understanding is not
necessary. Only your actions. But if you wish, you may go to the One Who Knows.” With that, both squirrels ran off behind the trees.

“What do I do?” Matyas said. He looked all around but they were gone. Maybe, he thought, the Tarot of Eternity would help him. He took the wrapped cards from his waistband. But when he tried to remove the blue cloth, the cards gave off such intense light that he could hardly bear to hold them, and he wrapped them up again.

The One Who Knows. Veil? Panic seized him at the thought of facing her, but then he realized they meant someone else. Someone older.

Matyas closed his eyes, moved his arms away from his sides and let himself become lighter than dust. He flew for a long time now, empty of distractions, with nothing more than glimpses of the blurred Earth below him. Only when he saw a low stubble of hills and a stand of dark trees did he let himself descend.

The trees were so entwined there was no way into them, but he knew what to do. Hadn't he seen it years earlier? “Come around me,” he said, and the Splendor appeared, a thousand dazzling lights. “Open the way.” As soon as he'd said it, the lights touched the trees and a path opened. He walked inside without hesitation, though he dreaded what he might hear.

The Kallistocha burned so brightly Matyas could not look at it but only stared at the ground, where pebbles of a hundred colors lay all around the black stick. “My lord,” Matyas said, “help me. Once you called me Master and told me I would fly. I gave my life to that dream and all I have done is destroy what is good and necessary. You spoke of darkness and I thought you meant the color of the sky. Now my soul is black as ink. Help me.”

The Prince looked directly at him, all mockery gone from the golden eyes. “You did what was necessary, Matyas. And now you are free. Accept it.”

“No! How can you say that? I cursed the Guardians. I met the Child Eater and I did nothing. I knew his name and I still did nothing.”

“Matyas. Listen to me. There was nothing you could have done. Knowing his name allows you to create a spear but you are not the one to hurl it. The Child Eater is beyond you. He was beyond the Guardians as well—there was no way for them to touch him, either. But now your foolish spell has put them in a form where one day they will help the thousandth child. That is all that matters. All things do what they must. Be at peace, Matyas. Your anger has served the future.”

“Thank you,” Matyas said. He bowed his head in preparation for leaving. About to back away, he stopped. “Master of Wisdom,” he said. “Great holy Prince. May I ask a question?”

“Yes,” the Kallistocha said.

“Federaynak. He came here, didn't he? This is what the Victors did to you?”

Light flashed in the Prince's face so brightly Matyas had to force himself not to look away. They had been speaking in the Phase of the Fifth Chamber, but now the Prince moved to the Shattered Face, the tongue reserved only for the deepest pain. He said, “When they put me here, this place was the most blessed on all the shining Earth. I could sing and the woods would carry the song to my sisters and brothers across the world. Like a child, I thought the Angels had tempered their punishment with mercy. Do you see, Matyas? You are not the only foolish one.”

Matyas whispered, “In the world of men, beauty attracts ugliness.”

“Yes. He came, just after he found the Spell of Extension. He had taken the first child and was looking for a place to . . . consume her.”

“And he thought of you because Joachim had come here, yes?”

“Joachim and I revealed the Tarot of Eternity here.”

“Revealed?”

“Of course. Did you think Joachim created it? Did you think I invented it? The Tarot of Eternity has always existed. The Creator used it to shape the world. It was Eternity that told Her She could not create a world without the Spell of Extension.”

Matyas rocked back and forth, holding his arms. He discovered he could understand the Child Eater, for if it was him he would have come here as well. For Federaynak, what better way to show he had gone beyond his teacher, his Master Joachim?

“Matyas,” the Prince said softly, “you are not him.”

A great shudder ran through Matyas, so powerful he thought at first it was the Earth. “Thank you,” he said again.

“Now go. Veil would like to see you.”

Veil
. Matyas left the grove, feeling the trees close behind him. As soon as he stood under the clear sky, he opened his arms and left the ground. For a moment he was aware of a filthy boy who had hidden behind a rock and now was trying to sound important as he did his best to summon the Splendor. He laughed as he moved through the night sky.
We will meet three times, though two shall be one
.

Matyas came down in the courtyard, with no idea what time it was, what
year
it was, only that it was night and no one was there. He ran up the narrow stairs, aware for the first time that every step was a story, whether of pain or joy, for the Tower of Heaven was built with human passions.

He found her in her wooden chair, back straight, hands on her knees as she stared out of the window. Her hair flew around, tangled up in itself, while a yellow and blue dress hung loosely on her skeletal shoulders. She was nearly transparent now, as thin as air, and he knew that time had caught up with her. A sweet smell filled the room.

Matyas knelt down and took her hand, so feathery he had to look to make sure he was holding it. “Mistress—” he began, but her free hand waved him to silence as gracefully as a silk stream.

“Please, child,” she said. “No apologies. You did what I needed you to do. You always did what was needed.”

He smiled. “You haven't called me ‘child' in a long time.”

Her laughter was dry and faint. “I didn't want to insult you.”

“I brought you a gift.”

“Ah. How nice. Old ladies like presents, you know.”

He removed the blue package and held it out to her. “Oh good,” she said. As she began to unravel the cloth, Matyas averted his eyes but no flash came out, and when he looked they were just painted cards spread out in her narrow lap. Softly, she said, “Hello, Joachim. It's been a long time.” She held up the card that showed a young man on the edge of a cliff with spirals of light behind him. A little louder, she said, “Do you know, Matyas, that light travels? I suppose that's why it can be dark in one place and light in another. And here's the curious thing. Light always travels at the same speed. Time can slow down or accelerate, people can get bigger or smaller, but light always remains the same. Isn't that wonderful? What do you suppose it tells us?” She put the card with the others and set the pack in her lap.

Matyas began to cry, for he knew very well what she was telling him. For each of us, time must end. To deny this can only banish us from the light. He said, “What will happen now? Here, with the Academy?”

She shrugged, the gentlest movement. “No doubt Lukhanan will become undisputed Master. It's all he desires.”

“Lukhanan is a fool.”

“Of course. Remember, Matyas—the scholar hears of the Gate and tries every day to undo the lock.”

Matyas responded, “The student hears of the Gate and tries to squeeze between the bars.”

“The Fool hears of the Gate and laughs.”

“Without laughter the Gate would never open.”

Veil clapped her hands. “Well done,” she said. “I've missed you.” She leaned back now and closed her eyes. “Brush my hair?” she said.

“I will be very happy to brush your hair.” The old brush felt heavy and cold at first, but it warmed up as he ran it through the fine strands, careful to separate the tangles rather than pull at them. At first it was difficult, for no one had brushed her hair in a long time, but after a few minutes he could slide the brush in smooth, easy strokes, moving her hair down her back like a waterfall.

Eyes closed, Matyas began to sway in time with the strokes of the brush. Light streamed over him, light and images, as if the cards had lifted from her lap to be caught up in her hair. Sweet aromas filled him, bouquets of flowers mixed with a distant smell of the sea. Sounds drifted to him from very far away, voices, wind in mountains, a bell as pure and clear as the sky, a cry of delight.

He dropped the brush and opened his eyes. Veil was gone. Only the chair remained, and the table, and the books, and the bed in the alcove where he'd slept for what now felt like a few precious nights. And Eternity, quiet now, wrapped in its cloth the color of the sky.

With both hands, he picked up the blue package and held it against his chest. He bowed his head a moment, then went to the window. Below the tower, the tops of the buildings shone faintly in the dawn. Matyas stood there a long time, watching the stones change color with the sunrise. From below, in the courtyard, he heard voices, sounds of amusement, anger, pride. Finally, he stepped out onto the narrow window ledge, took a deep breath and lifted into the sky.

He came down at the edge of a small group of houses near a lake. The houses looked odd, large and neat and clean, and all very alike, as if one person had been put under a spell, compelled to build the same house over and over. There were trees by the lake, and impossibly even grass.

Matyas paid little attention to these things. Instead, he set down the blue package by the water and stared at it. Finally, he held his breath and undid the cloth. The pictures glowed, but not so brightly he couldn't look at them, and for that he said a prayer of deep gratitude.

He made his right hand into a fist, stared at it for a while, then extended his index finger. One by one, on each card, his finger traced a word. The same word, over and over, seventy-eight times. Federaynak. Federaynak.
Federaynak
.

When he had finished, he wrapped them up again and set them in the hollow of an ancient tree. “For the thousandth child!” he said. Then he closed his eyes and tilted back his head and rose once more into the air.

Simon didn't know why his dad wasn't coming to him. He could see Daddy try, but something pushed him back. And he didn't understand why he couldn't get away from Dr. Reina. He was running as hard as he could and Dr. Reina was walking so slowly, yet Simon remained as far away from his father as ever, and Dr. Reina kept getting closer.

Then Simon saw his dad throw something. He couldn't see what it was, but he knew it was important, Daddy wouldn't have done it otherwise. It looked as if it was about to fly right over his head, but he jumped up, just like when they played catch and Daddy threw wild, and he grabbed it.

Even before he looked at it, he knew what it was. He could feel the blue cloth. The cards. Somehow Daddy had brought him the Tarot cards. On his knees now, he fumbled at the wrapper.

Only some twenty yards away, Dr. Reina laughed. “Simon, please,” he said. “Tarot cards? What will you do? Tell my future?” Suddenly his voice shook the ground. “I
am
the future! I am Frederick of the Other Side. You have eaten me, body and blood. Three times, and now
my
mouth is open. I am the teeth of death, Simon Wisdom. You are my food. I will eat you and live forever.”

Simon fell down in terror. At the same time, he thought,
He doesn't know. He thinks I ate the food
. He had a chance, but what should he do? What?

Run
, he thought, then,
No, the cards
. He fumbled through them, dropped half, fell over as he tried to pick them up.

From just ten yards away, Dr. Reina laughed. “Simon, Simon,” he chided. “Are you going to read your cards? What do you think they will tell you?”

Open-mouthed, Simon stared at him.
Simon, Simon
. He remembered now! What his mother had said that night in the living room.

He had to take the time, not try to run. But what would that do? How would taking time stop the crime? Simon, Simon. What else did his mother say? “You're my perfect poem.” A poem! He'd thought she was being nice but she was telling him he had to make up a poem. Rhymin' Simon. A magic poem could stop the crime.

Dr. Reina was only a few yards away now, his smile as sharp as his knife. Simon could hear his dad yelling at him to get away but he couldn't listen. He closed his eyes and wished he could close his ears as well. “Tarot, Tarot,” he whispered, then a little louder, “long and narrow.”

Dr. Reina laughed—so close now. He said, “Verse? For your last breath? Do you hear your father? He wants you to say goodbye to him.” Simon opened his eyes. Dr. Reina had stopped just a few feet away. Simon could see the bloodstains up and down the stone blade, he could hear the crying children, all the ones Dr. Reina had killed. Caroline was there, and nearly a thousand more. “Set the children free,” his mother had said.

As strong as he could make it, Simon called out:

Dr. Reina's laughter choked off Simon's voice so that he couldn't finish his poem. “A spell?” the doctor said. “How clever. But you're missing something. Do you know what it is?”

What? What was he missing? Simon stared again at the cards. There was something written on them, faintly, but there it was, on every card, the same strange letters. A name. Simon was sure of it. That's what was missing, the thing to make the spell work—Dr. Reina's real name!

But how was he supposed to read it? The letters were in some funny language. How could he—? And then he laughed. He was Simon Wisdom. He didn't need to read letters.
He could read minds
. He held up the cards, half of them in each hand, fanned open to act like shields.

The doctor stared at them. “No,” he said. “No, it can't be. He sent them out of the world! I was there. I saw it.”

In that moment of fear, Simon found his way inside, past the dark cloud, the terrified screams, feeling his way, searching. And there it was, small and hidden, covered with centuries of blood. Simon didn't have to read it, or hear it, he just knew.

“Federaynak!” he cried. Stunned, the monster stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Simon called out:

And then:

With all his terrified might, Simon Wisdom threw the cards at the Child Eater.

The cards separated as they sliced through the air. Simon could see each one before it hit, and so could Federaynak, for he stared at them, unable to move, head shaking slightly, as if he was trying to say, “No, no, this is wrong.” The first card to hit was the Fool, the Beautiful Boy about to Fly. It cut right through his throat, sending forth a jet of blood
so thick and dark it looked like oil. The Child Eater held his hands up in front of his face, only to have the next group of cards cut off his fingers. More cards attacked his legs, his arms, his chest. Parts of him fell on the ground where they turned into black crystal, clothes and all, then broke into small, sharp pieces that sank into the grass.

The very last card to hit him was the man hanging upside down by one foot with light all around his face. It hit the eyes and light exploded from it. For a moment, Simon could see the faces of children, layer upon layer, neither happy nor sad but quiet, eyes closed, lips slightly open in a long collective sigh. At the very last, he saw Caroline. The eyes looked at Simon, then closed in gratitude. Finally they were gone.

Simon could never remember exactly when it all disappeared. One moment he was looking at the pieces on the scorched grass and the cards scattered on the ground. Something must have hurt his eyes, for he squeezed them shut, and when he opened them again everything had vanished—the black crystals, the cards, even the Institute itself and the wide lawn. Instead, he saw his own backyard. There was Mr. Carlys' house with the covered-up swimming pool, and there were the two pine trees that Grandma called “the gateway to happiness.” Amazed, Simon turned around. There was his father. Simon wasn't making it up. Daddy really was there.

On either side of his father stood the boy and girl, their gold and silver hair sparkly in the sun. Simon was happy to see them, and at the same time he thought,
They're not supposed to be here
.

As if they could hear him—could read his mind—they smiled and nodded. They took a step back. At that moment, as if someone had hit the play button on a DVD, Simon's dad called out, “Simon? Are you really there? Oh God, Simon!”

They ran at each other so hard they bounced off and fell down. Daddy grabbed him, held him so long he couldn't breathe. “Oh, Simon,” Daddy said, “my beautiful boy. My precious boy.” Finally they stood up and Daddy took his hand as they walked to the house.

They were almost at the door when they heard singing: glorious liquid joy, sounds beyond anything they could imagine. All across the world, voices hidden for centuries were calling out, rediscovering each other. In dark woods and busy streets, on glaciers, in rainforests, in the mud and gore of battlefields, in the secret corners of schools and hospitals and cemeteries, in lonely houses and noisy sweat shops, the
Great Abandoned Ones, the Kallistochoi, had found their brothers and sisters.

Simon and his father had no idea how long it lasted. Even when it seemed to stop, when they could no longer hear it, they knew it hadn't really ended. And never would.

Jack Wisdom kept hold of his son's hand as he led him into the living room. There he picked up the picture of his wife. Faint lights sparkled around it. “It was your mother,” he said to his son. “She told me what I had to do.”

“Me too,” Simon said. “She told me I had to make up a poem, so that's what I did.”

Jack smiled. “Your mother is a very smart woman, Simon. She loves us both very, very much. And I love her. I love you more than anything in the world, but I love your mother, too.”

Simon said, “I know, Daddy.”

Jack looked startled for a moment, then laughed. “Of course you do,” he said. “Of course you do.” He laughed again and hugged his son. Later, he knew, they would sit down and talk about it, maybe try to understand what had happened. But right now they were together, and safe, and that was all that mattered.