The Leaves Forget, page 10
I nod, remembering. “She didn’t know what that meant, though.”
“She also said that Jonathan told her if it wasn’t for Joanne and Kristyn, all his hard work would be lost,” Andrew went on. “I think maybe, if she’s right about Jonathan sacrificing people, do you think he needs to sacrifice three of them? On a full moon? Without a break, like three in a row?”
“Jesus, Andrew,” Dad says. “Quite a theory.”
“It was a long drive. I had a lot of time to think. But listen, it adds up. Remember how Liv said that Lee went missing? Jonathan told her Lee had left, but what if she was sacrificed? That was in February. Then Jonathan tried to kill Liv in March. He had Kristyn and Joanne still to go, one of them would be the third, in April. One on each full moon, yeah? A commitment of three?”
I look up at the bright, round moon, painting everything in silver and black contrasts. The shadows are like ink, the long grass like fronds of platinum. My breath is an argent cloud. My hands start to shake. “Wait. So you think he had to start again because Liv made him miss the full moon in March?”
“I do. Like I said, long drive. I worked it out. Liv messed up the March full moon. So for a run of three he would need April, May and June.”
“And this is the June full moon,” Dad says quietly.
“So if he had Joanne, Kristyn and Liv in thrall, they were the three he needed.”
“And the last of the three is tonight?” I say. “You think that’s happening now?”
And we all break into a run. My mind starts to race. I’m sorry Joanne and Kristyn, but I really hope he saved Liv for last. You two certainly didn’t deserve whatever might have happened, but I don’t know you. Liv is my sister.
Tears run icily over my cheeks as I imagine Liv’s letters sitting in Victor’s mailbox in the apartment building lobby. All those months sitting there, and Liv wondering where the hell I was.
I’m coming now, Liv. Please be alive. I’m coming!
30
THE TRACK ENDS IN ANOTHER FARM gate, metal this time, but it stands open, the chain that secures it hanging loose. Beyond the fields, the bush starts and is quickly quite dense. The glow of the fire is clearer than ever, we see the flickering of flames between pale trunks. It’s a big fire and we hear voices now too, raised in a kind of chant, song-like but melancholy.
Dad holds up a hand and we slow. “Be careful,” he says.
Perhaps he’s remembering Justin’s shotgun. Maybe these guys are armed too.
We stalk forward between the trees and come to the edge of a large clearing. The moon is bright above, painting the leaves white, but the dancing glow of the fire makes orange and black shadows dance on the pale gum tree bark. The fire is a pyramid of thick branches constructed inside a circle of large stones. It crackles and hisses, sparks and embers dancing upwards, spiralling into the clear night sky. We feel the warmth from ten metres away.
Beyond it is a cairn of sorts, dozens of stones piled up to make a round dais about two metres in diameter, maybe a metre high. Someone lies there, cadaverously thin, arms and legs spread out like a star. Ropes from ankles and wrists are tied down to stakes in the ground around the dais, stretching the person flat.
Is that Liv?
In the dancing lights it’s hard to tell if the pale, emaciated form is my sister, but it’s hard to concentrate because on three sides of the dais are men in black robes, sitting cross-legged, arms wide, heads tipped back. But they’re sitting at least two metres off the ground, suspended with no obvious means of support.
My mind is spinning as I remember Liv’s talk of transcendence and ascendance. Am I really seeing this? The words they chant are hypnotic and then one of the men starts to speak as the other two continue the incantation.
“We three are gathered and the time is right!” he shouts to the silvery sky. “The Commitment of Three was begun with the first commitment, that of intent. And we gave you a life for it. You accepted!”
A wind whips up suddenly, seemingly from nowhere. Dry leaves and strips of bark begin to swirl. The flames of the fire are pulled by it, sparks twisting up like fireflies.
“The second commitment, that of readiness, followed. And we gave you a life for it. You accepted!”
The wind increases. Dad and Andrew and I exchange glances.
What do we do? Andrew mouths.
“And now the third commitment!”
The man speaking has to be Jonathan. The other two are Matt and Pete and this is something they’ve worked towards for years. How can they truly be levitating? Is it some elaborate trick? But why?
“The third commitment is service! We are ready to serve, and in turn receive favour, and we give you a life to prove our commitment. Will you accept it? Take her and we are yours in service!”
The wind begins to howl, pulling at our clothes and hair. Matt and Pete continue their chant and Jonathan joins in again, their voices loud yet almost lost in the sudden tumult of the gale. And then darkness begins to swirl above the dais. Above the person tied there. Can it be Liv?
How do we stop this?
The swirling darkness is more than shadow. It’s a thick, viscous black. An utter absence of light that seems to drag the moonlight into itself. And it begins to shape, to gain form, limbs extending, a giant head pushing upwards with intricate horns branching out like a twelve-point stag. The legs extend down and it’s massive, easily three or four times the size of a normal person, maybe more. It hunches over, as if reaching to the dais below it.
“NO!” I yell at the top of my voice.
“Stop this!” my father shouts.
Jonathan’s head whips across to look at us, his eyes wide and horrified. “No! Not now! The beast is about to manifest. Not now!”
With an animalistic roar, my father races forward, the axe raised high over his head. He’s heading for the dais. Is he planning to cut the ropes holding the sacrificial offering down?
And that person lifts their head and it is Liv and my heart stutters almost to a stop. She’s corpselike, her eyes sunken, cheekbones standing proud of her bone-white face. Those hollow eyes are black and haunted, but they widen as they see us, see my father—her father—racing towards her. She screams.
The night-black effigy above her gains substance by the second and one arms whips out and strikes my father, lifts him from his feet to fly back and slide across the leaf litter. He lies still.
“You’re too late!” Jonathan shrieks, triumphant, mad with glee.
Then Andrew is running. “Take them out!” he yells, as he races towards Jonathan with the shovel raised.
Take them out? The men in the air? Does he think that will disrupt the ritual? Are we too late? My mind tumbles with questions, but I run towards another of them. I think it’s Matt because I see a resemblance to Justin, and the third man is tall and thin like Liv described Pete. Andrew leaps into the air and slices the shovel down like a broadsword in a Conan novel. The shield-shaped blade slams into Jonathan’s thigh near the hip and chops in. Jonathan screams, high and thin, and blood gouts from the wound as Andrew pulls the shovel free and raises it again.
Jonathan drops like a stone, hits the ground hard and Andrew turns the shovel sideways and brings the flat of the blade around and across Jonathan’s face. It rings like a bell, loud even over the wind and the chanting and the screaming, and Jonathan collapses.
Then I’ve reached Matt and he’s uncrossing his legs and he drops into a crouch, face twisted into a snarl, hands up in front of him like claws. “You fucking idiots, who even are you?”
I raise the crowbar back, planning to strike him with all my might, but I can’t do it. I’m not a violent man, not a fighter. This isn’t in me.
Matt snarls again and there’s laughter in it. “Fucking useless!” he snaps.
And I see every bully I ever faced in school. Every dickhead who called me names and pushed me down and flushed my head in the toilet. I see every sneering bloke who looks at me and Andrew with disgust as we walk together through Hobart. I see every bit of bigotry and hate personified in that moment and oh, this is in me. I am a fighter. I’ve fought to be true to myself my whole life, and let this crowbar be an instrument of my strength.
Matt races at me, shoulder low as though he plans to tackle me like we’re on the footy field, and I bring the crowbar down and around like a baseball bat. It connects with his head and shoulder and sends shockwaves right through my arms as the sickening thwack echoes and Matt faceplants at my feet. He twitches violently once, twice, and then doesn’t move.
But there is movement on the other side of the dais as Pete drops and crouches, looking across at me, then Andrew, with a feral expression of rage, lips pulled back from his gritted teeth.
And above us, the giant creature of shadow stands tall and bellows, a terrifying, ear-splitting howl that turns my bowels to water.
“You’re too late!” Pete says, and laughs. “All he has to do is take her!”
31
HOW CAN WE BE TOO LATE? How can we have finally got here, now, only to be literally moments too late? I won’t accept it.
Then I see Dad crawling across the scrubby ground. Blood runs from his mouth and nose, but his eyes are fierce and he still has the axe. He’s heading for the rope holding Liv’s right arm down. Andrew sees and runs to the rope holding her right foot.
They’re both nearer than me and I run around the dais, towards Pete, but I don’t care about him right now. If they can cut those ropes, maybe I can grab Liv and pull her free. Drag her out from under that . . . whatever it is. My mind struggles to comprehend all we’re seeing, but one thought pushes all confusion and all fear aside: save Liv.
My dad roars and swings the axe around and Liv’s arm springs free. She screams in pain and fear, thrashing sideways, then Andrew is swinging the shovel, chopping at the rope staked into the ground, trying to free her leg. I run to Liv, grab her free hand and she looks up into my eyes and it’s like she doesn’t believe it.
“You came,” she says, her voice weak, and a ghost of a smile twitches her lips. “You dickhead, you finally came.”
There’s an icy wind above me, colder than any natural weather I’ve ever known, and the huge beast, filling the sky above me with its ebony bulk, leans forward and roars. The sound threatens to shut down my mind, my vision blurs, my hearing whines into muffled silence, my legs become like wet rags in a wind.
The beast draws back one mighty hand ready to slam it down, taking my life along with Liv’s, then her right leg springs free and in my weakness, jellified by the beast’s howl, her movement makes me fall. My hands are weak on her arm and slip free instead of pulling her with me. The beast’s roar has turned me to useless clay, pins and needles thrilling through muscles I have no control over any more.
And I hear my father yell, “NO!” and he launches up from the other side of the dais and shoves Liv with both hands. She falls on top of me, leaving my father sprawled across the dais right as the beast’s huge, clawed hand slams down. Liv crashes into me and I grab her and roll away as Dad is engulfed by that hand, itself as big as a man. My father screams, a sound I will never forget, as he’s lifted high into the air. One arm hangs horribly broken, white nubs of bone stark in the moonlight.
The beast roars again, but this time the sound is one of terror, of pain, more than triumph.
“Ill-prepared!” the creature bellows, and its form begins to shudder. “This offering is not clean. Not what is required!”
The beast vibrates more violently and its hand clenches. Even over its roars and the wind and the screaming, I hear my father’s bones snapping. Bits of blackness like obsidian birds break and flutter away from the beast in every direction, its shape breaking down, dissipating. Dad drops and slams bonelessly onto the dais, head hanging down one side, eyes staring blindly into mine. The beast’s howl is ear-splitting as its dissolution completes and it’s gone.
The silence that follows, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the settling of leaves, is eerily still.
Andrew is at my father’s side, his face stricken. He looks up at me and shakes his head.
No. That’s not fair.
Liv wraps her bony arms around my neck and squeezes hard, face pressed into my shoulder as she sobs. “I used every bit of power he’d taught me,” she says, in a voice as thin as cobwebs. “I willed you to come. Begged the universe to send you. And it did! Oh, Craig, it did. Thank you!”
I don’t know if she’s thanking me or the universe or both, but I don’t care. I have Liv in my arms. So starved, so broken, but warm and alive and in my arms. But at what cost? Dad . . .
They’ll pay for this. They’ll pay!
Matt is still lying where he fell and I look around for Pete. Andrew sees and springs back up, looking around too. There’s blood on the leaves where Jonathan fell, but he’s not there and Pete is nowhere to be seen.
EPILOGUE
IT’S BEEN NEARLY TWO WEEKS of an induced coma before the hospital finally allows Liv to wake up. We got the hell out of Breaker’s Farm, me carrying Liv and Andrew carrying Dad, and drove directly to the nearest emergency department. Liv passed out along the way and they’ve kept her sedated since. We knew it was too late for Dad, but it was still heartbreaking to have the medical staff confirm it. Then it was a maelstrom of doctors and police and trying to explain the frankly inexplicable. In the end, the police accepted that we’d interrupted some occult ritual and a fight had broken out. A fight. So simple an explanation for something I will never really understand.
Matt is dead. I killed a man and, even though he was an evil murderer, I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to it. The police have reluctantly ruled it self-defence, as there’s no one else to contradict our story. The fact that my father was “beaten to death” backs up the story that we were fighting for our lives. And everything they’ve learned since about Jonathan, Matt and Pete does nothing to give those fuckers much leeway in the law’s sympathies.
Jonathan and Pete have vanished. We’ve given the police all the information we can and they say they won’t stop looking, especially after they confirmed what we said about Chloe’s body. We didn’t tell them we’d found her, just that there was an oubliette on the Deverin property and maybe some of the missing people might be there.
What a mess. The whole thing is such a mess.
Liv is suffering massive malnutrition and is addicted to whatever that shit in Jonathan’s tea might be. There’s been round after round of toxicology reports and they’re slowly getting her clean. Whatever it was, I believe Jonathan needed to keep the women on it, slowly filling their bodies with it to prepare them for the beast. The fact that I believe that to be true is still insane to me, but there it is.
The hospital kept Liv heavily sedated while they tried to re-establish some kind of homeostasis for her. Lots of intravenous nutrition, stuff like that. She’s slowly coming good, already filling out just a little, and we’re all there when they let her wake up. Well, me and Andrew are there on one side of her bed, and Mum on the other. It’s going to take some time to get used to the fact that Dad will never be here again, but he saved her life. Maybe he saved all of us. I have no idea what might have happened if the beast had managed to grab Liv instead of him. What if it had fully manifested like Jonathan and his cronies were trying to achieve? It’s too scary a thought to consider and I can only be thankful we prevented that. My poor dad will never be recognised beyond the few of us for the true hero he really is.
When Liv has recovered a little more, come around a bit, we talk quietly for a while, slowly filling her in on what’s happened. She remembers seeing Dad grabbed and hoped it was a dream, but she knew really. When I tell her it was real she just nods, then starts to cry. I let her have her grief for a little while, then say quietly, “We won’t ever forget what he’s done for us. We will always remember.”
“He told me that I caused so much trouble before, he was saving me for last,” Liv says.
I’m confused for a moment, then realise. “Jonathan?”
“Yeah. They kept me chained up in a shed at the farm for weeks. Months maybe. I don’t know, time itself became torture. They fed me once a day, and Jonathan kept giving me that tea. ‘You need to be ready,’ he would tell me. ‘You need to be prepared, but you don’t need to be healthy. Maybe if I starve you, you won’t have the strength to run away again.’ Something in that tea was necessary for the ritual, and the sacrifice had to be a woman. I don’t know why, but that’s what the beast required.”
“The beast,” Andrew says. “Jonathan called it that too. Like from the Bible?”
Liv shakes her head. “That’s what I asked once, in the darkness of that shed when he kept telling me how the beast would take me. What it would do to me. He was so fucking gleeful about the sheer cruelty of it all. But no, not from the Bible. Something older. Something much older than the fairy tales of men, is what Jonathan said.”
“I wonder how he knew about it,” I say. “How he knew what to do.”
“I think his stories of travelling are true. Who knows what he found, or where he went. He was so cruel.” Liv swallows a sob, sniffs. “At first he seemed so amazing, the act he played.” She lets go a humourless laugh. “I thought I was the actor, but he had us all fooled. Him and Matt and Pete had everyone fooled.” She looks up suddenly. “Chloe!”
“What?” I ask softly. Does she know?
“She ran away. She finally ran away. You have to find her. Help her. She did get away, right?”
I lick my lips, sadness swelling through me and start to shake my head, open my mouth to speak, but Liv clearly knows what I’m about to say.
“Oh, no!” she wails. “That poor child. He caused so much hurt and misery. Someone has to find him.”
