Ben Soul

returned, sufficiently flush with excitement from their volleyball game that they didn’t notice the missing ale and food. They stayed until dusk, laughing and joking, while Vanna finished off the ale. Vanna was not accustomed to alcohol consumption; she had always enjoyed an occasional glass of wine, but had not drunk much of that since she was incarcerated at El Serrucho Oxidado. She fell asleep, and did not wake until an owl landed on a branch above her head and expelled its little pellet of inedible rodent parts on her face.

  Her head hurt. Her body hurt. She stank. And, she was disoriented, unsure of where she was. It was several minutes before she pushed her mind back to her present predicament, and realized she needed to carry through with her cleanup plans. She groaned as she got to her feet, and stumbled to the faucet. She quickly realized her garments were beyond hope. Even though she could wash the manure away, they remained stained. The gushing water brought a further problem to her attention. Six large cans of ale produced a lot of bladder pressure. She tried the door on the bathroom, but it was locked. Desperately, she went into the woods and relieved herself under the owl’s watchful gaze.

  She waited in the moonlight as her clothes dried. Long before the moon had reached the western horizon, the fog had moved inland and swallowed it up. Vanna put on her dress, damp as it was, and her still-wet shoes, and stumbled away from the campground. She went uphill, into the dark forest. The splotches of moonlight silvered the spaces between clumps of redwoods with a ghastly light very like the reflection of cold candles from the cheeks of the dead. It was a night sacred to the dark spirit of the redwood grove, and foul things crept toward a broken stump in a small clearing surrounded by a great circle of trees. Vanna came as well, crawling with other dark things that crawled, toward the black heart of the stump. She came to it, and laid her head upon its jagged edge.

  The stump hollowed its edge to hold her head. “Sleep, my daughter,” it whispered in her mind. “We shall plot together later.” Vanna slept through the night, and through the next day, and through the next night, and gathered strength from the fell tree stub where she lay. While she slept, it whispered to her of the joys of evil-doings and the wonders of wickedness. Her bruised psyche sucked in the sentiments as an ointment to heal her hurts. Far away in the Nether Regions the Dark One smiled an evil smile.

  Gathering against the Storm

  The autumn winds had blown from the northeast all day. The interior had heated like an oven, baking the brown grasses to tinder dryness. On the coast, the accustomed fog had fled westward toward Hawaii. In the sky the bright stars glittered. Soon, the pale moon would shine on the dark cove waters. Such a night was a rare phenomenon in San Danson, and one commonly reserved for occasional autumn nights. Princess Val Crowe took it as a sign of hope. She knocked on Ben and Dickon’s door. Butter raised her usual ruckus, lest her people not know someone had come to visit.

  “Hi,” Ben said, as he opened the door. Weariness sat on him like a small gray imp bearing his shoulders down. “Come on in, Princess. Would you like some tea?”

  “Tea would be nice, any kind.”

  “It’s good old orange pekoe and pekoe,” Ben said as he held the door for her. “Come into the kitchen. Dickon’s in there. I’m guessing you want to see us both.”

  “Yes,” Val said. “We have been invaded, recently, and we need to prepare against a future invasion.”

  “Vanna?”

  “Who else? She’s this village’s personal demon, at least for this time.”

  Dickon looked up as they came into the kitchen. “Hi, Princess,” he said. His green eyes sparkled with merriment whose source Val could not guess. Just then the kettle whistled. “I foresaw you’d be coming,” he went on. “I put the kettle on just in time.” He had set out three cups with three bags. Now he poured the boiling water over them and set them around the table. “Sit,” he said, as he took a chair. Ben and Val sat.

  “What’s up?” Dickon asked.

  “We’ve been invaded,” Val said. “Vanna’s been in the vicinity, probably in the Village. I think she’s in disguise. Harry told me he had a strange guest at the motel night before last. Malcolm’s had a scorch event cut a swathe through his African violets.” Val took a deep breath, and slowed herself down.

  “I’ve suggested we get together at Malcolm’s tomorrow night for a meeting. If I’ve stepped on your authority, Ben, I apologize.”

  Ben waved his hand. “Any Villager, including you, can call a meeting for any reasonable purpose. I don’t have anymore authority to do it than anyone else.”

  “I had no ideas when I started out, except that we needed to get together to come up with whatever we could. Then, when I stopped by to talk to Emma and Haakon, it came to me. We have power objects among our possessions, and if we bring them all together they will give us an edge in the struggle.”

  “Slow down, Princess,” Dickon said. “I’m lost.”

  “What do you mean by power objects?”

  “Ordinary enough statues, or books, or even kitchen implements, that have become repositories for the life force of people or creatures. These life forces may be drawn upon to strengthen psychic activities.”

  “I don’t think we’d have anything like that around,” Ben said. “We’re really ordinary people, Val. Not quite in touch with the planes beyond this plane we know.”

  “You sell yourselves short,” Val said. “You’re more in tune than you know. But you don’t have to be in tune with anything to possess one of these power objects. I’ve located four just today. The Swami has three statues, and Emma has a crystal cat.”

  Dickon asked, “Ben, do you suppose La Señora’s words about connecting the clay and the bamboo have something to do with these power objects?”

  Ben frowned with puzzlement. “I don’t know quite how they would.”

  “Well, there’s the Swami’s Boddhisattvas,” Dickon said, “and then there’s Minnie Vann’s Bamboo Buddha she gave you.”

  “You have Minnie Vann’s Bamboo Buddha?” Val’s excitement was like an electric spark flashing around the kitchen.

  “Yes,” Ben said. “Do you want me to get it?”

  “Just bring it to Malcolm’s tomorrow night, at seven,” she said to him. “That’s five,” she counted. “We need at least two more.”

  Dickon said, “Well, you want to go through the kitchen drawers, or poke around our small figurine collection?”

  “No,” the Princess replied. “I’m guessing the best hunting ground will be the Manor. There’s so much there to look through.” She took a large mouthful of tea, washed it around her teeth, and swallowed it. “I should be going,” she said. She lifted her teacup again and drained it, closing her teeth just in time as the wet bag pulled away from the side of the cup with a plopping sound.

  “Would you like to stay for supper?” Ben asked.

  “No, thanks, though. I’d best be on my way. It’s time for me to do my nightly meditation,” she said. “I don’t eat until I’ve had my quiet time.” She stood. Ben got up as well.

  “Remember, bring your Bamboo Buddha,” Val said on her way to the door. “Come to Malcolm’s tomorrow night at seven. You, too, Dickon,” she called over her shoulder. “Thanks for the tea.”

  “Good night,” Ben said.

  “Good night.” Princess Val went to the path and turned toward her cottage. The crow tattooed on her shoulder tucked its head under its wing and pondered.

  Stump Speech

  The Stump Spirit caressed Vanna with fingers that burned like fire and ice at the same time. Where it caressed her cosmetic surgery, all the blunders Dr. Porter House had provided melted away, turned into black steam by the Stump Spirit’s touch. Vanna slowly re-emerged from the physical wreck her experiment at disguise had made her.

  Then the Spirit touched Vanna’s mind with its own. The oily darkness of its mental tendrils slid into sockets in her psyche. Vanna shuddered. The touch w
as at once terror and ecstasy.

  “I am Shikunok,” it told her. “This is my stump you have chosen for your pillow.” Vanna extended a wordless apology. Shikunok replied, “You owe me nothing for this, nor for your psychic restoration. Indeed, I am pleased that you have come to me. I have been able to discharge a debt to the Dark One by curing you.” Vanna sensed a chuckle rippling across the ether.

  “I do not like paying debts, ordinarily,” Shikunok continued. “In this case, it has been a pleasure. You are a delight to ravage, my dear.”

  “Ravage?”

  “I speak in the spiritual sense,” Shikunok said. “I am eons beyond physical ravishment, more’s the pity. I doted on it, in my time.” Again a chuckle rippled across the ether. “I was notorious for it.”

  “Who are you?” Vanna questioned again.

  “I am Shikunok, as I told you.”

  “Shikunok is your name. That tells me nothing.”

  “Ah, are there no more speakers of old things among your people?”

  “We have historians,” Vanna said. “They mostly write long dull books about wars and politicians.”

  Great sadness permeated the psychic emanations from Shikunok. “Always with the warriors! The clamor of the battle tumult and the great wind of grand speeches, with so little said about those of us who use subtler means to conquer and control. Seriously, though, have you no history, nor even legends of Shikunok?”

  “No, nothing. When did you die, anyway?”

  “In a truly spiritual sense I’m still living.”

  “Yes, of course you are,” Vanna responded. A certain irritation prickled under the skin of her mind. Shikunok seemed a bit dense. She thought a moment. “How many centuries have you been the Spirit of the Stump?”

  “A lot. More than I can count on my fingers and toes.”

  “No wonder I’ve never heard of you, then. Our histories only go back about four centuries in this area. Before that, we know nothing of what transpired.”

  Great sadness welled across the psychic connection between them. Vanna hastily erected filters to dilute it. When had she learned to do that?

  “I need to tell someone my story,” Shikunok said. “I choose you to listen.”

  “Well, really,” Vanna began. A strong clamp overrode her filters and her control.

  “Listen!” Shikunok commanded her. Vanna listened.

  Shikunok told her/showed her his story. He had been a small boy when he first discovered he could twist the minds of others in his small tribe. He began with minor mischief, such as making an arthritic elder dance wildly around the fire one night, or causing the shaman to double time his healing chants, and the like. Puberty struck Shikunok with a tidal wave of mental power. He discovered he could now control many minds at one time, enough to determine the activities of the tribe. Now he discovered, as well, the joy of ruling others absolutely. He could have sexual congress with any tribal member any time and any place he wanted. No one could stop him.

  One tribe proved too small for his ambitions. He had soon led his people in a war attack to steal the women of the neighboring group. When the men of that tribe came after Shikunok’s tribe to avenge themselves and retrieve their women, Shikunok took over their minds and introduced them to man on man sex. The behavior so amused him he made it permanent.

  Shikunok extended his control to other tribes in his vicinity. When he chose, they all descended to the great ocean, and in great danger of their lives (many died) he sent them out to capture a great whale (they got the whale, and it died, too). Another time he amassed his men and sent them foraging up the river to raid the groves of the peoples who dwelled in the great valleys of the interior. When he lost too many men in these ventures, he simply twisted the minds of other men in other tribes to join his band.

  One old shaman’s mind he could not twist. This shaman was so well shielded Shikunok did not know he skulked on the edges of the village. The old shaman grieved for the peoples of the coast and the peaceful lives they had once shared. One night, Shikunok had chose to shame a couple who had kept back a choice portion of venison when he had wanted some for his supper. He forced the man to fornicate with his eldest son while the man’s wife was forced to beat her husband’s buttocks until the blood ran. Shikunok could have blanked the incident from his victims’ minds, but that would have been less than satisfactory vengeance. He wanted them to know the full embarrassment of their punishment. While he was engaged in this powerful mind control session, the old shaman crept up on him and smashed his head with a great rock. So Shikunok died, and his spirit entered the redwood tree where he had been imprisoned ever since. “And,” he concluded his tale, “thanks to the elements, my house has gotten very small indeed, until only this stump is left.”

  “How very interesting,” Vanna said. Shikunok’s grasp on her mind had loosened considerably while he told his tale. Vanna slipped his grasp and backed away from the stump. Shikunok was preening himself as she left.

  Vanna walked down the mountainside toward Pueblo Rio. Unbeknownst to her, her hair had become gray as the winter skies over the water. Her breasts, cheeks, and lips, that she had Dr. Porter House augment, had shrunk to their former size, but now the skin was carved with great wrinkles. Yet there was power in her stride, and ferocity in the glitter of her hard black eyes. She planned her attack on San Danson as she made her way toward the drowsing river town. It was only as she approached an outlying cabin that she realized her green dress had evaporated while she was with Shikunok. Sudden prudence dictated she find clothing. Her luck held. The outlying cabin was unoccupied. Vanna broke a window on the door and entered. She found clothes in a closet that fit her reasonably well. She chose jeans, boots, socks, and a heavy black and yellow flannel shirt. When she had put them on, she left the cabin, with the door wide open, and went to town.

  The Awakening

  The Villagers gathered at Malcolm’s that evening. Outside, the gray sky darkened toward night. A full moon could not penetrate the fog. It scarcely brightened the sky. When they had all gathered together, Ben called for quiet, and turned the session over to Princess Valiant.

  “We have been invaded,” the Princess began. “Vanna has been near us, or among us. You’ve seen the gaps in Malcolm’s violet garden.” Several Villagers murmured sympathetically. “We can expect she will return, and probably within a few days,” Val continued. “We must make ready.”

  “Just how do we do that?” Notta asked. She clasped Hyacinth to her. “Hyacinth is too young to stand against an old evil like Vanna.” DiConti moved closer to Notta and Hyacinth. He put a protective arm around Notta.

  “I quite agree,” Val said. “Hyacinth is not ready to battle a witch like Vanna on the psychic plane. We will need to ready another champion.”

  “You’re the major psychic among us,” the Swami said. “Will you be our champion?”

  “No,” Val said. “Someone must collect the spiritual strength of the whole village. That also requires skill, and more, it requires experience. I can’t gather your strength, and battle Vanna at the same time.”

  “La Señora never had to gather strength from other people,” Emma argued. “Why not?”

  “She had strength she nourished over decades,” Val said. “I don’t, and most Keepers of the Balance would not have so much power. La Señora was unusual that way. I hope, in her time, Hyacinth will come also into that level of power.” Val sighed. “We have to deal with Vanna now,” she said.

  “What kind of person do you need?” Dickon asked. Worry welled in his eyes. “Can any of us qualify?”

  Val smiled at him. “Yes, Dickon, one person can, for sure.” She turned to look at Ben. “You, Ben, have the potential.”

  “I do?” Ben responded. “I’m not psychic; I don’t even trust my eyes when I see these things happen.” He shook his head. “I’d do whatever I can,” he went on, “but I think I’m an alre
ady-broken reed, not fit for the Village to lean on.”

  “None the less, Ben,” Val said, you are our best hope. You will have to submit to some unpleasant mental invasion to get ready, but I can help you get through that.”

  Haakon spoke up. “Ben, if Val’s right about this, and she usually is, I think, will you do it? We’ll be your backup battery, or whatever, if we can. But if you’re our best hope, we need you.”

  Anger flared in Dickon’s green eyes. “Can’t we all do this together? Does it have to be laid on Ben alone?”

  “We will all be doing everything we can,” Princess Valiant said to Dickon. “Someone has to be the point on the dagger, as it were. Ben’s the likeliest candidate.”

  “Yeah, but sending him up against Vanna, that’s an awful request.”

  “You willing, Ben?” Harry Pitts asked.

  Ben thought a long moment. He looked up at Dickon’s worried face. “Yes,” he said, more to Dickon than to the rest of the Villagers. “I’ll do it. This is my home, and if vermin comes in, I need to do my best to exterminate it.”

  “Thank you, Ben,” Princess Valiant said. “I’ll do all I can to prepare you.” She turned to the rest of the Villagers. “Tonight we need to meld ourselves into a single power source, one we can join almost instantly if we have to. Swami, did you bring your Boddhisattvas?”

  “Yes,” the Swami said. “Shall I put them on the table?”

  “Please do. Ben, put your Bamboo Buddha there with them. Emma, did you bring your Crystal Cat?”

  “Yes, here it is,” she said. She stroked it with her thumb as she carried it to the table.

  “Ermentrude brought me this,” Hyacinth piped. She handed a jade pendant, shaped like a unicorn, to Princess Valiant. The Princess put it on the table with the other artifacts.

  “We need one more holy thing of power,” Val said. “Seven’s the best number to have.”

  “Will my Bible do?” Harry inquired.

  “Yes,” the Princess said, and motioned to Harry to put it on the table.

  “You’ll be safe enough here,” Harry said to the book. “These are good things and good people. A Bible can be among them and ally with them.” He kissed the worn book and laid it on the table. Then he took his seat again.

  “Please join hands,” Princess Val said. “Ben, join your left hand with Malcolm. Put your right hand on the table.” Ben did so. Then she joined her right hand with DiConti and put her left hand on the other side of the table. She looked around the room. Everyone had joined hands. The Princess began to chant. No one present knew the language she used, but each of them felt the power in her words and voice. Ben’s right hand grew warm as power surged into him from the table. He felt it travel across his body and through his left hand into Malcolm’s hand. The Princess chanted