David Wilson - Hallowed Ground

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice catching on her name. "It’s been…a lifetime.’

"My name is Mariah," she said. "Elizabeth died. I rose. It was not a pleasant experience."

Lilith stepped forward and laid her hand on Creed’s shoulder again. This time there was no pain. He turned and met her gaze.

"I believe," she said, "That our bargain is complete."

"While ours remains – questionable at best," Balthazar said.

He reached beneath his jacket and pulled out the cylinder. He cracked the seal and opened the tube. The torn parchment slid out, and he let the empty container drop. It vanished before it hit the ground. Balthazar paid it no heed. He unfurled the parchment, studied it for a moment, and shook his head sadly.

"I don’t suppose you’d consider honoring the bargain?" he asked, turning to Creed. "I suppose that you are aware?"

"I am aware of the treacherous bargain," Creed said. "I am aware that you used a man’s love to trick him out of his soul, and that despite using all of your cunning, you failed. Would that be a fair summation of your predicament, old friend ?"

Balthazar’s eyes flashed dangerously.

Creed found himself grinning. "Tell you what, hoss," he said, and it was impossible to tell who was bargaining, Remliel, Benjamin or Creed himself, "I’ll make you a deal."

"I’m listening," Balthazar said. He raised an eyebrow.

Creed turned, bent, and grabbed the Deacon by his shirt. With no noticeable effort he lifted the big man off the ground. Blood poured from the twin gunshot wounds, but there was breath in him still.

Creed turned, nodded at the Deacon, and smiled.

"An eye for an eye?" he said softly.

"A soul for a soul," Balthazar replied. "An interesting notion, my newly fallen friend. But, tell me, what makes you believe his soul is not already mine?"

Creed met Balthazar’s gaze evenly. "You already know the answer to that," he said. "He had a choice, and when the time came to make it – he called to me . He turned your own power against you."

"One might argue he turned it against you, as well," Balthazar said.

"Perhaps, but he called on me for protection. He could have called on you, or any of your minions, but he turned the power back on itself."

"It’s conceivable, possible, even. But why would you make the offer?" Balthazar asked. "If he called on you to protect him, why would you surrender him?"

Creed tossed the Deacon at Balthazar’s feet. He crouched and scooped up the leather pouch. He held it in his hand and closed his eyes.

"Are you praying for them?" Balthazar sneered.

The thing that had been Provender Creed replied

"No. They are praying. Every one of them that this liar ‘healed,’ every physical body he warped and every mind he broke, they are all a part of me. I will find my way back to my Lord, and I will carry them with me, but it would not be necessary if it weren’t for this man."

A sound rose, and they all turned. The men and women of Rookwood lay curled and bent and sagging over their seats. Moonshine Brady had fallen forward into one of the tall poles supporting the tent. With the roof torn, the pole leaned dangerously. Creed walked over and lifted the Sheriff upright for just a moment. Brady’s head lolled on his shoulder, and Creed let him go. He fell to the ground, and in that instant, the strange noise grew louder, rising from a sigh to a wail.

Creed stepped back and pressed his hands to his ears, but nothing could block the sound. He stared as wisps of blue, glowing light drifted up and out of the bodies. They swirled and spun in ever narrowing circles, winding themselves around a silvery hair-width thread of luminescence. That thread disappeared into Creed’s temple, and each time one of the wispy forms freed itself from flesh and sifted into the mix, he threw back his head and screamed.

The piano sounded, just for a moment, a short off-key hymn missing two out of every ten notes, and then it died. Creed dropped to his knees. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He turned his eyes to Heaven and watched the beautiful flashing magic of souls following that wispy powerful thread to glory.

"Do not forsake me, my Lord," he breathed, willing himself to follow. He raised his hands and called out with all his being to God for escape. The blue ghost-lights flickered and rose, and died. He did not follow them. He lowered his head.

"I believe we’ll call it even," Balthazar said. "For now."

Creed rose slowly. His gaze was oddly disjointed, seeming to be lowered to the ground, raised to the heavens, and glaring straight ahead at the same time.

"Come along, my dear," Balthazar said, holding out his hand to Mariah.

She stood her ground and stared at Creed.

"I am not in the habit of repeating myself, girl," Balthazar said. His voice was sharp as shards of ice.

"She stays," Creed said.

Balthazar turned to him. "I don’t think so. She is mine. I have trained her, and she is mine."

Lilith stepped up beside Creed.

"That wasn’t the bargain, and you know it, you old liar," she said softly.

Balthazar looked at her, his shake of the head barely perceptible. He licked at his parched lips. "It seems," he said after a moment, "that we are at an impasse."

"Let her go," Creed said.

Balthazar thought about this for a moment, and then he smiled. He pulled the watch from his pocket as though time was suddenly of the essence. He inclined his head and raised an eyebrow. "For now," he said. "We will meet again, I promise you that, and I make good on my promises, always," he said. "But you knew that. These are interesting times."

Creed didn’t answer. Lilith only smiled, bowed, and stepped into the shadows.

Mariah said, "Benjamin?"

Creed and Mariah met in an embrace that erased the darkness and the others in the ruined tent completely.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Creed might have held her all night, but the sudden deep silence was broken by an unexpected wail. It was filled with hunger, with anger, and yet it sliced the darkness as cleanly as a knife. Mariah pulled back to arms length. She turned, looking around for the source of the cry.

Colleen stood, very still, the child clutched in her arms. It wailed and waved its tiny fists in the air while she hushed it. Creed glanced around the tent. Balthazar was gone. There was no sign of the woman, Lilith, and even the bodies of her crow men had disappeared. The stench of death was heavy in the air, but it had yet to turn rank. It would, when rot set in. Only the Deacon, lying in a pool of blood, buzzed with the first of the flies.

"My son," Mariah said. She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Colleen clutched the child.

"He gave him to me," she said. She couldn’t meet Mariah’s gaze. Looking down at her feet she said, "He said it was the child I would never have."

Smiling softly, Mariah eased free of Creed’s embrace and took a step closer. She looked at the child swaddled in his blanket, his face red with anger and hunger, but nothing more. He struggled feebly. She reached out and ran a finger down the baby’s cheek. Her son was warm and alive, but he didn’t feel like her son anymore. There was no recognition to her touch and he only had eyes for the woman cradling him.

"What was mine has passed on," Mariah said softly.

She turned and glanced at Creed, then turned back to Colleen. "He might share my flesh but he’s no son of mine. Look at the way he adores you; you are his mother in every way that matters. Care for him. Feed him and brush his hair, hold him when he cries and when his heart breaks, rock him at night and tell him stories. But do not tell him about his other mother…there is no need for him to know the truth."

"Here, dear," a voice cut in.