The Child Eater (26 page)

Finally, on a bright day in early spring, after weeks when he couldn't sleep, or read, or think, he left his room and strode into the courtyard to shout up at the tower, “Veil! Show yourself!” He did not notice the tremor in the buildings, or the way two apprentices carrying a pile of books dropped everything and ran into the stables.

And there she was, thin and straight in the window, impassive as always.

Neither of them spoke a word, or even moved. Matyas stared up at her for a long time, days it seemed, and maybe it was, or maybe it was hours, or just minutes. He did not see that the Sun had grown dark blotches, or that the ground trembled, or that people were yelling at him. Finally, when he thought she was about to turn away, he spun around so she would not be the first. Only then did he notice the fissures in the ground and the people throwing up or leaning against walls which themselves looked shaky. With a gesture Matyas steadied the buildings; with another he sealed the cracks in the earth. As for the people vomiting, they could clean themselves. He strode to his room and slammed the door, then went and sat heavily on the edge of his bed. He stayed there for what felt like a very long time.

Three days later, the council came to see him. He had not left his room in all that time and so they had to come and knock on his door. Despite everything, he smiled as he noticed that they had left Lukhanan behind and brought Malchior in his place. He thought Veil might enjoy that—if she ever enjoyed anything.

Their demands were simple. Either Matyas stop his “duel” with Veil or leave. When Matyas asked, “What duel?” Malchior rolled his eyes.

Matyas said, “Why don't you ask Veil to leave?”

Angrily, Malchior said, “This is a serious matter, Matyas. We have no time for verbal games.”

Matyas considered. It struck him suddenly that he had in fact been thinking of leaving the Academy, thinking of it for a long time really, and only his obsession with Veil had kept that thought from becoming a plan. In truth, he was fairly certain he had exhausted all their resources. If he really wanted to fly, he would have to find some other kind of magic. Keeping him here was somehow just another of Veil's tricks.

He set out the next day, packing only a sleep roll, a few basic texts that he carried more for comfort than knowledge (he could recite any of them by heart), a knife, a sheaf of papers, a pair of quills and a block of ink. At the gate, he looked back at the tower one last time. She wasn't there.
Goodbye then
, he thought.
Goodbye
.

That night he made camp on a green and yellow hillside, by a soft stream. He found some sticks and set them on fire by writing a sacred name in dust on his finger and blowing it at the sticks. He closed his eyes and called a rabbit to come and give its life to aid his quest, but when he opened them a woman stood before him.

Tall and thin, she had white hair so long it graced her ankles as it moved back and forth like a gentle wave. Her black skin was smooth and bright, almost polished, and her eyes were blue flecked with gold. She wore a green dress covered in tiny mirrors that reflected the campfire light back and forth between them, as if it had caught the flames and would never let them go. Matyas knew stories about that dress, those mirrors, and he knew not to look too closely, for if any of the fragments caught your gaze it would bounce it back and forth, and even if you walked away and never saw the woman, the mirrors again, your image, your eyes, would remain trapped in that infinite maze.

Matyas knew the stories for he knew who this was, though he never expected to meet her. For wasn't she dead all these two thousand years? “Mistress,” he whispered and bowed his head. “Great Florian. My heart thanks you for the blessing of your appearance.” It was the Standard Formula of Acknowledgment should any seeker receive that greatest boon, a visit from the Lady of the Mirrors. It was also true.

Matyas knew that Florian the Wise had appeared this way when she returned from her visit to Forever, the Queen of the Dead. Florian had gone to the Land of Rock and Shadows to talk with Joachim, and although nobody knew what they'd said, Florian would sometimes ever after appear to seekers in need of help. She would not solve their problems, it was said, but give them just enough to send them further.

Should he ask or simply wait for her to offer assistance? After a few moments, when she said nothing, he spoke, hardly above a whisper. “Mistress,” he said, “I have followed you, devotedly, all my life.” And it was true, for his life had not begun until he discovered her. “Now I seek the great secret. How to fly. Please. I have seen this, I know it can be done. Teach me.”

She didn't answer right away, and for a moment she grew faint. He thought he could see the evening through her body, the trees and hills behind her, until he realized the land here was flat, the bushes sparse and low, like the scrubland around his parents' inn, so that what he was seeing was
someplace else
. And then the green dress returned, and she spoke, in a voice surprisingly high and clear. “I shall speak and you will listen. You who are my truest disciple.” His mouth opened, eager to answer, but he stopped himself. “You need to find a True Ladder. Only then can you climb to the place of beginning. And I will tell you something else. You are doing two things wrong. The first is that you are looking in the wrong place.”

He wanted to ask where the
right
place was, but again knew to keep silent.

Florian said, “And the second thing—”

But right then a spark flew up from the fire toward his face, and without wanting to he cried out. Just a small noise, but it was enough, for if Florian indeed had finished relating the
second
thing, Matyas had not heard her. Once again she began to fade, her skin just as dark but translucent, like rice paper. He could see her veins and arteries like tubes carrying liquid light. Now instead of a hilly landscape, he saw a garden in her dress, with two bright trees, and a boy and girl holding hands.

“Mistress!” he cried. “What is the second thing? What am I doing wrong?”

Suddenly, inside Florian's garden world, Matyas saw a man, far away but coming closer. His left hand loosely held a stone knife.
No
, Matyas thought,
not him!
Then everything inside Florian turned to light,
blinding Matyas and forcing him to cover his eyes. When he could see again she was gone.

The fire had burned out, not even a glow remained, as if hours had passed. Matyas paid no attention, only turned around and around. “Mistress!” he called out. “Come back. Please! What was the second thing? What am I doing wrong?”

No answer. He began to shake but forced himself to stop, to think. Even if he didn't know the second thing, he knew much more than when he sat down by the fire. He knew he needed to find something called a True Ladder. He could not remember seeing a mention of such a thing in any of his books, but now that he knew about it he could find it.

And he knew that he was looking in the wrong place. Well, that much he'd figured out on his own. Wasn't that why he'd left the Academy, left Veil? So now all he had to do was find the
right
place, where someone could lead him to the True Ladder. Suddenly he had a good idea of where that might be.

As he repacked his small belongings, it struck him that he could guess what the second mistake might be. The wrong place and the wrong person. Veil would never tell him, she'd never even hinted at a Ladder. But after all, despite all her great knowledge, she was just a wizard. What Matyas needed was a Prince. Smiling now, he set off, his back to the Academy, his face toward a dark grove of twisted trees.

On the first night before he was due to go with Dr. Reina, Simon met an old woman in the attic. He was lying in bed when he heard a sad voice call his name. For a while he tried to ignore it, even put his hands over his ears, but when that didn't help, he got up. “It's not fair,” he said out loud, but it felt like he had no choice.

He walked up polished steps to a wide attic room lit by thick candles mounted on gold sticks shaped like trees. There were shining tables and carved chairs whose arms were shaped like animal heads, bears and wolves. In the corner, an old woman sat all by herself on a plain wooden chair. She wore a white dress so bright it reflected the candles like a soft mirror. Despite her elegant clothes, she wore no shoes, and her feet were worn and bent. Her hands, resting on her knees, were slim and graceful. Currents from the candlelight lifted her thin hair which looked like white gold, and yet her lined face looked impossibly soft, like a child who'd grown instantly old.

She said, “You have to go, you know. You have to break the chain.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Simon said.

“You do, you do,” the woman told him. “There's so many. Thousands. Over and over.”

Simon began to cry. “I don't want to go. Please. Please don't make me.” He ran downstairs and threw himself in bed with the covers held high. He lay there a long time, then went to wake his father.

“What is it?” Jack said immediately.

Simon told his father what had happened, then said, “I don't want to go, Daddy. I don't like Doctor Reina. I'm scared.”

His father sighed, said, “Simon, it was just a dream.”

“No! It was real.”

Daddy looked away, and Simon didn't have to cheat to know his father was trying not to cry. A moment later, his father got out of bed. “Come on,” he said. “I want to show you something.” They went to the end of the hall where a small door opened to the unfinished crawl space that was too low for an attic and only served to store old computers and other things Simon's dad intended to sell or recycle. “You see?” Daddy said. “No fancy attic, no old woman. It was just a dream, Simon. That's all it was.” When Simon looked away, Daddy gently turned his face so Simon had to look at him. He said, “This is why you have to go to Doctor Reina's institute. So you can stop being scared of your dreams. Don't you see, Sweetie? You have to get better.” Simon pulled away and ran back to his room where he slammed the door.

On the second night before he had to leave, Simon found a factory of dead children. He was lying in bed, tired, but scared to fall asleep, when he heard that awful cry of agonized children. It was the sound from his dreams but he knew he was awake. “Go away,” he whispered. “Leave me alone.” The sound grew louder until Simon knew it would not stop until he went to look for it. He put on his bathrobe and slippers and went out through the back door.

There were no pieces of bodies to leave a trail, like in his dreams, but somehow he knew where to go. He walked for a long time, shivering in a chilly wind, until finally he came to a large brick building, very old, with chipped paint and broken windows. The sound of weeping children filled the sky.
Run
, Simon thought, but instead he found a metal door that creaked open when he pulled with both hands.

Inside he saw a giant room, very long and wide with a high ceiling and steel-beamed walls. Dust and a smell of grease filled the air. It was hard to see in the dim light from the doorway, but after some time he could make out two long rows of metal tables, and on each one—each
one—heads! They were filled with children's heads! Like products waiting to be picked up and delivered to customers!

Simon gagged. He thought he would throw up or faint. He had to feel his way back to the doorway, for the awful sight filled his mind as if the heads could float up in the air and blind him. Just as he found the way out, the heads all spoke, fifty or a hundred voices. “Go!” they cried. “Break the spell!”

Simon ran all the way home. This time he went straight to his father.

“Simon,” Daddy said, “it was a dream.”

“No!” Simon screamed. He showed his father the dirt on his slippers and bathrobe.

“Oh, Sweetie, you must have been sleepwalking.” He shook his head. “That's . . . that's a new one.”

“I wasn't sleepwalking. I
saw
it.” He got down on his knees and clasped his hands together, as if in prayer. “Please, please, please,” he said. “Don't make me go.”

Daddy began to cry. He pulled Simon's hands apart, gently lifted him off his knees. “I'm sorry. We have to do this. You've got to get help. I don't want to send you away, please believe me. You're my boy, I love you. But I don't have any choice. I don't know what else to do.”

“Then don't do anything!”

“I can't, I can't. I can't just watch you suffer so much and do nothing.”

On his last night at home, Simon Wisdom met a woman made of light. He had fallen asleep after an hour reading a book while his father sat on a chair alongside the bed. When Simon woke up, his father had gone and there was a soft light in the chair, as if the full moon had taken his father's place. Simon smiled at this funny idea, and was about to go back asleep when he heard a soft voice from downstairs, reciting a poem:

Simon tiptoed past his father's room and on downstairs to the living room. A woman sat in Grandma's angelback chair (it was really called
a wingback but Simon used to think Grandma looked like a queen of angels and the sides of the chair were the tips of her wings). The chair was pink with blue threads, and the woman wore a blue dress, soft and long, like an angel's robe. Tiny lights sparkled all around her and for a moment Simon thought she actually was made of different colored lights, like on July Fourth, when they would make a flag or even someone's face out of fireworks.

He felt calm as he sat down across from her. She was so pretty, and she looked at him so kindly. He wanted to go and hug her or even sit in her lap. But if she was really made of light, she might disappear if he tried to touch her. So he just sat politely and said, “Why did you call me that? Rhyming Simon.”

“Oh,” she said, “because you're such a perfect poem.”

Simon didn't know what to reply to that, so he just said, “I'm Simon Wisdom.”

The woman nodded. “I know. I'm Rebecca.”

Simon's throat made a noise. He said, “That was my mother's name.”

The woman nodded. “Yes.”

Now Simon did jump up, but the woman—his mother—raised her hand. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I wish, I wish I could hold you, but it's not allowed.” Then Simon knew it was true, that she wasn't really there, and he began to cry. “It's all right,” his mother said. “I'm so happy to see you.”

“My dad wants to send me away. Can you tell him not to do it? Please. He won't listen to me.”

“Oh, darling, I can't. I've tried, believe me, but your father doesn't know how to hear me. I tried to leave him a message a long time ago, but it got lost. Please don't be angry at him.”

“I . . . I met some other people. They said I
had
to go. To break something.” His mother didn't answer. “But I'm scared,” Simon said. “I don't like Doctor Reina.”

The lights in her face dimmed a moment, then grew bright again, only it was the kind of cheerfulness that grown-ups put on when they want to pretend everything is fine. “I'm going to tell you something important,” she said. “If you do what I say you'll be safe.” Simon nodded. “When you go with Doctor Reina, you need to do two things. First, pay attention.”

“Pay attention to what?”

“Everything. Things will not be as they appear. Look carefully, and listen, especially at night. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Good. I'm very proud of you. And now the second thing. Make sure you do not eat or drink anything. Anything at all, not even a drop of water.”

“What if I get hungry?”

“Don't give in. It will go away. If he watches you, wait until he's distracted, then get rid of some of the food so he will think you ate it.”

“What if he doesn't get distracted?”

She smiled, and it was such a happy sight. “The squirrels will take care of that.”

“Oh wow,” Simon said. “You know about the squirrels?”

“Oh yes. They're old friends of mine.”

“I had a dream about them once.”

She smiled again. “Did you?”

“Uh-huh. In my dream, they weren't really squirrels, they were really
kids
, a boy and a girl.”

She nodded. “Yes, they changed a very long time ago.”

He thought for a moment. “So it wasn't a dream?”

“No, Simon. It wasn't a dream.”

“Can they change back?”

“Maybe they will, darling Simon. Maybe you can help them.”

“Wow,” Simon said again.

It would be dawn soon. The morning light began to dim his mother's face. She told Simon to close his eyes, and when he did, he felt warm arms hold him against a soft, full body that smelled of flowers, as if she lived in a garden.
I thought she wasn't allowed
, Simon said to himself. Maybe he just had to keep his eyes closed. He didn't open them until several seconds after the arms let go. When he finally looked around he discovered, just as he'd expected, that he was alone. He thought he should feel bad, but somehow it was okay. He went back to bed where he fell into a peaceful sleep until his father came to wake him.

To Jack Wisdom's surprise, Simon woke up in a good mood. And hungry. He asked for pancakes and eggs and then a grilled cheese sandwich, and he drank three glasses of milk. Jack thought maybe his boy was okay, maybe he could keep him at home. As if the very thought threw some
kind of switch in him, he found himself furious and wondered if Simon was playing a trick on him. Was he forcing himself to eat and act cheerful so Jack wouldn't send him away? Was he reading his mind to know what to do? Maybe he was planting stuff in Jack's head, controlling his thoughts.

Jack made himself go into the living room and sit down.
Why am I feeling this way? What the fuck is wrong with me?
He felt completely out of control, as if someone had cast a spell on him or something.

With great effort he calmed himself. He didn't want the last time he saw his son to be filled with anger.

Dr. Reina arrived at 9:30, strong and positive in an off-white suit and a maroon tie. His greying hair was brushed back, his face shone with warmth, confidence, compassion. He smiled at Simon, who stared at the floor, and shook hands with Jack. “Everything packed?” he said. Jack nodded. To Simon, Dr. Reina said, “Well, young man, it looks like we are going on a trip. I hope you like sitting up high in a big car because that is what we are going to do.” He sounded so cheerful and positive, Jack was sure he had made the right choice. And yet there was a panic in him that he had to fight to suppress.

He held Simon for a long time before he finally let Dr. Reina lead him out to the white Mercedes. He could still change his mind, he thought, as the door closed, as the engine started, as the thick wheels began to carry his son away from him. Instead, he just waved goodbye, even though Simon sat very still in the front seat and didn't look back. “I love you!” he yelled after the car. “I love you, Simon!”

Just as the car turned the corner, Jack saw a strange sight. Two squirrels ran down the road, side by side, for all the world like dogs chasing a car. Jack thought he should be angry, go and chase them or something. Wasn't that the very last thing he wanted to see? But the part of him that was in full panic somehow calmed, just a little. He walked back to the house and sat down and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure why, but for the first time in many weeks, Jack Wisdom felt a stir of hope.