David Baldacci - The Finisher

“Wo-wo-wotcha, Vega Jane?”

I turned to see Delph stooping to come out of the hole in the hill. I walked over to join Delph as his father came out of the cottage.

Duf wore boots caked with dirt, and his clothes were not any cleaner. A grimy bowler hat was on his head. Strings attached to it were tied under his chin. I assumed he did this in case of windy lights or temperamental beasts in training. His hands, face and exposed arms were scarred and scabbed from innumerable beast encounters.

“Good light, Vega,” said Duf. He pulled a stick bowl from his shirt pocket, stuffed it with smoke weed and lighted it with a wooden match he had stuck behind his ear. He puffed to get the flame set and strong. His face, in addition to the wounds there, was heat- and wind-burned. He was not really that old, but his beard was thick and dotted with gray. It was not easy, his life.

“Hello, Duf.”

“What brings you round this early?” he asked curiously.

“Wanted to talk to Delph. Is that slep for Thansius?”

Duf nodded. He pointed his stick bowl at the creta. “Now, that there scallywag is giving me trouble. Aye, he’s a stubborn one that. But then cretas always are. Give me an adar any light, though once they learn to talk proper, they carry on like a bunch of females round the washing. But I have a soft spot for ’em. They’re good beasts. Loyal they are, if chatty.”

Delph said, “I’d be st-stubborn t-t-too if I knew I’d be c-c-carrying stuff me whole life on me ba-back.”

“You best be jawing with Delph, then,” said Duf. He picked up a leather bridle and marched off to the corral.

I watched for a sliver and then turned to Delph. “I need to talk to you about something important. And you can’t tell anybody. Promise?”

He didn’t seem to be listening to me. He stared up at the Noc, which was still there in the brightening sky. “How f-far you re-reckon i’tis?”

I looked at the Noc in frustration. “What does it matter? We’ll never get there.”

“But th-that sh-shows it, right?”

“Shows what?”

And now Delph was about to gobsmack me.

“N-not just us, don’t it?”

“Why?” I asked, in what can only be described as a whisper, a fierce whisper, for I was feeling things I had never really felt before.

Delph apparently did not notice the struggle going on inside me. He said, “It c-can’t be just us. I mean why, y’know? Ju-just Wor-Wormwood?” He shrugged and smiled. “No p-point, really. Just this? No ble-bleeding p-point far as I c-can see.”

Since he seemed to be in an introspective mood, I decided instead of talking about Quentin, I would ask a question.

“What happened to you, Delph?” I asked. “When you were six sessions old?”

His shoulders immediately bunched and his face scrunched and he did not look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s none of my business, really.” But I was hoping beyond all hope that he would talk about it.

“I li-liked Vi-Virgil,” he mumbled.

“He liked you back,” I said, surprised that my grandfather’s name had come up.

“His … E-Event.”

His head suddenly looked far too small to hold all that was going on in there.

“What about it?” I said, quickly thrown by his statement.

“I … I s-s-saw it.”

That’s when it occurred to me that whatever happened to Delph coincided with my grandfather’s Event.

“What do you mean you saw it?” I asked, my voice growing louder with fear and surprise.

“S-saw it,” he repeated.

“The Event!” I said, more loudly than I should have. “His Event!”

I glanced quickly over at Duf, who was still attending the slep. He had looked my way but then turned back to his task.

Delph nodded mutely.

In a low voice I asked, “What happened?”

“The Event. The Event ha-ha-happened.”

“No one has ever seen an Event, Delph.” I was desperately trying to keep the panic I felt from my voice. The last thing I needed was to scare Delph off.

“I ha-have,” he said in a hollow voice tinged with dread.

“Do you remember what happened?” I said as calmly as I could, though I still felt my heart thudding against my chest. It hurt. It actually hurt.

Delph shook his head. “I … I don’t re-re-remember, Vega Jane.”

“How can you not remember?” I demanded.

“It’s not good to witness an Event, Vega Jane,” he said clear as light. There was an underlying sorrow to his answer that made my heart hurt even more. Though his words were simple, I felt like I had never heard Delph speak so eloquently. He touched his head. “Does no good to you here.” He next touched his chest. “Nor here.”

My heart went out to him, but my next blunt words came from my head, not my heart. “How can you say that if you don’t remember what you saw?”

I had raised my voice again and I caught Duf looking over at us with concern on his small face. I looked back at Delph and lowered my voice. “Don’t you see why I have to know? All I’ve ever been told was that he suffered an Event and there was nothing left.”

Delph picked up a spade and struck the ground with it. I could see his huge hands gripping the wooden handle so hard they were turning red.

“Ca-ca-can’t say nothin’,” he finally replied. He lifted up a spade of dirt and dumped it next to the hole.

“Why not?”

That’s when I heard it — the turn of wheels. Thansius’s carriage came into view around the curve. The same vile Wugmort was driving it. Thomas Bogle had been Thansius’s driver for as long as I could remember. His cloak was black, his hands were huge lumps of bone and his face looked like he had died many sessions ago. The pale flesh hung from his cheeks like shredded parchment as he stared at the shiny flanks of the sleps.

The carriage stopped next to the corral, and the door opened.

I gasped when I saw her.

MORRIGONE WAS THEonly female member of Council. In Wormwood she was the female. Taller than I was, slender, but not frail, for there was strength in her shoulders and arms. Her hair was bloodred, redder than Thansius’s cloak. She strode over to where Delph and I stood.

She was dressed all in white. Her face, her skin and her cloak were all flawless. I had never seen a cleaner Wug in all of Wormwood. Against the white cloak her blood hair was a dazzling sight.

Wugmorts greatly respected Thansius.

Wugmorts dearly loved Morrigone.

I could hardly believe she was here. I glanced at Delph, who looked like he had swallowed the creta whole. I looked at Duf. He still held the rope but appeared to have forgotten about the young slep tied to the other end of it. The slep whinnied as it caught sight of the mature sleps, along with its own future, I imagined.

I did the only thing I could do. I turned to Morrigone and waited for her to speak. Was she here to see Delph? Duf? Or me?

I studied her face. If there was perfection in all of Wormwood, I was looking at it. I felt my face flush under the dirt on it. I felt ashamed I was not better-looking. And more clean.

Most Wugs are much of muchness; it’s hard to tell one from another. Not Morrigone. I found her gaze on me and I had to glance away. I felt I was unworthy to share even a look with her.

Morrigone smiled at Duf, who had dropped the rope and walked toward her with hesitant steps. Delph had not moved. His feet could be in the hole he was digging. As big as he was, he looked small, insignificant.

“Good light, Mr. Delphia,” said Morrigone in a mellifluous tone. “That slep appears to be a splendid specimen. I look forward to seeing another fine example of your peerless skill once he’s in harness.”