David Wilson - Hallowed Ground

"The baby kicked. It hurt, and I knew it wasn’t normal. I mean I’d felt him moving before, but this was different. Before, it had always made me smile. Alone in that tent, I knew – at least – that he was with me. I don’t even know how I knew it was a boy.

"But then he kicked and it hurt . I staggered, and that step was like walking through – I don’t know – a wall of ice? It was cold. I felt it shatter – and that doesn’t make any sense, but the baby kicked again and I fell forward. I was in agony. I heard a scream behind me, but it wasn’t like any scream I’d ever heard. It was high-pitched, shrill, and incredibly loud. I crawled forward, away from the sound – and away from the camp. When I finally looked back I saw the tents, and the fire. None of the men who had watched me were in sight.

"I had things in that tent. I had a pack, and a bedroll. I turned to go back for my belongings, but the baby kicked again, and I screamed. The pain was like having a knife dragged through my belly. I didn’t know what to do. It hurt and I didn’t know how to make it stop.

"When I crawled away from the camp again – the pain eased. It still hurt, but the further I went, the easier it was to move, and eventually I didn’t have to crawl. I was able to walk."

Mariah fell silent again. The next part of her memory was so hazy she wasn’t certain she trusted it to words.

"I walked for a very long time," she said, looking at Balthazar to see if he would help her focus the memories into something coherent. He met her gaze and nodded for her to continue. "I remember that I almost fell into a gulch. It was dry and rocky. I slid partway down, tore my pants. I was afraid for the baby. When I climbed up the other side, I saw firelight. I saw a fire. I heard something, but I wasn’t sure what. I was so hungry, and so very, very tired. I remember thinking that if I could just make it to those voices, to that fire, that I might find help."

Balthazar listened in silence. His gaze was invasive. It penetrated her in ways she hadn’t known possible. It felt as though her life drained into his hungry eyes. It wasn’t merely parasitic. As her life slipped away she found herself able to grasp more of the tendrils of her past, as though one had been weighing down the other, and now she was free to remember at least a little more.

"By the time I saw the wagons, and the tents, I could barely walk," she said at last. She rubbed a hand down her jaw, pressing in her cheeks as she grasped the memory. "One tall tent stood in the center of a clearing. I remember! Lights were flickering inside it, and I saw shadows swaying back and forth. People! I heard a voice, and I wanted very badly to know what it was saying – and who it was."

"Of course you did," Balthazar soothed.

"Something happened. The doors of the tent opened, and people spilled out into the night. I tried to call out to them, but before I could scream…."

"The baby kicked again," Balthazar said, taking up her words as she let them drop away.

She gazed at him evenly for a long moment, and then nodded.

"I fell to my knees. I remember that I started to crawl, but I was too far away. I heard horses in the distance. The creak of a wagon, as well. I heard footsteps, but now I think about it there weren’t many voices. I was so tired…I crawled on my hands and knees, and the pain eased a little, but the closer I got to the tent, the quieter the night became, until I thought I had found my way to one more fire with men who didn’t speak – a fire that would never keep me warm. I felt eyes on my back. I remember that. I remember how frightened I was that that they must have followed me after all, that they were going to carry me away, back to the woods and the trees and that cold fire pit. I was so frightened that they would kill my baby," she shook her head, fingers reaching into her dirty hair to massage her scalp as she teased the memories out.

"I managed to get to my feet and stagger into the camp. I tried to reach the tent, but I was too weak. I fell to my knees, and the rocks cut me. I cried out then, I’m sure of it. Whatever had gone wrong had worsened. It felt as though I was being torn apart from the inside. There was no one to help, no one to see, but I couldn’t go on. I lay there and…"

"Yes?" Balthazar asked softly.

"I don’t’ know," she said softly. "The next thing I remember was waking and finding you staring down at me. My baby…"

"As I have said," Balthazar cut across her, "your child is alive, for the moment. I do not have the time it would take to explain to you how that is possible, so you are going to have to trust me. You said that you left things behind in that tent. Do you remember what they were?"

It took her a moment to understand that he was talking about the strange camp from which she’d escaped. Her mind was full of the vision of the larger tent, the droning, powerful voice she’d heard rising over the wind, and the overwhelming memory of pain.

She shook her head. "Is it important? I had a pack," she said. "I don’t remember why I carried it," she tried to remember. She wanted to please him. "There was a book inside. No, not a book, my book. I kept a journal. And a dress – I have no idea whose it was, or where it came from. There was more but I don’t remember what. I carried it because it was all that I had."

"You never read the journal?" Balthazar asked.

"No," she said. She felt as though she’d bitterly disappointed him with that one word.

He frowned and dragged the large, ornate pocket watch out by its chain. He flipped open the fob and grunted at whatever he read inside. He snapped it shut abruptly.

"Well, my dear, I shall tell you a final story," he said. "When I am done, you will understand much more than you do now, though not everything. It will have to be enough."

She started to ask him to tell her about her child. Before she got the words out of her mouth, the fire, which had died away to nothing, flared. It rippled out from the center of the ring of stones, spiraling in ever widening circles until it formed a pillar of flame. The pillar rose straight into the air, its sides smooth, but rippling with licking red flames.

Balthazar stepped around the stones to where Mariah sat, bowed at the waist in a darkly comic flourish, and offered her his hand.

"I thought you were going to tell me a story," she said, taking his hand tentatively.

"Oh, I am going to do better than that," Balthazar laughed. "Words take far too long to tell stories, and when they do, you never can tell how much of what is said will sink in, can you? Sometimes you need to see a story unfold."

"But…"

Balthazar winked at her then. It was the first sign of genuine merriment she’d seen from him. He took her hand firmly, turned, and stepped directly into the roaring pillar of flame.

Mariah screamed as Balthazar pulled her in after him.

As her arm was dragged through the fire, the heat of the flames seared her flesh. She felt it catch her clothing, and her hair. All breath left her, driven out by the unbearable heat. The world whirled and she felt herself losing her balance, her mind and body spiraling downward. She remembered the path the flame had taken from the center of the stone circle. There was a roar of sound, voices? The screaming ate through her thoughts as the flames ate through her flesh. She passed into darkness choking on the heat.

The stone circle beside the wagon held a charred, cold remnant of fire. Black soot whirled in the memory of a vortex. In the distance, the storm raged. A flash of lightning shot down toward the wagon and fell short, rippling along an invisible dome to strike impotently at the earth.

This time it was followed by a crack of thunder.