Mistle Child (Undertaken Trilogy) (26 page)

But the Doom brought other concerns.

How often must it be held? How frequently would he need to come back? Could he convene the Door Doom anyplace else? How much of the ritual’s force lay in him, or in the Limbus Stone, or in Arvale itself? There was still a lot he needed to know, yet the longer he remained at Arvale, the more it felt like, in the end, all his questions were becoming choices.

At Arvale, he was seeing and learning things about the spectral that he had not experienced at home, and his world was expanding very quickly. Each day brought some new vista of potential privileges. He was beginning to hope that some of his new authority might enable him to help Bea. So he would stay a little longer. He would conduct the Doom as he’d agreed and learn whatever else he could, but then he was going home.

The trumpet call became more shrill, more desperate. Silas pulled his great-grandfather’s coat over his dad’s jacket. When he opened the door leading into the corridor outside his room, Jonas was waiting for him.

In the great hall, the family had gathered, arrayed before the walls like figures in a faded tapestry. Candles were lit atop the long table and a fire blazed in the massive fireplace.

Three hooded figures, cowls drawn up, took their places by the closed doors. Jonas seemed to become more distinct as he entered the hall with Silas. One of the robed men raised his hand and another mighty horn sounded outside. The door shook on its titan hinges.

Cast in shadow, present but indistinct, members of the family whispered amongst themselves.

“Is this a public event?” Silas asked, uncomfortable with the idea of being watched and possibly evaluated.

“Not generally, no,” Jonas replied. “But this is an important moment. The Door Doom proper has not been held for some time. It is well to share such a night with family.”

“I think it has something more to do with spectacle being the delight of the idle,” said Maud. “Though I won’t deny today’s proceedings are of particular interest to
some
.”

“Why?” asked Silas. He could see Maud was not pleased with whatever was about to happen. There was something they weren’t telling him. But in her words he also sensed a shift in power between her and Jonas, as though now that the business at hand was the Door Doom and not merely welcoming Silas to the house, Jonas had reassumed an accustomed authority. He wanted to be needed and was eager for Silas to rely on him.

“Let us waste no more time. Shall we begin?” Jonas said, ignoring Maud completely.

There was a desperate edge to Jonas’s voice. Silas was sure it wasn’t fear. Jonas was smiling. Was he excited? Yes. He was eager for the Doom to begin. Even if Jonas derived a kind of pleasure from meeting family obligations, his excitement seemed to Silas to violate the solemn nature of the rite. The dead were to be called and judged. Where was the joy in that?

“Are you in a hurry, Jonas? Do you have someplace else to be?” Silas asked lightly.

“Silas Umber,” Jonas laughed impatiently, “where else would I go? I am here because you are here. Without the Janus, what need would we have to assemble? I assure you, I am merely pleased that we can, together, put an old wrong to right. The indolence of our house has long preyed upon my mind. Indeed, but for that, I might have long ago gone to my rest. Ours is such important work, and I’ll be honest, I was against your coming here. I thought it unwise to bring you to Arvale so soon. But now I see you are ready to embrace your obligations, and that you have a gift, yes, a true aptitude for this work. So I am pleased to continue, and to help you as I may, so long as I am needed.”

Jonas was sincere, Silas could feel that. But there was anxiousness beneath his words that still seemed out of proportion. Whatever was going to happen, Jonas desperately wanted it to occur. Silas looked hard at the ghost of his ancestor. Jonas seemed larger than yesterday, his form weighing more heavily on the air, his presence strong and intimidating. A brightness shone from his brow, and when he spoke, words filled the large hall from floor to rafter.

The quality of the atmosphere in the hall was changing. It was growing swiftly colder and sharper. The edges of objects in the room became hard, more distinct, and the dim light congealed, clinging to everything like tiny, bright droplets of water.

Outside the door, a great whirring could be heard. It was followed by a long, soft crunching, like something was being dragged across the ground toward the house.

“Jonas, what is coming?” Silas asked in a near whisper, moving closer to him.

“Prepare yourself. I have no desire to worry you, but some things that appear before the Doom are more . . . unnatural than others. More monstrous. But you shall overcome all who stand against the order of things. In times past, when one such as what you will see tonight appeared, it was quickly put down by the Undertaker, or the Janus, if it came to that. But this house, indeed Lichport, has long been without one capable of rising to the task, and so this evil has spread and endured for many, many years. These are no ordinary spirits, no mere ghosts, but an appalling horde, a plague. It must be this way. When the dead walk and their feet make impression upon the earth, the Door Doom must be convened to banish them. It has always been so. In the past, such folk as you shall face tonight have brought pestilence in their wake. They are often cognizant of their estate, and so may speak to you, even in pleasing words. You must ignore them.”

“But they have to be allowed to speak, or I can’t—”

“Silas, forgive me. I know this will be hard for you particularly. Human fear and primitive reverence might make this hard for anyone, but the Janus must serve both the living and dead by putting down these unnaturals, these monstrosities. Now, Silas, do you promise to do what’s required? I will stand by you.”

Silas’s hands were shaking. But he tried to remind himself that this was no different from any other aspect of the Undertaking. In Lichport, he rarely knew in advance what form a troubled ghost might take, and so he had to be willing to face whatever came.
This is my job,
he told himself.
This is how it goes, how it always goes. This I have done before.
But it felt different. Something was coming and he knew he wasn’t going to like it.

“All right. I promise,” he said, straightening his back, trying to raise his courage. The sooner this was done, the sooner he could go home.

“Excellent,” said Jonas. “The names have already been called and the great horn has sounded the summons. Let us take our places. They are almost here.”

By the door, Silas saw the small table, with the ewer of water from the Lethe spring. The black stone scepter lay next to it. Beside the table, closer to the door, were several cords of dry wood. There were buckets of what smelled like pitch, and a few feet away, an iron brazier stood upon a tripod, its flames weaving together, sending black smoke twirling toward the ceiling.

Seeing Silas looking at the wood, Jonas said simply, “A necessary precaution.”

More nervous now than before, Silas took his place in front of the door. His hands were shaking and something Jonas had said set a bell ringing in Silas’s mind. He clenched his fists to still his hands.

Silas looked behind him, as though he might reach back and pick up the black scepter, for fortitude. But Jonas said, trying to steady him, “The only power you need to govern the Door Doom already rests within your hands. You need no other.”

The three robed spirits arrayed themselves along with Maud and Jonas in a semicircle before the doors of the great hall. Jonas looked at Silas and was about to speak, but Silas, determined not to be led along, spoke first with a loud voice that wavered only a little. “Now let the dead be called to the hall of judgment. I, Janus, Lord of the Threshold, open the door! Let the Doom commence.”

The words tasted like ashes in his mouth, but Silas was determined not to be humiliated in front of his family by doing or saying something wrong. As on the previous night, he raised his hands and moved his arms apart, and slowly, in like manner, the doors opened.

At first the opening framed only darkness. But then Silas saw movement beyond the threshold, shadows lurched just outside the wedge of light cast outward from the torches and candles of the great hall. Shambling forms approached the door, some with dragging feet. Silas could hear heels being scraped across the ground as though they were being pulled roughly by invisible ropes. One figure stood ahead of the others and raised an arm. Was it in fear, an attempt to stop what was happening? Or was it a salute?

A voice leapt up, strong, deep, and sure of itself, from the figure at the front of the crowd.

“Hello, the house!”

Silas knew the voice. He instantly recognized its proud timbre, but he could also hear how the bravado was tinged with fear. Slowly, the awkward human shapes approached, and as they stepped upon the Limbus Stone, they froze, and the light from the hall fell upon them all.

Augustus Howesman stood upon the Limbus Stone with the other Restless from Lichport. Despite his predicament, he carried himself nobly. Next to him, expressionless, was the old woman from Fort Street, the lady from the garden, her hat still alive with weeds growing from the band and brim. Flanking them were others, perhaps ten or twelve in all. Men and women. Some bore an absent expression, their jaws hanging slack. Most seemed aware that something was happening to them. All of their eyes pierced the doorway questioningly. Only the entropy cast upon them by their long years of existence slowed their facial reactions. But all their mouths had begun to move as they whispered desperately among themselves.

Silas stared in disbelief. He told himself it was a play of the light, or his nerves, that had called up the image of his great-grandfather out of desire to be with someone he could trust absolutely. But it was no illusion. The corpse of Augustus Howesman stood before him, and Silas could feel his presence, the bond of love between them. He was struck dumb. Of all the dead to call to the Doom.
Them?
They hadn’t hurt anyone. They haunted no one. They lived in their own houses. The irony of someone like Jonas Umber, a ghost in his own house, judging these people, made Silas feel sick.

Silas tried to speak, but no words came. His face was flushed. Shock and anger tightened his jaw.

Jonas glanced at Silas’s face. He leaned over quickly and said, his mouth close to Silas’s ear, “I know, family is difficult. We shall walk through this together. I can say the words for you. So long as you’re present and approve, that will suffice to make the Doom binding on the deceased. The Restless are much easier. They rarely fight. Especially if someone they know is consigning them to oblivion. All you need to do is be sure they are on the Limbus Stone, then say the words, and I will—”

“You tricked me!” shouted Silas.

“No, Silas, I am trying to help you.”

“You are trying to turn me against my family! My father has offended you in some way, and now you are punishing me for it because you can’t get at him anymore.”

“Silas,” Maud interjected, trying to calm him, “
we
are your family.”

“Family is more than blood and bloodline,” Silas railed at her, “more than a name!” He could see now why she had been against this happening. She knew he’d be furious. This was not Maud’s doing or a part of her plans. He turned back to Jonas and shouted, “How could you expect I would go along with this? What were you thinking?”

“There is no need to lose your composure. Do not take the work personally. We did not cause the condition that afflicts the corpse that stands before you. We merely seek to cure it of this curse.”

“He is not an
it
!”

Jonas looked wounded. “I see you and your father indeed share more than a name. Silas, listen to me. What you see before you is corruption. It is an abomination of nature. We need not become hysterical. It is merely our job to restore order, and we can absolutely do that. I have done it many, many times. Do what must be done. I promise you, it will get easier and easier. In time, you will come to take satisfaction from your work. I swear.”

“Enough!” Silas snapped. “That was your life! This is mine! I refuse to bring the Doom down upon these people. Can’t you see how incredibly stupid it is for you to claim any moral high ground here? You are a ghost! You are dead like them!”

“I most certainly am not dead like them. You speak as if you think I am some unnatural thing.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Let me assure you, I am nonesuch!” said Jonas, the flames in the brazier rising higher behind him. “Even before incarnation in the act of birth, spirit is present. When death comes, spirit remains though the body decays, dissolves. Those you see in this house, the ghosts of your family, we are not like the putrid corpses you see before you, neither are we like those poor shades who grow quiet too soon, who give up so easily in death and consign themselves to an eternity of silence. We are the enduring essence of life itself. Pure souls who—”

Silas waved his hands in the air as if to dispel Jonas’s words.

“No more philosophy. You have asked me to do something. You have the right to ask. I refuse. That is my right. Now I am going home, as is also my right. If you continue to argue with me, to coerce me, or try to stop me in any way, when I leave this house, I will shut these doors so that they shall never open again,” Silas proclaimed coldly, though he was unsure whether or not he could actually seal the doors of Arvale.