Read Online The Book of the Crowman by Joseph D'Lacey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joseph D'Lacey
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like a crow. I can do a better one if you want.”
Gordon shook his head.
“There’s no need. You’ve done a wonderful job. These are the best sketches I’ve ever seen.” He looked up from the drawings. “You say he’s been here, Flora?”
Flora nodded big exaggerated nods.
“He comes to see me a lot .”
The edges of the pictures amplified the tremor in Gordon’s hands. So many times he’d been close and so many times the trail had gone ice cold. He tried to control his shaking fingers. He’d never been this close,
“Does he ever… speak to you, Flora? Does he tell you what he wants?”
Again came the nods but Flora had become a little girl again and now she looked to her mother for permission to speak. Once more, Gordon missed whatever gesture it was that allowed the girl to continue. Denise let her forehead rest in her left palm and whispered:
“Oh, Christ.”
Flora began to speak, softly at first and without much conviction, but as she progressed, her words gathered strength and pace.
The wind makes Megan’s eyes sting and blur. She tries to blink away the tears but even in the brief moments of clear vision it is impossible to tell where they might be or where they are going; even though they’re racing east towards the dawn, the night is still too dark. Carissa’s grip hurts but Megan is glad the woman is so strong. The horror of falling is her whole world now as they speed through the darkness, unable even to see each other faces.
“Where are we going?” Megan screams over the noise of the rushing air but Carissa is either too focussed on guiding them or too terrified to reply.
Without warning the wind from ahead becomes a wind from below. Megan’s stomach rises into her mouth and at first she is too shocked to make a sound. The scream is caught at the back of her throat as they hurtle downward. Now the night gives way to morning as though time itself has developed the speed of a falling rock. Dawn breaks, the sun climbs high and Megan sees the ground rise to meet them. She imagines the impact busting open their bodies and smashing their bones to fragments.
All she can do is close her eyes.
Like a child being lowered by a loving parent, Megan’s feet are set gently upon the earth. She opens her eyes. She and Carissa, hands still locked together, stand at the opening to a sandstone cave. Its entrance is perfectly round and black, like a mouth pronouncing “O”. Megan glances around. Roughly hewn steps lead down and away from the cave into a small valley. An earthquake must have struck the place; fallen rock and clods of mud are everywhere and the trunks of the few trees that still grow there are half submerged in earthy debris.
A noise from inside the cave startles Megan. It sounds like an animal in pain. She and Carissa step back from the entrance. The moan comes again, low and agonised. A ruined human hand appears at the cave’s entrance, its fingers impossibly deformed, bulbous scars where some of the nails have been torn off, the skin dotted with some kind of pox. Megan and Carissa, still holding hands, retreat further, stumbling backwards down a few of the crudely made steps.
“Plague,” whispers Carissa.
Megan is shocked to see how terrified the woman is. She places a gentle palm to Carissa’s cheek and brings her head to face hers.
“Don’t be afraid, Carissa. We’re travellers in the weave. Though we can see it and touch it, this is not our world. Nothing can harm us.”
The words have barely left her lips and the two of them are flying again. Carissa remains so terrified as to be almost mute, her body rigid with tension. And yet Megan with so much experience of the weave is not the one to lead them. It is Carissa’s ability as a seer that has become their beacon.
Night and day pass a hundred times as the wind whips their hair and clothes. The land turns below them, apparently at random, shifting like leaves on water. As another night falls, they descend into
Gordon shook his head.
“There’s no need. You’ve done a wonderful job. These are the best sketches I’ve ever seen.” He looked up from the drawings. “You say he’s been here, Flora?”
Flora nodded big exaggerated nods.
“He comes to see me a lot .”
The edges of the pictures amplified the tremor in Gordon’s hands. So many times he’d been close and so many times the trail had gone ice cold. He tried to control his shaking fingers. He’d never been this close,
“Does he ever… speak to you, Flora? Does he tell you what he wants?”
Again came the nods but Flora had become a little girl again and now she looked to her mother for permission to speak. Once more, Gordon missed whatever gesture it was that allowed the girl to continue. Denise let her forehead rest in her left palm and whispered:
“Oh, Christ.”
Flora began to speak, softly at first and without much conviction, but as she progressed, her words gathered strength and pace.
The wind makes Megan’s eyes sting and blur. She tries to blink away the tears but even in the brief moments of clear vision it is impossible to tell where they might be or where they are going; even though they’re racing east towards the dawn, the night is still too dark. Carissa’s grip hurts but Megan is glad the woman is so strong. The horror of falling is her whole world now as they speed through the darkness, unable even to see each other faces.
“Where are we going?” Megan screams over the noise of the rushing air but Carissa is either too focussed on guiding them or too terrified to reply.
Without warning the wind from ahead becomes a wind from below. Megan’s stomach rises into her mouth and at first she is too shocked to make a sound. The scream is caught at the back of her throat as they hurtle downward. Now the night gives way to morning as though time itself has developed the speed of a falling rock. Dawn breaks, the sun climbs high and Megan sees the ground rise to meet them. She imagines the impact busting open their bodies and smashing their bones to fragments.
All she can do is close her eyes.
Like a child being lowered by a loving parent, Megan’s feet are set gently upon the earth. She opens her eyes. She and Carissa, hands still locked together, stand at the opening to a sandstone cave. Its entrance is perfectly round and black, like a mouth pronouncing “O”. Megan glances around. Roughly hewn steps lead down and away from the cave into a small valley. An earthquake must have struck the place; fallen rock and clods of mud are everywhere and the trunks of the few trees that still grow there are half submerged in earthy debris.
A noise from inside the cave startles Megan. It sounds like an animal in pain. She and Carissa step back from the entrance. The moan comes again, low and agonised. A ruined human hand appears at the cave’s entrance, its fingers impossibly deformed, bulbous scars where some of the nails have been torn off, the skin dotted with some kind of pox. Megan and Carissa, still holding hands, retreat further, stumbling backwards down a few of the crudely made steps.
“Plague,” whispers Carissa.
Megan is shocked to see how terrified the woman is. She places a gentle palm to Carissa’s cheek and brings her head to face hers.
“Don’t be afraid, Carissa. We’re travellers in the weave. Though we can see it and touch it, this is not our world. Nothing can harm us.”
The words have barely left her lips and the two of them are flying again. Carissa remains so terrified as to be almost mute, her body rigid with tension. And yet Megan with so much experience of the weave is not the one to lead them. It is Carissa’s ability as a seer that has become their beacon.
Night and day pass a hundred times as the wind whips their hair and clothes. The land turns below them, apparently at random, shifting like leaves on water. As another night falls, they descend into
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