A Gathering of Crows (24 page)

“That poor boy,” Myrtle whispered. “Those poor children. Randy and Marsha are good kids, and their parents were fine people. This is such a shame.”

“It’s terrible.” Esther nodded in agreement. “What do you think really happened, Levi?”

He glanced up at them, appearing distracted.

“I’m sorry?”

“Out there. What do you think really happened with Randy tonight?”

“I think it happened exactly like he told us.”

Esther flinched. “But some of the things he said, birds changing into humans and invisible force fields . . .”

“You haven’t been outside. We have. I believe the boy is telling the truth. In fact, I know he is. We’ve seen some of the same things he saw.”

Myrtle grew pale. “Is it the apocalypse? Are these demons?”

“I don’t know what they are yet. That’s what I need to figure out.”

They fell silent again and listened to Marsha and Randy weep.

***

Levi folded his fingers into a steeple, closed his eyes and concentrated. Randy’s sudden appearance outside had badly distracted him. The youth clearly had the gift, but seemed almost completely oblivious to it. In some ways, Levi envied him for that. He thought back to when he was Randy’s age—that fateful summer when everything had changed and he’d learned just what high a price magic had—and wished that he’d been oblivious, as well. Maybe if he hadn’t known, things would be different. Maybe the girl he had loved would still be alive. Maybe he’d still have a home, a real home, with people who welcomed him and a family that he could always turn to, no matter how bad things got.

He needed to focus. Growing maudlin over the past wouldn’t help their present situation. What did he know so far? Brinkley Springs had been attacked by supernatural entities with the ability to change shape. They had appeared as both a crow and human. In their human guise, they appeared clad in antiquated, Puritan-style clothing. Their speech was a curious mix: outdated colloquialisms mixed with more modern terms and slang. They had inhuman strength, speed and abilities. They were systematically slaughtering every living thing. They devoured their victims’ souls, leaving an empty husk behind, as a locust in summer leaves its desiccated shell clinging to a tree. Their victims’ bodies turned to dust shortly after death, leaving no trace save for a small pile of ash.

Levi shuddered at the thought of such a fate. To have one’s soul eaten, to lose all sense of self or being, to not travel to the levels and planes of existence beyond this one, to become the sum total of null with no chance of ever being reborn or reconstituted— that was the worst fate he could imagine. Better to end up in hell than to be completely eradicated.

What else did he know? The entities seemed impervious to various workings and magical disciplines. His binding spell had been only partially effective, serving to slow his antagonist down rather than actually binding it to his will. They’d sealed off Brinkley Springs from the outside world by means of a mystical barrier, which would have taken an enormous force of will and an incredible amount of energy to construct. It was possible that the barrier was some sort of soul cage, though Levi had never heard of one so massive in size. It was a stunning achievement. And then, finally, there was the word Randy had seen carved into the trunk of a tree—
Croatoan
. It was obvious from their reactions that Randy, Marsha, Donny, Esther and Myrtle hadn’t recognized the word or its significance, but Levi did. He just didn’t know how it fit into all of this.

Yet.

Croatoan
. The word had several different meanings, and not all of them were related to occult lore. At best, it was a location and nothing more, but Levi was fairly certain its association with tonight’s events was something more sinister.

He opened his eyes, unfolded his fingers and cleared his throat. The others all turned to him.

“The highway leading into town . . . How many cars and trucks use it at night?”

“Not many,” Donny said. “Traffic is usually pretty light at night. Maybe one or two cars and a few tractor trailers all night long. That’s it.”

“But a few will pass through?”

“Yeah, probably. Why?”

“I’m thinking about this barrier that Randy told us about,” Levi said. “We can’t leave—can’t contact the outside world. But if an oncoming car hits it, and the driver is uninjured or able to call for help, others might become aware of our situation.”

Myrtle sat up straight. “Can we hold out until then?”

Levi shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Does that mean you have a better idea of what’s going on?”

“Perhaps,” Levi answered. “At the very least, I’m starting to connect the dots. How many of you have heard of Roanoke?”

“I’ve been there many times,” Esther said. “They have some lovely antique shops.”

Marsha nodded. “It’s not that far from here. Just over the border in Virginia.”

“I don’t mean the city of Roanoke. I’m talking about the original version—Roanoke Island. Are any of you familiar with it?”

Donny, Marsha and Randy shook their heads. Esther frowned.

“Oh.” Myrtle snapped her fingers. “That’s where all those people disappeared, back during the colonial days, right?”

“Correct. At least, partially. This Roanoke, unlike the Roanoke you were all referring to, is an island off the coast of North Carolina.”

“I know that place,” Donny said. “It sits right off of Highway 64. We passed through there on our way to the Outer Banks.”

“And if you blinked,” Levi replied, “then you probably missed it. In many ways, Roanoke is much like Brinkley Springs. It’s small—about eighteen square miles—and it’s fairly remote, even with the highway access. I’d guess less than seven thousand people live there, and many of them are probably seasonal.”

“I don’t know,” Donny said. “I seem to remember there were a lot of tourists there when we went through. Of course, it was summer and all.”

“Oh, no doubt there were tourists. Roanoke is a historical site, after all. As Myrtle said, it was a place of some importance in this country’s past. But . . . I also think it might have some significance concerning tonight’s events.”

Marsha leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“Bear with me. It’s a long story, but I’ll do my best to be brief. Near the end of the sixteenth century, the English tried several times to establish a permanent settlement on Roanoke Island. Had their attempts been successful, Roanoke would have been the first English colony in the New World. Keep in mind that this was before the American Revolution, of course, and the English had claimed the area as their own. In fact, at the time, there was no North Carolina as we know it today. Roanoke Island was simply a part of Virginia. They named it after Queen Elizabeth I, who was also called the ‘Virgin Queen.’ “

“And was she?” Donny asked.

“Who knows?” Levi shrugged, and then continued.

“Sir Richard Grenville was the first person to attempt to create a permanent settlement on the island. In 1585, at the behest of Sir Walter Raleigh, Grenville transported a group of English colonists to Roanoke Island. He left them under the guidance of a man named Ralph Lane, and then he sailed back to England for more supplies. At first, things went well, but Grenville’s return was ultimately delayed, and the settlers reportedly found themselves running out of supplies. Soon, they were in pretty dire straits. They eventually had to abandon the colony altogether and return back to England with Sir Francis Drake, who had anchored at Roanoke after attacking the Spanish colony of Saint Augustine.”

“So the settlement failed,” Marsha said.

“Indeed. But a second attempt to colonize the island was made in 1587, and many of the original settlers returned with that second group of their countrymen, determined to make a go of it. Men. Women. Children. Families. Sadly, they fared no better. They brought livestock with them, but many of the animals died in transit. They brought seeds and tools but had trouble raising enough crops to sustain themselves. The seeds withered. The tools broke. Once again, they began to run low on supplies, so a man named John White sailed for England to retrieve more. He left behind his daughter Eleanor and her daughter, Virginia, who was the first English child to be born in the New World. She was named after the queen, I would imagine. It couldn’t have been easy for White to leave his friends and family behind, let alone his granddaughter, but apparently, he only expected to be gone three months. He told his fellow colonists that if the situation grew dire, and they had to abandon the settlement for any reason while he was gone, that they should carve the name of their new destination, and mark it with a Maltese cross under the carving so that he’d be sure to notice it. That way, he’d know where to find them upon his return. And with that final instruction, he left.”

Donny tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck and shoulders. “No offense, Levi, but I don’t see how this helps us.”

“You will in a moment. Patience. White made it back to England safe and sound, but when he got there, he found his country embroiled in a war with Spain. Despite his protestations, White’s ship was confiscated by the authorities for use in the war effort. White was full of despair, and he argued for the ship’s return, but to no avail. The settlers were on their own. He didn’t make it back to the colony until 1590—three years after his departure.”

“Three years instead of three months,” Esther said. “Those poor people. They must have thanked God when he finally arrived.”

Levi shook his head. “On the contrary, as Myrtle said earlier, the settlement was empty. There was no one left to thank God. When White stepped off the boat, he found that all of the colonists had simply vanished. Their valuables and money and clothing still remained. Indeed, in many homes, rotting food sat on cobweb-covered plates, as if the inhabitants had left halfway through their meal. But there was not a single living soul to be found. None of the inhabitants remained behind. There were no bodies and no signs of foul play. It was as if they’d disappeared into thin air.”

Esther made a noise in her throat.

“Desperate to find them,” Levi continued, “White and his men searched the colony for clues to their whereabouts. Remember what White had told them before leaving—that if they had to abandon the settlement, they were to carve the name of their new destination somewhere and mark it with a Maltese cross? Well, White didn’t find any signs of a Maltese cross, but he
did
find two carvings. The first was the letters C-R-O, which had been etched into a tree. The second word was carved in a fencepost. That word was
Croatoan
—the same word Randy saw carved into a tree tonight.”

“Cro,” Marsha said. “Crow?”

“Perhaps,” Levi said, “or maybe we’re seeing connections where there are none. But it is curious, don’t you think?”

“But what’s Croatoan?” Randy asked, sitting up. “What does it mean?”

“It is a name for many different things. White knew it as the name of an island to the south of Roanoke. Today, that island is called Hatteras, but back then, it’s name was Croatoan, and it was inhabited by a friendly tribe of Native Americans. Based on this, White logically assumed that his people had decided to take shelter with the natives until his return, though his assumption didn’t account for the half-eaten meals and other signs that the colonists had left in a hurry. Convinced they were at Croatoan, White intended to go after them, but he was delayed yet again. Several hurricanes prevented him from reaching the island, and he had to return to England instead. He never made it back to the New World, and the settlement remained abandoned. It’s said that he went mad with grief and guilt.”

“So the lost colonists settled Croatoan . . . Hatteras?” Myrtle asked.

“No. White, and all of the historians, archeologists and scientists who have come along since then and assumed the same thing, were wrong. The truth is not widely known, other than to certain individuals like myself, but it’s a truth nonetheless.”

Esther frowned. “Individuals like yourself?”

“Magicians. Powwow doctors. Priests. Warlocks. Witches. Call us what you will. They are different names for the same thing. Our disciplines and methods may differ, but in the end, we’re all on the same path.”

“So, you’re not Amish?” Esther’s expression was one of disappointment.

“No, I’m not Amish. I was at one time, but not anymore.”

“I see.” Her frown deepened. “Myrtle and I discussed it, when you were upstairs in your room. I just assumed, judging by how you dress and the buggy outside, that you were either Amish or Mennonite. I would certainly never have pegged you for a . . .”

“A what? A pagan?”

“That’s a nice way of saying it.” Esther looked away. “Sounds like Devil worship to me.”

“I’m not a Satanist, Esther. I was once a part of the Amish faith, but I was forced to leave the community many years ago. What you need to understand is that the decision wasn’t mine. I still hold on to my moral upbringing. I’m not Amish or Mennonite, or Protestant or Catholic. But really, those are just labels. If you need me to explain my beliefs, I’m just trying to live my life right and do God’s work, the way that feels right to me.”

“By using witchcraft.”

“I told you before,” Myrtle said, “it’s not witchcraft. He’s using powwow.”

“Not just powwow,” Levi corrected her. “Powwow is ineffective against the things outside. The wards I placed over the door, for example, are powwow based but infused with other disciplines, as well.”

“What kind?” Myrtle’s eyes shone, and Levi cringed at the eagerness in her voice.

“I’d rather not say.”

“Powwow,” Esther said. “Witchcraft. Seems like the same thing to me.”