The Digger's Rest (39 page)

Just then Simon was coming down the hall. He
wanted to see Deck, too, to find out if he knew where Dr. Bramson
had gone. No one had seen Mitch since morning.

“
He’s sick,” Jed told Simon and went
downstairs to tell Ivy and prepare to work a double
shift.

Simon waited until Jed had gone before
he knocked on Deck’s door himself. “Deck, it’s Simon. Are you
alright? I’m looking for Dr. Bramson. Have you seen him?” When he
got no response his newly found sensitivity told him something was
wrong in there. He knocked again. “Deck, it’s Simon. Please let me
in.” When he didn’t get an answer the second time, he stepped back,
pointed his finger at the lock and, in his soundless voice
said,
Open,
breathing a sigh
of relief when he heard the click of the lock and saw the knob
turn.

Deck was lying in bed, his back to the door,
shivering and shaking feverishly, soaked with sweat, and there was
this sickly, rotting smell. Simon had to use all his concentration
to keep from vomiting.

He went over to the bed and spoke softly,
lightly putting his hand on his big friend’s shoulder, “Deck, it’s
Simon.” Deck rolled over and opened his eyes. Simon backed away,
putting his hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming out
loud because when Deck opened his eyes, he had the slit-pupiled
yellow eyes of a serpent. But they weren’t threatening or violent.
They were sad, helpless and…pleading, a single tear running down
the side of his face. Deck opened his mouth to speak. “Please, help
me,” he said, a long, thin, black split tongue coming out of his
mouth as he formed the words.

Simon almost fainted and stepped back
further, grabbing hold of the chair to keep his knees from buckling
and giving out from underneath him. Instinctively, he grasped for
the amulet around his neck as he looked stunned into his big,
gentle friend’s eyes again, sad, lost, pleading eyes, once such a
beautiful blue gray. He went back close to him and knelt down
beside him, waving his hand in front of his face.
“Sleep, Deck,”
Simon said sadly, and
Deck closed his eyes.

Simon turned back to the door and
pointed to the knob from across the room.
“Lock,”
he said, and waited for the click a
second later. He took out the amulet and held it in his
palm,
“Help!”
he said in his
soundless voice. A few seconds later he heard the old man’s
soundless voice say to him,
“Show
me.”

Simon went over to the bed and pulled back
the covers, the smell that rose from the bed made him turn away and
rush to the toilet to vomit. When he came back to look, he saw Deck
was naked, but only half human. His legs had begun fusing
themselves together from the crotch down. His skin was patched all
over with slimy layers of greenish brown scales over large black
patches of flesh. His hands and feet had lost their bones and the
same fusing that had happened between his legs was happening under
his arms.

Simon held the amulet tightly,
“Do you see?”
he said with his
soundless voice.

“
Yes, I see,” the old man replied, but
not with his soundless voice this time, because when Simon turned
his head, the old man was standing behind him. “He is cursed as was
his brother.”

The old man walked over to the sick boy,
dropping a burlap sack by the side of the bed. Simon followed him.
“Stand back,” the old man said. Simon obeyed.

The old man reached into the bag and pulled
out a handful of dried holly leaves and sprinkled them over the
sick boy’s body, then more. He reached back into the bag and pulled
out something that looked to Simon like wood bark and put it in
Deck’s mouth.

In the bag again, he pulled out long strands
of dried greenery with purple flowers at the ends, quickly and
expertly braiding them with his gnarled fingers into a crown and
put it on Deck’s head. Then the old man reached into his pocket and
took out two jagged pieces of pinkish crystal and put them on
Deck’s eyes. “Stand thee there,” the old man ordered and pointed
Simon to the other side of the bed.

Once Simon was in place, the old man
reached into the bag again, drawing out a smaller cloth sack. He
pointed his two fingers at the head of the bed. It slid out from
the wall. He walked around it, bent over, pouring a thin line of
white crystals around the bed, completely encircled with himself
and Simon within its boundary. The old man took out a small,
sharp-looking knife from his pocket and made a small incision in
his wrist. He looked at Simon.
“After I
speak, thou speaketh at my command.”
Simon nodded. The
old man began dripping the blood from his wrist onto the sick boy,
starting at his head.
“Thou were born a son
of Adam with the soul of a man,”
the old man said and
looked to Simon.

“
And thou wilt be a man again,” Simon
followed, prompted by the old man’s thoughts.

“
Thou were born a son of
Adam with the heart of a man,”
the old man said,
looking to Simon again.

“
And thou wilt be a man again,” Simon
said, tears flowing freely now from his eyes as he moved closer to
the bed, letting them drop on his friend, hearing Deck’s words in
his mind, ‘That’s what friends are for.’

“
The evil that hast touched
thee cannot own thee for thou were born of Adam at God’s
command,”
the old man said, then looked at Simon and
said with his soundless voice,
“Speak ye
the words with the conviction of thy spirit.”

In his mind, Simon could see again the
look in Deck’s eyes that day in the forest, comforting
and…protective…of him and a new emotion gained momentum within him,
anger, fury, hatred for the thing that had hurt his friend. That
was when he felt it for the first time, the old man’s gift, like a
small pin prick between his shoulder blades. It began to spread,
across his shoulders, down his spine and upwards through the back
of his head, running down his arms; a current flowing through him
as his anger grew.
“Hurt me if you can,
monster. I’m used to pain. But you will not hurt my friend!”
bolted through his brain, and he shouted towards the bed; a
new found depth and force in his voice that made his body tremble.
The room shook with it.
“I cast thee out,
unclean thing, born of filth to be less than we. Thou shalt not
soil this man born of Adam further. I command thee out!”

The bed started to shake; a pink foam
forming on Decks body. Simon jumped back.
“Fear thee not, Holly,”
the old man said in his
soundless voice, nodding his head approvingly.
“Tis thee who rules here this night. Again.”

“
I cast thee out, unclean
thing, born of filth to be less then we. Thou shalt not soil this
man born of Adam further. I command thee out!”
Simon
shouted, using his finger to point away from Deck’s body toward the
windows.

The pink foam over Deck’s body grew
until he was completely covered, cocooning him.
“Now show it your power,”
the old man commanded
soundlessly. Simon didn’t understand, looking to the old man
questioningly. The old man motioned with his hands, raising them to
the ceiling, then brought them down with a silent clap.

Taking his cue, Simon raised his hands to the
ceiling, the current running through him seeming to want to burst
from his fingertips. The shaking bed rose off of the floor;
suspended in the air. He brought his hands down in a loud cracking
clap. The lights flickered wildly, and the shaking bed dropped to
the floor. The windows flew open and the bed stopped shaking.
Stunned by his own power, his head swirling with the remainder of
the current as it receded back into itself, within him, Simon felt
like he was going to faint, a tidal wave of new emotions raising
his body into full rattle tremors. But the old man’s voice brought
him back.

“
Come, now, boy. We have
cleansed his soul of the curse. Now we must cleanse his body, free
it of the foul thing that has touched it and leave him pure
again.”
And they washed Deck with a rough soap the old
man had in the bag, taking all that remained of the washing wrapped
in a towel to burn the next day.

Moving to leave, the old man went to
Simon and put his hand on the boy’s still trembling
shoulder.
“Thou hast done well. I am very
proud of thee, Holly,”
and took him by the
arm.

Simon hesitated then walked back over
to Deck, kneeling beside him again. He waved his hand in front of
Deck’s face.
“Awake.”
Deck’s
eyes opened and were their natural blue gray again. “You’ll be
alright now. I took care of it,” Simon whispered lovingly to him, a
new confidence in his voice, and wiped the wetness from his face.
Before Deck could speak, Simon waved his hand in front of his face
again.
“Sleep, Deck,”
he
whispered and Deck closed his eyes again, a peaceful look coming
over his face. Simon looked to the old man, then turned back to
Deck and waved his hand.
“And
forget.”

“
I have known of thy life’s
suffering, child, and thy love for others that has come of it. Do
not think it makes thee weak, for it makes thee stronger than iron.
Feel full of what thou hast done here and…why thou hast done
it,”
the old man said and put his arm around Simon’s
shoulders as they walked toward the open window.
“Come now, we must finish what we have started
while there is still time.”
The old man waved his hand
in front of the window and they were gone.

Chapter XVIII

BODY POLITIC

Her weapons were her crystal eyes Making
every man mad Black as the dark night she was Got what no-one else
had

Wow!

Venus

……
..As performed by Shocking
Blue

The day had passed into evening and the
shadows that fell from it cloaked the old man and the young one as
they stole into the churchyard and walked up to the door. The old
man pointed his finger at the lock and Simon heard it click. “Won’t
anyone see us?” Simon asked, limping alongside the old man.

“
Not lest I allow it
,”
the old man said with a small smile as they
walked up the center aisle toward the altar.

“
But I don’t understand,” Simon said,
looking around nervously to see if anyone was nearby.

“
And that is why we are here,” the old
man said, stopping before the large stone alter below an enormous
medieval wood crucifix, the face of Jesus carved into an expression
of abject torment.

The old man took Simon’s hand. “Come,” he
said, and they walked around behind the figured altar. The old man
kneeled behind, lifting the heavy red velvet alter skirt. Beneath
it Simon could see an intricate wooden disc, inlaid with a
primitive painted or enameled design. The old man stuck one finger
into the hole in the center, lifting it effortlessly and setting it
to one side. He reached into the dark hole, lifting out what looked
like a long wooden box the size of a rifle case, bound with black
wrought iron, and handed it to Simon, then replaced the colorful
disc and stood up. Simon stood with him. “We must go now,” the old
man said taking Simon by the hand again as they walked back around
to the front of the altar and out the front door.

When they got to his cottage, the old man lit
a bright fire that seemed to give off a greenish glow and made tea
for the two of them, then cleared the table. Simon knew what he was
to do and removed his clothes, lying chest down on the table. He no
longer needed the wood piece in his mouth. He just waited to hear
the sound of metal striking metal. “’Twill be the finish of it,”
the old man said just before Simon heard the sound.

***

It was full dark outside before Simon
rose from the table and put his clothes back on. The old man took
the box and placed it the center of the table as they sat down.
“
’Tis time,”
the old man said
in his soundless voice, nodding his head, his tiny black eyes never
veering from Simon’s big blue ones
. “Soon,
I will join my ancestors and return to the dust whence I
came.”

Simon understood all too well what that meant
but said nothing. He just let his head hang low.

“
Grieve not for me, boy, for I take
great comfort in that thou hast come to us, and hast become of us,”
the old man said with words and reached across the table to take
Simon’s hand. “I have feared many years that it would not happen,
but when thee arrived with thy sacred name, and I smelled the green
in the blood thee spilt at the place, I knew we were
saved.”

Simon looked back up at the old man
astonished.

“
Tis not a dream,” the old man said as
if he could read Simon’s mind, letting go of Simon’s hand and
reaching out further to place his palm over his heart. “I have seen
thy suffering,” the old man said again, a single tear running down
along his crooked nose.

“
I have seen thee broken and abandoned
among strangers, laid bare like carrion, open to the birds of prey
this world hast wrought. I have seen thy loneliness and thy
despair. Since thou hast come I have seen how he came to thee in a
place of worship and how thee hid thyself from his sight, and
feared to show him thy deformity lest he turn from thee in
displeasure.