The Obsidian Blade (29 page)

“Ronnie. Thank God it’s you,” Kosh said.

Ronnie smiled and raised his hand. Tucker saw the baton too late to warn Kosh. The baton crackled, and Kosh collapsed.

Tucker swung the
arma
toward Ronnie, but Gheen grabbed his arm, wrestling for the weapon. Tucker tore the
arma
free and clubbed Gheen on the side of the head. The priest staggered back. Lahlia was grappling with Ronnie, trying to wrest the baton from his grip. Tucker pointed the
arma
at them. Lahlia saw him and jumped back.

“Stop!” Tucker shouted.

Ronnie ignored him and thrust the baton at Lahlia. Tucker pressed the stud on the
arma.
Ronnie’s knee exploded — he dropped the baton and toppled with a ghastly shriek. The bottom half of his left leg remained standing upright.

Tucker, horrified, stared at the leg as it wavered, then tipped onto its side. The charred-hot-dog smell of incinerated flesh filled the tent. Tucker’s stomach clenched.

“No more, Tucker!” His father’s voice echoed in the tent. Tucker felt as if he was about to vomit. His grip on the
arma
loosened.

“Tucker!” Lahlia shouted.

Before Tucker could react, the
arma
was ripped from his hands.

“Do not move.” Gheen backed off a few steps, keeping the
arma
pointed in Lahlia and Tucker’s direction. Ronnie Becker moaned and fell silent.

“Send Brother Ron through the Gate,” Gheen said to Tucker’s father.

Father September dragged the unconscious Ronnie over to the pulsing maggot. The stump of Ronnie’s leg left a thick trail of blood. Half lifting him, he tipped Ronnie into the maggot’s disko.

“Let’s not forget the leg,” said Gheen. He picked up the severed leg by the ankle and tossed it into the maggot. The leg disappeared in an orange flash.

“The Yar, too,” said Gheen, looking at Lahlia.

“No!” Tucker said.

Gheen pointed the
arma
at Kosh, who was lying senseless on the floor. “It is not necessary that he live.”

Tucker met Lahlia’s eyes. She nodded. Her eyes shifted quickly to Kosh, then to Gheen.

“I will do as you say,” she said. Tucker glanced at Kosh and noticed that his eyes were open and alert. Lahlia made a slight motion with one hand, telling Tucker to wait. Gheen still had the
arma
trained on Kosh, but his eyes were locked on Lahlia. Kosh winked at Tucker as Lahlia moved slowly toward the maggot.

“Quickly,” said Gheen.

“It was good to see you, Tucker Feye,” Lahlia said, looking Tucker right in the eye. “Do not hesitate.”

“Go
now,
” said Gheen.

“I will see you later as well,
priest,
” Lahlia said. “As it is
written.
” She smiled humorlessly. “In
my
history,
priest,
I send you to hell.”

Gheen snarled and swung the
arma
toward Lahlia as she dove into the disko. The instant the priest moved the weapon away from Kosh, Tucker was in motion, driving his shoulder into Gheen’s side. A jet of flame seared the floor and ripped open the side of the tent. The weapon flew from Gheen’s hands. Kosh leaped to his feet and snatched the
arma
from midair as Tucker slammed the priest into one of the steel tent posts anchoring the maggot.

Kosh triggered the
arma,
aiming high to avoid hitting Tucker. The tent post just above their heads turned cherry red and exploded in a mist of molten metal. Gheen screamed as the superheated droplets rained down on them. They jumped back from the post, their garments sending up tendrils of smoke. The canvas sagged. The maggot, with one side of its bindings gone slack, began to pulse and twitch.

Gheen made a dash for the doorway, frantically brushing hot metal fragments from his robe. Tucker launched himself and tackled him from behind. The priest fell headlong and hit the floor with his face. Kosh grabbed the baton Ronnie had dropped, jabbed it against Gheen’s neck. The priest convulsed, then lay still.

Kosh looked at Tucker. “You okay?”

Tucker nodded and climbed to his feet. His coveralls were spotted with burn marks from the hot metal. “You sure recovered quick,” he said, gesturing at the baton in Kosh’s hand.

Kosh touched the handle end of the baton to his heavy leather jacket. “My leathers must’ve blocked most of its juice.”

Tucker’s father, still standing beside the damaged maggot, said, “Curtis . . . what have you done?”

The maggot hissed and sputtered.

“What have
I
done?” Kosh looked from his brother to Gheen, then at Tucker. “Adrian, what happened to you?”

“I have seen the future.”

“Yeah? Then how come you didn’t know this was going to happen?” Kosh shook his head in disgust. He strode to the front of the tent to look outside. “We better get going,” he said to Tucker.

“No. We have to wait for Lahlia.”

“We don’t know she’s coming back, kid. She could be anywhere from Abilene to Timbuktu.” He was still looking out the tent flap. “There’s another SUV coming, and those two guys I put down are waking up again. We got to go.”

“I can’t,” Tucker said.

“Why not?”

Tucker was staring at the maggot. “Lahlia. She came here for me. And I want to meet these Gnomon, or Boggsians, or whatever. Maybe there’s something they can do. Or undo.”

“You got no idea what happens, you jump into that thing. Look at it.”

The maggot’s disko was slightly out of round, and the pink flesh surrounding it was pulsing.

“I can’t
not
go after her,” Tucker said.

Kosh shook his head slowly. “You got heart, kid.”

“My name is Tucker.”

“Tucker. You
still
got heart.”

For a moment, Tucker thought his uncle might try to stop him, but instead Kosh said, “I’m going with you.”

“No,” Tucker said. “You have to stay. My mom is here.”

“Emily? Here? Where?”

“She was at the house. She’s married to one of
them.
I think they got her brainwashed or something. You have to make her remember.”

“Remember what?” Kosh said.

“Us,” Tucker said.

Kosh nodded slowly. “I can do that.” With the
arma
in one hand and the baton in the other, he looked ready to take on an army.

“Son”— Father September, his voice pleading and desperate, held out his hands —“do not turn your back on your destiny!”

“Destiny?”
Tucker looked at the strange old man standing before him. A man who had once been his father. A man who wanted to kill him. A distressing stew of emotions rose up within him — disgust, pity, anger, and above all, sorrow for all he had lost — but beneath it all was a sense of what he had to do. “My
destiny
is what
I
make of it.”

Tucker turned his back to his father and leaped into the maggot’s maw.

M
ASTER
G
HEEN AWAKENED TO THE SPUTTER AND BUZZ
of the maggot-borne Gate. His head was pounding. His teeth hurt. A wave of nausea rolled up his abdomen. Gheen turned his head to the side and vomited. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked up. Father September was standing over him.

“What happened?” he croaked.

“They are gone, Master.”

“The boy?”

Father September gestured toward the maggot. Brother Tamm was repairing the armature that confined it, reattaching the slackened cables.

“He followed the Yar into the Gate. He has not returned.”

“Then it is as we feared. He is truly a danger to us all.” Gheen closed his eyes, took a fortifying breath, and attempted to stand. Tamm moved to help him, but Gheen waved him back. It was important to appear strong, even in circumstances such as these. Slowly, he got to his feet on his own.

“What of your brother?” he asked.

“He goes to seek out the Lamb Emma,” Father September said.

Tamm’s face darkened. He ran out of the tent.

“Do not spare him,” Gheen called after him. “He is nothing.”

Gheen moved to the front of the tent and looked out past the curtain. The numberless multitude was waiting, seated on the sea of folding chairs, staring expectantly up at the platform. He fought off another wave of nausea, wondering how long he had been unconscious.

“The Lambs grow restless,” he said. “History must be made real.”

“How?” said Father September. “My son is gone.”

“We must choose another.” From within his robes, he produced a folded cloth. He opened it to reveal a black, wedge-shaped stone dagger.

Father September took the knife in his hand and tested the edge with his thumb. The blade, sharper than any razor, sliced easily through his skin. A glistening bead of blood welled from his thumb, broke, and trickled down his wrist. “An obsidian blade,” he said. “A dark stone for a dark deed.”

“One must pass through night to reach the dawn. Are you able?”

Father September nodded. “As it is written.”

Tom Krause was sitting with several other Pure Boys near the steps leading up to the stage. The crowd was restless — they had been gathered for nearly an hour, but nothing was happening. He leaned over the back of his chair and looked at the row of Pure Girls sitting behind them.

“What do you think is going on?” he asked Kathy Aamodt.

Kathy shook her head. She looked as impatient as Tom felt, but even with that tight frown, she was the most beautiful girl Tom had ever seen. In fact, she was the whole reason he had joined up with the Lambs.

He said, “You want a soda or something? I’m thirsty.” A concession trailer had been set up near the entrance to the park. He figured he could get there and back in a few minutes, and who knew how long it would be before the show — or whatever — started.

“We’re not supposed to talk,” Kathy said.

The problem with Kathy was that she was too devout. She actually believed in all the miracles. Not that the miracles weren’t impressive, but Tom secretly agreed with his father — anybody could make predictions and get lucky once in a while. He wondered what sort of tricks they would be witnessing today. Several people in wheelchairs were lining up in front of the platform. Maybe Father September would coax a few of them to walk again.

“You want to maybe go out to Hardy Lake after? We got a great rope swing.”

She shushed him. Frustrated, Tom turned and found himself facing an acolyte wearing a yellow robe. The man pointed his forefinger at Tom.

“Me?” said Tom, trying to look innocent.

“Come,” said the man, crooking his finger. “You are chosen.”