Tom Pawlik - Beckon

He gave her all the details of his expedition. How he had discovered his father’s papers and the article on the Caieche. He told her about the legends of the N’watu and the Soul Eater. He described how they had found the cave and the kiracs in the bone pit. His voice grew a little shaky as he described Rudy and Ben and how they died. He told her about his encounter with the N’watu remnant still living in the caves and his escape. And finally how he had been captured by the people in Beckon and everything he had learned about perilium and their dark history of human sacrifices to the Soul Eater.

Elina seemed particularly interested in that part. “Perilium? Well, that explains how Carson recovered from his gunshot wound.”

“Gunshot?” Jack said. “When did that happen?”

Then Jack listened as Elina told him about her own encounter—how she had followed the white van with the Nevada plates to Wyoming and how she had shot Carson nearly point-blank and he had appeared to recover.

“But the trouble is, they all have some kind of addiction to it,” Jack said. “If they ever stopped taking it, they would all die.”

“So they’ve been smuggling illegal immigrants for years,” Elina said. “Now I know why.”

“But they don’t know how to actually make this stuff themselves,” Jack said. “So they’ve been forced to keep this bargain with the N’watu.”

“Well, you said they thought it was somehow connected to these creatures.”

“Yes, but they don’t know how exactly,” Jack said, lowering his voice. “When we were inside the cave, we saw the N’watu performing some kind of ceremony where they pulled the hatchlings out of an egg sac and ate them. Then they poured the rest into a bowl and started mashing them up.”

“So you think they make perilium out of the… baby kiracs?”

“And that’s what the Soul Eater legend says,” Jack said. “The queen kirac supposedly devours a human soul and then imparts its energy back through her nectar.”

“That’s disgusting,” Elina grunted.

“Yeah, but it makes sense,” Jack said. “There must be something in the kiracs’ physiology—some type of enzyme or something, maybe active just during that stage of their development—that causes the effect on the body.”

“There’s one thing I don’t get,” Elina said. “How has this tribe been able to survive for so long? You said you only saw the one female in the cave. That’s not much of a gene pool.”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. There must be more of them that we didn’t see.”

“Or maybe they’re just like those creatures,” Elina said. “Like you said, a group of hunters around a single queen.”

“Maybe.” Jack rubbed his eyes. “I don’t care anymore. I just want to find a way out.”

Elina seemed to brighten. “There were two people who came down here earlier. I don’t know who they are, but I don’t think they’re part of all this. They said they were guests or something. They were going to try to get help.”

“If they’re guests here , I’m not so sure we can trust them,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t trust anyone connected to Thomas Vale.”

“I don’t think they knew what was going on here. They said they were going to try to contact the FBI.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Although hope was not something he sensed much at the moment.

George had watched Miriam sleep fitfully throughout the night. He had tossed and turned himself, as he found he couldn’t get the vision of Amanda’s agonizing death out of his mind. And Vale leering over her, playing mind games with him. The man was clearly used to manipulating his subordinates and circumstances, all to his own advantage.

George woke every time Miriam coughed or rolled over, afraid she would start having seizures during the night. And by the time morning came, he’d not slept more than a few minutes at a time and was still bleary-eyed when he heard voices outside the door.

George slipped out of bed to see what was going on just as Dwight Henderson entered with a tray of food. Through the doorway, George spotted Mulch still standing guard outside.

Henderson set the tray on the table and glanced into the bedroom. “How is she doing this morning?”

George glared at him. “As well as could be expected.”

Henderson was silent for a moment and then shook his head. “Why did you go nosing around? Why did you have to go down into the tunnels?”

“Why were you down there?” George said. “What does Vale have you doing? Checking on all his prisoners?”

“You don’t know the whole story.”

George could see some kind of conflict in Henderson’s eyes. Whatever was going on in this town, it looked like Henderson was more of an unwilling participant. Much like Amanda had been.

“Then why don’t you tell me? You can start with how you got here.”

“It’s not important.” Henderson looked away. “It was a long time ago.”

George sighed. “Vale lured you here the same way he did us, didn’t he? To save someone you loved?”

Henderson didn’t answer.

“Who was she?”

Henderson’s gaze fell, and after a moment he took a long breath. “Her name was Julia. She was my wife. But she’s been gone more than eighty years now.”

“From the perilium?”

“No…” Henderson sat down. “No, she hanged herself.”

“Suicide? What happened?”

Henderson’s gaze shifted around the room. “I was a doctor in San Francisco when Julia became ill with leukemia. It was 1897 and we tried every treatment available to us, but she only got worse. And that’s when Vale contacted me. I… I don’t know how he found me, but Julia was quite literally on her deathbed and Vale said he had this medicine—an old Indian treatment that would heal her. But he said it would come at a cost. My family was quite wealthy, but he said he didn’t only want our money. He just said the cure would require us to move to Beckon.”

“Sounds familiar,” George grunted.

Henderson shrugged. “We were desperate, and I would have done anything to save her. So, of course, I agreed. We were both in our fifties at the time and soon I found what you did. That perilium reverses the aging process and makes a person young again. Within days, Julia looked like she was thirty years younger.”

George nodded. “You thought it was a miracle.”

“Yes,” Henderson said. “He offered it to me as well, but he said he needed me to return to San Francisco for a few years. He said he had work for me to do.”

George frowned. “What kind of work?”

“Horrible work.” Henderson looked down and shuddered. “The devil’s work.”

“What was it?”

“He said he needed… specimens , he called them—five or six every month. He gave me very detailed instructions on what to do and how to have them sent. He said I would find plenty of suitable subjects in San Francisco. People no one would miss. Vagrants, prostitutes, criminals. He said I would be doing the city a favor. All I had to do was sedate them and have them transported to Wyoming. Henry Mulch would arrive with a coach every month like clockwork. And Vale said if I missed a single deadline, the perilium would stop and Julia would die. If I told anyone or tried to send help, Julia would die.”

George recalled Vale’s boasting about his negotiation skills. “So he found out what you needed most and exploited that to get what he wanted. He used your fear against you.”

“It’s what he does best. It’s how he has survived here for so long.”

“So what did he do with them? The… specimens?”

Henderson grew pale at George’s question. “There’s something down in the caves. The N’watu call it the Soul Eater—they worship it like some kind of god. And it’s the source of the perilium.” He turned away. “The N’watu must supply it with a new offering—they… feed it a human soul in exchange for the perilium.”