present now. The cavern of light was what remained of the sun, the
encircling clouds staging a gloomy dusk. He recognized the spot of grass they
had bedded down on. Fristeen's eyes were opening.
He heard a voice. Nearby or at a distance,
he couldn't tell. A sigh sounded from across the Pool.
Fristeen was staring at him. She lifted her
head.
Another exhale, sharp and urgent. Then
muttering, labored, unintelligible.
Robbie crawled forward, parting the reeds.
Fristeen's face poked through beside his.
The far shore of the Pool was marbled with
shadow.
Another sharp breath. Then something moved
in the brush. Shapes, dark shapes. One had broad shoulders. It might have been
a man, standing. In the dim light, his body glinted like the Pool. His chest
was silhouetted above the brush. He had the tallest head Robbie had ever seen.
A second shape was crawling at his feet—an animal on all fours. It had long
hair, like a woman kneeling. The silhouettes were silent, and then the woman
rocked and the tall-headed man groaned. As they pulled apart, Robbie saw what
she was doing.
A muffled gasp sounded beside him. Fristeen
could see it too.
Robbie felt her hand on his arm. Fristeen
was trembling.
The man began to groan again.
Robbie's face was burning. His stomach felt
sick. "She's eating it," he said. Why didn't the man fight back?
"No. It's still there."
The Pool turned slowly, brimming with
blood. Robbie rubbed his eyes and took a breath. Fristeen was right.
"They're gigantic." Fristeen's
voice was full of portent.
Robbie didn't understand. And then he
realized: the tall-headed man was growing. And so was the woman. Their dark
silhouettes rose out of the black trees, into the cold slate of the sky.
With an insistent huff, the man stooped and
laid hold of the woman. He rose, growing hugely, his chest expanding, head
thrusting like a giant stovepipe. He seemed full of rage. He was lifting her
up. The woman spread her arms, but they weren't arms—they were thick and broad,
and they batted the air like wings. What did the man intend—to crush her in
midair? Hurl her to the ground? The spectral light fell on the gap between
them. Robbie felt Fristeen clutch him. She was shuddering, and he was too. They
both could see what the man was going to do.
A jagged moan rose from the impaled woman.
Not a human sound. It was a beast crying out, the agony of some wounded creature.
Robbie swung to face Fristeen. "He's
killing her. We have to do something."
She nodded with an urgent expression.
A second cry reached them, more desperate
than the first. Fristeen put her fingers in her ears. They shouldn't be
watching this.
Robbie followed suit, stopping his ears,
and they turned together, hurrying back through the grass. As they burst
through the shrubs, he saw wild thoughts racing in Fristeen's eyes.
There—the silver ribbon. They followed it through
the black trees as quickly as they could. When they reached the viburnums, they
paused and looked back.
The giant silhouettes had billowed, edges
furred and backlit like roiling clouds. And they continued to inflate,
bulbing and rising and changing their shapes. Creatures from another
world—spectral and behemoth—met in this hidden place to perform some rite.
Something strange and unsuspected, unmeant for human eyes. Why this Pool? Had
they found their way over land? Did they live in the black trees? No, they came
from the skies, and into the skies they were rising—black cumuli bent around
the cavernous sun. The giant man grew monstrous, head mushroomed on top, body
bristling with horns, while the woman was torn into ashen plumes, feathers set
loose and scattered by the wind. Her moan reached them again—crazed, but this
time strangely jubilant, as if some triumph had been won. The sound drifted as
they listened, trailing down from the heavens and settling in the black trees.
Fristeen turned and cocked her head with a
puzzled look.
Something terrible
has happened, Robbie thought.
encircling clouds staging a gloomy dusk. He recognized the spot of grass they
had bedded down on. Fristeen's eyes were opening.
He heard a voice. Nearby or at a distance,
he couldn't tell. A sigh sounded from across the Pool.
Fristeen was staring at him. She lifted her
head.
Another exhale, sharp and urgent. Then
muttering, labored, unintelligible.
Robbie crawled forward, parting the reeds.
Fristeen's face poked through beside his.
The far shore of the Pool was marbled with
shadow.
Another sharp breath. Then something moved
in the brush. Shapes, dark shapes. One had broad shoulders. It might have been
a man, standing. In the dim light, his body glinted like the Pool. His chest
was silhouetted above the brush. He had the tallest head Robbie had ever seen.
A second shape was crawling at his feet—an animal on all fours. It had long
hair, like a woman kneeling. The silhouettes were silent, and then the woman
rocked and the tall-headed man groaned. As they pulled apart, Robbie saw what
she was doing.
A muffled gasp sounded beside him. Fristeen
could see it too.
Robbie felt her hand on his arm. Fristeen
was trembling.
The man began to groan again.
Robbie's face was burning. His stomach felt
sick. "She's eating it," he said. Why didn't the man fight back?
"No. It's still there."
The Pool turned slowly, brimming with
blood. Robbie rubbed his eyes and took a breath. Fristeen was right.
"They're gigantic." Fristeen's
voice was full of portent.
Robbie didn't understand. And then he
realized: the tall-headed man was growing. And so was the woman. Their dark
silhouettes rose out of the black trees, into the cold slate of the sky.
With an insistent huff, the man stooped and
laid hold of the woman. He rose, growing hugely, his chest expanding, head
thrusting like a giant stovepipe. He seemed full of rage. He was lifting her
up. The woman spread her arms, but they weren't arms—they were thick and broad,
and they batted the air like wings. What did the man intend—to crush her in
midair? Hurl her to the ground? The spectral light fell on the gap between
them. Robbie felt Fristeen clutch him. She was shuddering, and he was too. They
both could see what the man was going to do.
A jagged moan rose from the impaled woman.
Not a human sound. It was a beast crying out, the agony of some wounded creature.
Robbie swung to face Fristeen. "He's
killing her. We have to do something."
She nodded with an urgent expression.
A second cry reached them, more desperate
than the first. Fristeen put her fingers in her ears. They shouldn't be
watching this.
Robbie followed suit, stopping his ears,
and they turned together, hurrying back through the grass. As they burst
through the shrubs, he saw wild thoughts racing in Fristeen's eyes.
There—the silver ribbon. They followed it through
the black trees as quickly as they could. When they reached the viburnums, they
paused and looked back.
The giant silhouettes had billowed, edges
furred and backlit like roiling clouds. And they continued to inflate,
bulbing and rising and changing their shapes. Creatures from another
world—spectral and behemoth—met in this hidden place to perform some rite.
Something strange and unsuspected, unmeant for human eyes. Why this Pool? Had
they found their way over land? Did they live in the black trees? No, they came
from the skies, and into the skies they were rising—black cumuli bent around
the cavernous sun. The giant man grew monstrous, head mushroomed on top, body
bristling with horns, while the woman was torn into ashen plumes, feathers set
loose and scattered by the wind. Her moan reached them again—crazed, but this
time strangely jubilant, as if some triumph had been won. The sound drifted as
they listened, trailing down from the heavens and settling in the black trees.
Fristeen turned and cocked her head with a
puzzled look.
Something terrible
has happened, Robbie thought.
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