Clive Barker - Sacrament

Will sat. 'I'm not melancholy,' he said, liking the gift of the word. 'I'm happy.'

'Are you really? Well that's good to hear. And why are you so happy?'

Will was embarrassed to admit the truth, but Jacob had been honest, he thought; so should he. 'Because I found you here,' he said.

'That pleases you?'

'Yes.'

'But in an hour you'll be bored with me- 'No, I won't.'

-and the sadness will still be there, waiting for you.' As he spoke, the fire began to dwindle. 'Do you want to feed the fire, Will?' Steep said.

His words carried an uncanny power. It was as though this dwindling meant more than the extinguishing of a few flames. This fire was suddenly the only light in a cold, sunless world, and if somebody didn't feed it soon the consequences would be grim.

'Well, Will?' Jacob said, digging in his pocket and taking out another moth. 'Here,' he said, proffering it. Will hesitated. He could hear the soft flapping of the moth's panic. He looked past the creature to its captor. Jacob's face was utterly without expression.

'Well?' Jacob said.

The fire had almost gone out. Another few seconds and it would be too late. The room would be given over to darkness, and the face in front of Will, its symmetry and its scrutiny, would be gone. That thought was suddenly too much to bear. Will looked back at the moth: at its wheeling legs and its flapping antennae. Then, in a kind of wonderful terror, he took it from Jacob's fingers.

'I'm cold,' Sherwood moaned for the tenth time. 'So go home,' Frannie said. 'On my own? In the dark? Don't make me do that.' 'Maybe I should go in and look for Will,' Frannie said. 'Perhaps he's slipped, or...' 'Why don't we just leave him?' 'Because he's our friend.' 'He's not my friend.' 'Then you can wait out here,' Frannie said, looking for the breaking-place in the hedge. A moment later she felt Sherwood's hand slip into hers. 'I don't want to stay out here,' he said softly. In truth, she wasn't unhappy that he wanted to come with her. She was a little afraid, and therefore glad of his company. Together they pushed through the mesh of the hedge, and hand in hand climbed the slope towards the Courthouse. Once only did she feel a little shudder of apprehension pass through her brother, and glancing towards him in the murk, seeing his fearful eyes looking to her for reassurance, she realized how much she loved him.

The moth was large, and though Will held its wings tight-closed, its fat, grub-like body wriggled wildly, its legs pedaling the air. It repulsed him, which made what he was about to do easier. 'You're not squeamish, are you?' Jacob said. 'No...' Will replied, his voice far from him, like somebody else's voice. 'You've killed insects before.' Of course he had. He'd fried ants under a magnifying glass, he'd cracked beetles and popped spiders, he'd salted slugs and sprayed flies. This was just a moth and a flame. They belonged together. And with that thought, he did the deed. There was an instant of regret as the flame withered the moth's legs, then he dropped the insect into the heat, and regret became fascination as he watched the creature consumed.

'What did I tell you?' Jacob said. 'Living and dying ...' Will murmured, '... we feed the fire ...'

At the Courtroom door, Frannie could not quite make out what was going on. She could see Will bending over the table, studying something bright, and by the same brightness glimpsed the face of the man sitting opposite him. But that was all. She let go of Sherwood's hand, and put her finger to her lips to keep him quiet. He nodded, his expression surprisingly less fearful than it had been in the darkness outside. Then she turned her gaze back in Will's direction. As she did so she heard the man on the opposite side of the table say: 'Do you want another?'

Will didn't even look up at Steep. He was still watching the fire devour the body of the moth. 'Is it always like this?' he murmured. 'Like what?' 'First the cold and the darkness, then the fire pushing it all away, then more darkness and cold-' 'Why do you ask?' Jacob replied. 'Because I want to understand,' Will said. And you're the only one with the answers, he might have added. That was the truth, after all. He was certain his father didn't have answers to questions like that, nor did his mother, nor any school-teacher, nor anybody he'd heard pontificate on television. This was secret knowledge, and he felt privile ged to be in the company of somebody who possessed it, even if they chose not to share it with him. 'Do you want another or not?' Jacob said. Will nodded, and took the moth from Steep's fingers. 'One day won't we just run out of things to burn?' he wondered. 'Oh my Lord,' Mrs McGee said, appearing from the shadows. 'Listen to him.' Will didn't look at her. He was too busy studying the cremation of the second moth. 'Yes, we will,' Jacob said softly. 'And when everything's gone a darkness will come upon the world such as we can none of us imagine. It won't be the darkness of death, because death is not utter.' 'A game with bones,' the woman said. 'Exactly,' said Jacob. 'Death is a game with bones.' 'We know about death, Mr Steep and me.' 'Oh indeed.'

'The children I have carried and lost.' She moved behind Will as she spoke, reaching out to finger his hair lightly. 'I look at you, Will, and I swear I would give every tooth in my head to call you mine. So wise-'

'It's getting dark,' Steep said.

'Give me another moth then,' Will demanded.

'So eager,' Mrs McGee remarked.

'Quickly,' Will said, 'before the flame goes out!'

Jacob reached into his pocket, and pulled out another moth. Will snatched it from his fingers, but in his haste he missed catching hold of its wings, and it rose above the table.

'Damn!' said Will, and, pushing back his chair, along with Mrs McGee, he stood up and reached for the tinder. Twice he snatched at the air, twice he came away empty-handed. Enraged now, he wheeled around, still grabbing for the moth.

Behind him he heard Jacob say: 'Let it go. I'll give you another.'

'No!' Will said, jumping to snatch the creature out of the air. 'I want this one.'

His efforts were rewarded. On his third jump his hand closed around the moth.

'Got it!' he cried, and was about to deliver it to the flame when he heard Frannie say:

'What are you doing, Will?'

He looked up at her. She was standing at the Courtroom door, her shape murky and remote.

'Go away,' he said.

'Who's this?' Jacob said.

'Just go,' Will said, suddenly feeling a little jittery. He didn't want these two parts of his life talking to him at the same time; it made him dizzy. 'Please,' he said, hoping she'd respond to civility. 'I don't want you here.'

The light was guttering out behind him. If he wasn't quick about it, the fire would die completely. He had to feed it again before it went out. But he didn't want Frannie watching. Jacob would never share what he knew - that knowledge which only the wisest of the wise understood while she was in the room.

'Go on!' he shouted. His yelling didn't move her, but it intimidated the hell out of Sherwood. He fled from Frannie's side, off down one of the passageways that led from the Courtroom.

Frannie was furious. 'Sherwood was right!' she said to him. 'You're not our friend. We followed you in case something had happened to you

'Rosa...' Will heard Jacob whisper behind him, '... the other boy... and glanced out the corner of his eye to see Mrs McGee retreat into the shadows, in pursuit of Sherwood.

Will's head was spinning now. Frannie shouting, Sherwood sobbing, Jacob whispering, and worst of all, the flame dying and the light going with it- That had to be his priority, he decided, and turning his back on Frannie, reached out to put the moth to the flame. But Jacob was there before him. He had put his entire hand - which he had made into a cage of fingers - into the dying fire. Inside the cage was not one but several moths, which caught alight instantly, their panicked wings fanning one another's flames. An uncanny brightness spilled through Jacob's fingers, and it occurred to Will that he was not seeing anything natural here: that this was some kind of magic. The light washed up over Jacob's face, and flattered it into something beyond beauty. He didn't look like a film star, or a man on a magazine cover: he wasn't all gloss and teeth and dimples. He was burning brighter than the moths, as though he could be a fire unto himself if he wanted to be. For an instant (this was all it took) Will saw himself at Jacob's side, walking in a city street, and Jacob was shining out of every pore, and people were weeping with gratitude that he came to light their darkness. Then it was all too much for him. His legs gave out beneath him, and down he went, as though he'd been struck a blow.