Spear Bearer

  “I attached an extra pendant to the chain of sigils,” Gordon explained. “It’s not a sigil, but it is sensitive to the energy produced by a sigil when a summons is made. It will begin to vibrate at a resonant frequency, making a signal.”

  “Kind of like a radio wave?” Manuel asked.

  “Bright lad,” Gordon answered with a smile.

  “But why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Well,” Gordon wrinkled up his face so that he looked like a prune. “We didn’t want them to get the sigils at all. And I thought they were safe with you. But if Aker’s demons did find you, and you didn’t try really hard to keep the sigils from them, they might guess that something wasn’t quite right.” Gordon looked down at his feet. “But you could’ve been killed.”

  “Ah well,” the head intoned. “The little blighter’s all right. None the worse for wear. All’s well that ends well.”

  Gordon shook his head. “Sometimes he talks me into things...I am sorry.”

  Manuel rubbed his throat. In the mirror, he had seen the white marks where the demon’s fingers had squeezed. “Yeah. I’m okay.” He looked around. “Where is the...receiver thingie?”

  Gordon lifted his head and flashed a bright white smile. “Ahh...yes...right here,” he said, picking up a glass coke bottle, empty save for a splinter of black metal.

  “That’s the receiver?”

  “Did you expect a portable radio, Sparky?” the shrunken head asked.

  “It will vibrate when a summons is made,” Gordon said.

  “But that won’t tell us where the pendants are,” Manuel said.

  “He couldn’t solve a jigsaw puzzle if it had only three pieces,” the shrunken head groaned.

  Gordon frowned at the head, then explained. “Aligning the splinter with the waves coming from the beacon pendant will make it vibrate more. When I put the splinter between my teeth—”

  “You’re going to put that in your mouth?” Manuel interrupted.

  Before Gordon could answer, there was knocking at the door, and Manuel went and let his mother in. Quickly he told her about the imp in their duplex, the demon who had taken the sigils, and finally the splinter in the bottle.

  “When the summons comes,” Manuel said, “We’re going to go get them back.”

  Miss Garcia leaned up against the bookshelves. Manuel noticed her hand trembling and wondered why. Was she scared? Or was she tired?

  “You’re not going,” she said quietly. “I know you’re not an ordinary boy.” She looked now at Gordon. “It is so good of you to train him. I know he needs you. But this...” Now she shook her head, “This is loco. He is not an ordinary boy, but he is my boy.” She reached out to Manuel and touched where the demon had left marks on his throat.

  “So, Sparky, is your mum going to tell you what to do?” the shrunken head asked in a singsong voice.

  “Shut up,” Gordon said to the head. Then he turned to Manuel’s mother. “Of course, I can be right thick sometimes. Manuel’s not coming with me.”

  Manuel felt a little mad, but he held his tongue. She might come around still, but he knew from experience that if he argued with her then she would dig in her heals.

  “We should go to our house,” Miss Garcia said. “It sounds like we have a mess to clean up.”

  “I should come with you,” Gordon said. Manuel knew he was thinking about the imp, though it didn’t seem that there was much chance they’d find it still there.

  But what they found when they pulled up was a bigger shock than they had prepared themselves for. The landlord, wearing his dingy t-shirt over his plump belly, was busy carrying an armload of Manuel’s clothes out the front door. Already on the front lawn were dishes, end tables, chairs, a TV, linens, and their kitchen trashcan.

  Gordon jumped out of the car and headed toward the landlord. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  The landlord pointed at Manuel. “They are moving out! Something’s not right with them. There was an...an...animal in the house. An evil little black...monster. It ripped up the furniture, broke a window, scratched the walls.”

  “You’re a right bloody arse,” Gordon said.

  “What business is this of yours?” the landlord asked.

  Gordon had his back to Manuel, but he saw the landlord’s eyes pop open wide and saw the man step back. He lifted his hands up defensively, “Get away,” he muttered, “Get away.” Then he turned and ran into his side of the duplex. But before he shut the door he yelled, “Get your evil butts off my property!”

  Manuel wondered what Gordon had done, but when Gordon turned around he looked normal and he flashed a wide smile. “I think he’ll stay indoors for a bit.”

  “What are we going to do?” Manuel’s mom asked. She looked utterly defeated. She had always been a slight woman, but now she looked frail. Her eyes had no sparkle; her hair had no luster.

  “We need to get a rent-a-lorry and pack up your stuff,” Gordon said. “We’ll put it in storage until you find another place.”

  “But where will we stay in the meantime?” Manuel asked.

  “With me,” Gordon said, “Of course.”

  Chapter 21 — Chasing the Will-o'-wisp

  “They have many names: Will-o'-wisp, friar's lantern, ignis fatuus, corpse candles,” Mr. Long said. He sat at the big antique desk and Lizzie at the table. “It's a light people see in the swamps, hovering or darting around in the air. Scientists claim it is a natural phenomenon—the combustion of gases emitted by rotting leaves and such.

  “But there are many legends concerning them. Most say they are dark elves or ghosts holding lanterns, tempting travelers to follow them into danger—cliffs, cave-ins or quicksand. They are notorious for appearing just far enough away that you can't get a good look at them, but no matter how you try, you never seem to get any closer.

  “I have heard that people have been seeing them down some ways south of Hattiesburg. We need to go investigate. It's probably nothing more than someone's overactive imagination. Still, I think it is worth a trip.

  “Friday after school okay with you?”

  “Yes'r,” Lizzie said. It sounded scary, but she would rather use the Spear on something she knew to be mean and nasty. Besides, could she really say no?

  It had already been a long drive when Mr. Long turned the pickup off the highway and onto a rural route. The road wound along next to kudzu-choked telephone poles, past abandoned gas stations, junkyards with rusting cars disappearing in the tall weeds, and scores of trailer homes. He had to stop a few times to look at a map before he decided on an oiled dirt road, narrow and dark under a thick canopy of branches. As they went further, the road became pitted with potholes and lined with deep, muddy ruts.

  When her dad veered off this road, Lizzie thought he had accidentally driven straight into the woods; but then she noticed tire ruts in the grass. Bushes scraped against the sides of the truck, branches twanged and snapped against the windshield.

  They stopped in a clearing with crisscrossing tracks where vehicles had pulled in, backed up, and turned around. “It looks like the end of the road,” Mr. Long said.

  What road? Lizzie thought. In any case, no one seemed to have gone any further.

  Her dad took a handheld GPS from his vest and pushed a few buttons on it. He chuckled and said, “Technology versus the will-o'-wisp. I'm setting our present position in now. When we are ready to come back, the GPS will point to here. We can't get lost.

  “Well...unless the batteries fail.”

  Lizzie gulped. Why did he have to add that?

  He pulled the Spear out of the duffle bag sitting in the back seat. “Let's go,” he said, opening up his door.

  Holding the Spear out in front of him, he slowly turned around in a circle. As he went around, Lizzie did too. She noticed several wooden signs nailed into the trees around the clearing. They were hand-painted.

  POSTED NO TRESPASING

  POSTED NO HUNTING

  PRIVITE PROP
ERTY

  KEEP OUT VILEATORS WILL BE SHOT

  After a few full turns he stopped. He shrugged. “This way, I think.”

  “But dad...” Lizzie said, pointing at one of the signs.

  “Oh,” he replied, “those signs are everywhere. These Mississippi men don't like other guys hunting on their property. They don't want some other guy bagging their deer.”

  They set off.

  Lizzie wore a vest like her father. It had everything she needed: two flashlights, a pocketknife, night-vision goggles, and a walkie-talkie in case they became separated. Underneath the vest, she wore the Medallion of Longinus for protection against the Fallen.

  Somewhere behind all those trees the sun was setting. The woods were already deep in shadow.

  There was no trail, but they didn't need one. He moved fast through the woods, but then so did Lizzie. With all her cross-country running, and her many trips into the woods behind her home, this was no problem. At least until it became too dark.

  “Wait, dad,” Lizzie said, after tripping on a branch. She strapped the NVGs onto her head. Flipping a switch, the world glowed with an eerie green cast. With the Spear, her father didn't need NVGs.

  They continued now, thorny vines clinging to Lizzie's jeans, bushes and branches scraping against her arms. Her dad had insisted she wear a long sleeve shirt, despite the heat, and now she had to admit it was a good thing. They climbed over great fallen trees and sloshed through marshy depressions. Through it all, her dad moved with a singular purpose, the Spear leading the way.

  Then he stopped and motioned for her to stop. “Look,” he whispered, pointing.

  The lights showed up in her goggles as distorted blurs, so she lifted them up onto her forehead. Up ahead, about thirty yards away, she saw a light floating in the air over a thicket of tall bamboo or grass. “Is that a will-o'-wisp?” she asked, leaning in close to him.

  “No. It's just a light on a pole. But it probably is what started the rumors of the will-o'-wisp. Someone's in that bamboo carrying the pole. I wonder what's going on. Let's move closer. Be very quiet and don't speak—not even a whisper.”

  Carefully, they crept toward the bamboo. When they reached the edge of it, Mr. Long signaled for her to wait there. She didn't like the idea of staying behind alone at all, but how could she argue if she wasn't even supposed to speak?

  As soon as he stepped away from her, he disappeared into the towering, thick bamboo.

  Pulling the NVG back on, she looked at the bamboo closer. It wasn't bamboo at all. It grew tall like bamboo, and had many long skinny leaves like bamboo, but it branched out broader than bamboo, and the leaves had jagged edges and came in clusters.

  Her heart skipped a beat and she whirled around when she heard the voices. They were low and deep, the words incomprehensible. A flashlight's beam bobbed in and out of sight behind trees and bushes. She sat frozen, the pounding of her heart ringing in her ears, as the voices continued coming nearer.

  Chapter 22 — The Ringing

  Both Gordon’s dining room table and sofa converted into beds. Manuel took the sofa; the dining room table was a little bigger and it didn’t have the uncomfortable bar in the middle. He hoped his mom would sleep well and maybe not be as tired as she had been so often lately.

  So far it seemed to be working. She had lain down to read, but within minutes her eyes were closed and her breathing slow and rhythmic. She still had her work clothes on. Manuel had covered her up and kissed her on the cheek.

  Manuel sat on his sofa-turned-bed and stared at the plywood covering up the broken window. He wondered why Akers wanted the sigils; what demon did he plan to summon, and why? Did he plan to steal something important or valuable? Or kill another politician so as to take his place?

  He heard a ringing sound and looked up to the kitchen counter. The metal needle in the coke bottle bounced around as if someone held the bottle and was shaking it.

  “It’s time,” the shrunken head said in a whisper.

  Manuel picked up the bottle. The pitch of the ringing became lower and muted, but the splinter continued to dance with amazing energy. He knocked at Gordon’s door.

  Gordon slid the pocket door open. His eyes opened wide when he saw the bottle. “That was right quick,” he said. He tipped the bottle and the splinter slid into his hand. Taking the splinter between his index finger and thumb, he opened his mouth wide and fit the splinter sideways into his mouth across his tongue and then clamped his teeth down onto the splinter.

  “It’s less than a day’s journey,” Gordon said through his clenched teeth. He disappeared into his room for a moment, and then came back with his black leather jacket on and a duffle bag under his arm. “Let’s see what this Akers is about. I think I have everything,” he said, looking around the room. Then he saw the shrunken head. “Oh yes...almost forgot you.” He untied the shrunken head’s hair from the air conditioning vent and dropped the head into his duffle bag.

  “Oh, gawd,” the shrunken head said, and a gagging sound followed. “Get me out! It stinks of runners and boxers in here.”

  Gordon stared into the bag. “Well, would you rather I tied you to the handlebars?”

  “You are barmy,” the head said.

  Gordon took the shrunken head out and held it in the palm of his hand. “I guess I could leave you here.”

  “You could at that,” the head replied.

  “And maybe I should.” Gordon tied the head back up, and in a moment was at the door. “Make yourselves at home. I’ll ring you and let you know how I’m getting on. Cheers.”

  “Bye,” Manuel answered before the door shut.

  A moment later he heard the roar as Gordon kick started his motorcycle to life. Two louder bursts shook the trailer as Gordon revved the engine, and then Manuel listened as the bike rumbled out of the trailer park onto 41st street, and he followed the sound until it finally blended into the steady cacophony of the highway and was lost.

  Manuel looked at his mom and saw her shaking her head. He knew what she was thinking.

  “He’ll be okay,” Manuel said.

  “He’ll be fine,” the shrunken head agreed.

  Chapter 23 — Dale, Jimbo and Jake

  The men continued moving closer. Where was her dad? What should she do?

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Calm, calm, calm, she told herself. Slowly, carefully, she began to back her way into the thicket to hide. If she was quiet enough, they were bound to pass on by.

  To Lizzie, whose ears had become accustomed to the quiet of the night woods, they sounded like a pair of elephants tramping through the forest. Their footfalls were heavy and sticks snapped under their boots. As they came near, she could hear them talking.

  “Ya' know what I'm gonna do with the money when we sell this dope?”

  “Uh-uh,” said the other.

  “I'm a gonna get one of them big four-wheel drive trucks. Ya' know the kind that are so tall you need a ladder to climb up into 'em?”

  “Yeah, that's just great Dale. How much you think one of them rigs cost?”

  “Thppt,” Dale spit. “Dunno.”

  “I'll tell you how much, dumb butt. Thirty-thousand. That's gonna be your entire take from this here venture. You gonna blow your whole take on that truck? That's just stupid.”

  Lizzie continued backing away from them into the thicket. Her foot caught on something; she stumbled, and fell backwards. Little bells rang wildly for a moment and then stopped.

  “Whaz there?” one of the men shouted.

  They came right at her now making a commotion. She started to get up, but her left foot was caught on something. The bells rang as she struggled to free herself. Her boot was snared on a wire strung tight half a foot off the ground. Little round bells hung from the wire.

  Lizzie went blind in an explosion of white light as their flashlights overloaded her NVGs. She shielded her eyes with her arm.

  “Thppt. What have we here?”

  “Grab him!”


  Lizzie felt strong hands grab her by the ankles. As they dragged her over the wire and through the thicket, her head bumped hard against the ground.

  They stopped.

  “He's a little guy,” the one named Dale said.

  “I think it's just a kid.”

  “Thppt. Hey, what's that he's wearin' on his face?”

  “Shut up Dale. Don't you know nothing? Them those NVG goggles.”

  Lizzie pulled off her goggles, but they kept the light in her face, so she couldn't make out anything but silhouettes.

  “Hey, you're right, Jimbo, it is a kid. Thppt. Hey...he's wearing earrings.”

  “It's a girl, dumb butt.”

  “What's goin' on here?” a third man said. Jimbo shined his flashlight on him, a tall man with thin face and a burr haircut. He carried a florescent lamp at the end of a long pole—the lamp they had seen hovering over the thicket.

  “Caught a prowler,” Jimbo responded. Lizzie could see him now in the light from the lamp; he wore a t-shirt tight around his big chest and he had a slightly protruding gut. His arms were bigger around than Lizzie's legs. He had no neck and a square face, and was mostly bald. In his left hand he held the flashlight, in his right, a shotgun.

  “It's a girl,” Dale said. “Thppt.” It went splat just inches from her face. Suspenders held up his pants, and a huge belly hung out from under his camouflaged t-shirt. His hair was long and greasy, and a bushy beard hid his face.

  “Tsk tsk...very unfortunate,” the third man said, his voice deep and rough. He pulled a long hunting knife from a sheath that hung on his belt. He also wore a holster with a pistol in it.

  “What ya' gonna do Jake?” Dale asked.

  “Shut up Dale. We can't just let her go.”

  “But Jake, she's just a little girl,” Dale argued.

  “You want to spend twenty years in jail? I don't. So unless you want to get what she's getting, you'll shut your fat trap.” Jake stabbed the pole holding the lantern into the ground. “Okay, if you two don't want to watch, you can go look around and see if she has any friends with her.”

  “Thppt,” Dale answered. He and Jimbo began to walk away.

  Jake leaned over, reaching for Lizzie's throat with one hand, holding the knife in the other.

  Lizzie had had karate classes for six years. What she did next came automatically. She pulled her legs up quickly to her chest, and then thrust her feet hard into Jake's face. “Keyah!”