SPIRIT WALKER

Chapter 14: The Gate of the Gods (part 3 of 3)

Tull heard the distant sound of a child wailing in terror, like a tea kettle as it boils.

He knew that this wasn't Jenks standing before him, knew he should strike with his kutow or run. Waves of nausea and fear crashed against him, slapping him to the ground. And somewhere beside him, a child was wailing.

The Mastodon Man turned and peered at Tull, casually ripped Little Chaa in two at the waist, then bit deeply into his liver and chewed tentatively, as if to decide whether it liked the flavor.

Suddenly Tull saw two other Mastodon Men stalk across the clearing, stopping to sniff at the wagon. They began pulling out barrels, shattering kegs of wheat and beans with their fists.

Tull wrapped his arms around his legs and curled in protectively, too terrified to move.

Beside Tull, a child was whining.

The Mastodon Man that dined on Little Chaa studied Tull, then stepped forward tentatively, reached out with one giant finger as long and thick as Tull's jaw, and lightly thumped him on the chest, knocking him over. Tull felt as if he were falling through deep water that crushed his lungs, making it impossible to breathe, where the air carried the cold weight of many atmospheres.

He fell into a world of alternating bands of light and dark, light and dark.

Tull woke to the sound of a child wailing, a keening sound both distant and perilously close. Phylomon stood before him in the dark, swinging a medallion that flashed as if it were an ember from a fire.

"Come now, come," the blue man said softly, taking Tull by the shoulder. "Terror is for children."

Tull's chest began to heave, as if he were coughing heavily, and he realized that there was no child crying beside him, that the sound came from his own throat, and he began to shout. His limbs trembled uncontrollably.

Phylomon held him for a moment. "So, you have met the Mastodon Men before? The kwea of old fear is upon you."

"No! No," Tull gasped. "Father. My father!"

Phylomon studied. "Ayaah," he said. "How old were you when you fled home?"

Tull shook with the chills of old fear and considered. He could not remember, only wanted to vomit. Yet he pondered the question, focused on it. "Thirteen."

"So, and you are what, eighteen, twenty?" Phylomon calculated. "Then if you were human, I'd say you might recover in another ten years. I've found it to be a good rule of thumb—for every year we live in the care of our parents, it takes a year to recuperate."

Tull listened to Phylomon, and each word seemed complete, yet somehow separated from the others. Words could be strung together, but they didn't make coherent thoughts. Tull peered into the darkness behind Phylomon. Scandal sniffled, and at his feet was the spindly arm of Little Chaa, ragged flesh still clinging to the bone.

"Where's Wisteria?" Tull asked.

"In the hills, I imagine, still running in a blind panic," Phylomon said. "Ayuvah is tracking her by scent. We should get her back in a few hours."

Scandal picked up Little Chaa's arm and placed it in a bag. His face was pale, rigid with shock. "We'll need to build a pyre," he said, searching the ground, as if unsure how to build a simple fire. "Then go back home to tell Chaa that his son is dead."

Phylomon spoke. "Chaa spirit-walked this journey. He already knows."

The force of his words hit Tull like a blow to the gut. "Chaa knew this would happen?" He remembered how Chaa's face had been drawn in a horrible grimace of grief after his Spirit Walk. Tull realized why now. He'd known that his son would die.