Mistle Child (Undertaken Trilogy)

  Cast in shadow, present but indistinct, members of the family whispered amongst themselves.

  “Is this a public event?” Silas asked, uncomfortable with the idea of being watched and possibly evaluated.

  “Not generally, no,” Jonas replied. “But this is an important moment. The Door Doom proper has not been held for some time. It is well to share such a night with family.”

  “I think it has something more to do with spectacle being the delight of the idle,” said Maud. “Though I won’t deny today’s proceedings are of particular interest to some.”

  “Why?” asked Silas. He could see Maud was not pleased with whatever was about to happen. There was something they weren’t telling him. But in her words he also sensed a shift in power between her and Jonas, as though now that the business at hand was the Door Doom and not merely welcoming Silas to the house, Jonas had reassumed an accustomed authority. He wanted to be needed and was eager for Silas to rely on him.

  “Let us waste no more time. Shall we begin?” Jonas said, ignoring Maud completely.

  There was a desperate edge to Jonas’s voice. Silas was sure it wasn’t fear. Jonas was smiling. Was he excited? Yes. He was eager for the Doom to begin. Even if Jonas derived a kind of pleasure from meeting family obligations, his excitement seemed to Silas to violate the solemn nature of the rite. The dead were to be called and judged. Where was the joy in that?

  “Are you in a hurry, Jonas? Do you have someplace else to be?” Silas asked lightly.

  “Silas Umber,” Jonas laughed impatiently, “where else would I go? I am here because you are here. Without the Janus, what need would we have to assemble? I assure you, I am merely pleased that we can, together, put an old wrong to right. The indolence of our house has long preyed upon my mind. Indeed, but for that, I might have long ago gone to my rest. Ours is such important work, and I’ll be honest, I was against your coming here. I thought it unwise to bring you to Arvale so soon. But now I see you are ready to embrace your obligations, and that you have a gift, yes, a true aptitude for this work. So I am pleased to continue, and to help you as I may, so long as I am needed.”

  Jonas was sincere, Silas could feel that. But there was anxiousness beneath his words that still seemed out of proportion. Whatever was going to happen, Jonas desperately wanted it to occur. Silas looked hard at the ghost of his ancestor. Jonas seemed larger than yesterday, his form weighing more heavily on the air, his presence strong and intimidating. A brightness shone from his brow, and when he spoke, words filled the large hall from floor to rafter.

  The quality of the atmosphere in the hall was changing. It was growing swiftly colder and sharper. The edges of objects in the room became hard, more distinct, and the dim light congealed, clinging to everything like tiny, bright droplets of water.

  Outside the door, a great whirring could be heard. It was followed by a long, soft crunching, like something was being dragged across the ground toward the house.

  “Jonas, what is coming?” Silas asked in a near whisper, moving closer to him.

  “Prepare yourself. I have no desire to worry you, but some things that appear before the Doom are more . . . unnatural than others. More monstrous. But you shall overcome all who stand against the order of things. In times past, when one such as what you will see tonight appeared, it was quickly put down by the Undertaker, or the Janus, if it came to that. But this house, indeed Lichport, has long been without one capable of rising to the task, and so this evil has spread and endured for many, many years. These are no ordinary spirits, no mere ghosts, but an appalling horde, a plague. It must be this way. When the dead walk and their feet make impression upon the earth, the Door Doom must be convened to banish them. It has always been so. In the past, such folk as you shall face tonight have brought pestilence in their wake. They are often cognizant of their estate, and so may speak to you, even in pleasing words. You must ignore them.”

  “But they have to be allowed to speak, or I can’t—”

  “Silas, forgive me. I know this will be hard for you particularly. Human fear and primitive reverence might make this hard for anyone, but the Janus must serve both the living and dead by putting down these unnaturals, these monstrosities. Now, Silas, do you promise to do what’s required? I will stand by you.”

  Silas’s hands were shaking. But he tried to remind himself that this was no different from any other aspect of the Undertaking. In Lichport, he rarely knew in advance what form a troubled ghost might take, and so he had to be willing to face whatever came. This is my job, he told himself. This is how it goes, how it always goes. This I have done before. But it felt different. Something was coming and he knew he wasn’t going to like it.

  “All right. I promise,” he said, straightening his back, trying to raise his courage. The sooner this was done, the sooner he could go home.

  “Excellent,” said Jonas. “The names have already been called and the great horn has sounded the summons. Let us take our places. They are almost here.”

  By the door, Silas saw the small table, with the ewer of water from the Lethe spring. The black stone scepter lay next to it. Beside the table, closer to the door, were several cords of dry wood. There were buckets of what smelled like pitch, and a few feet away, an iron brazier stood upon a tripod, its flames weaving together, sending black smoke twirling toward the ceiling.

  Seeing Silas looking at the wood, Jonas said simply, “A necessary precaution.”

  More nervous now than before, Silas took his place in front of the door. His hands were shaking and something Jonas had said set a bell ringing in Silas’s mind. He clenched his fists to still his hands.

  Silas looked behind him, as though he might reach back and pick up the black scepter, for fortitude. But Jonas said, trying to steady him, “The only power you need to govern the Door Doom already rests within your hands. You need no other.”

  The three robed spirits arrayed themselves along with Maud and Jonas in a semicircle before the doors of the great hall. Jonas looked at Silas and was about to speak, but Silas, determined not to be led along, spoke first with a loud voice that wavered only a little. “Now let the dead be called to the hall of judgment. I, Janus, Lord of the Threshold, open the door! Let the Doom commence.”

  The words tasted like ashes in his mouth, but Silas was determined not to be humiliated in front of his family by doing or saying something wrong. As on the previous night, he raised his hands and moved his arms apart, and slowly, in like manner, the doors opened.

  At first the opening framed only darkness. But then Silas saw movement beyond the threshold, shadows lurched just outside the wedge of light cast outward from the torches and candles of the great hall. Shambling forms approached the door, some with dragging feet. Silas could hear heels being scraped across the ground as though they were being pulled roughly by invisible ropes. One figure stood ahead of the others and raised an arm. Was it in fear, an attempt to stop what was happening? Or was it a salute?

  A voice leapt up, strong, deep, and sure of itself, from the figure at the front of the crowd.

  “Hello, the house!”

  Silas knew the voice. He instantly recognized its proud timbre, but he could also hear how the bravado was tinged with fear. Slowly, the awkward human shapes approached, and as they stepped upon the Limbus Stone, they froze, and the light from the hall fell upon them all.

  Augustus Howesman stood upon the Limbus Stone with the other Restless from Lichport. Despite his predicament, he carried himself nobly. Next to him, expressionless, was the old woman from Fort Street, the lady from the garden, her hat still alive with weeds growing from the band and brim. Flanking them were others, perhaps ten or twelve in all. Men and women. Some bore an absent expression, their jaws hanging slack. Most seemed aware that something was happening to them. All of their eyes pierced the doorway questioningly. Only the entropy cast upon them by their long years of existence slowed their facial reactions. But all their mouths had begun to move as they whispered d
esperately among themselves.

  Silas stared in disbelief. He told himself it was a play of the light, or his nerves, that had called up the image of his great-grandfather out of desire to be with someone he could trust absolutely. But it was no illusion. The corpse of Augustus Howesman stood before him, and Silas could feel his presence, the bond of love between them. He was struck dumb. Of all the dead to call to the Doom. Them? They hadn’t hurt anyone. They haunted no one. They lived in their own houses. The irony of someone like Jonas Umber, a ghost in his own house, judging these people, made Silas feel sick.

  Silas tried to speak, but no words came. His face was flushed. Shock and anger tightened his jaw.

  Jonas glanced at Silas’s face. He leaned over quickly and said, his mouth close to Silas’s ear, “I know, family is difficult. We shall walk through this together. I can say the words for you. So long as you’re present and approve, that will suffice to make the Doom binding on the deceased. The Restless are much easier. They rarely fight. Especially if someone they know is consigning them to oblivion. All you need to do is be sure they are on the Limbus Stone, then say the words, and I will—”

  “You tricked me!” shouted Silas.

  “No, Silas, I am trying to help you.”

  “You are trying to turn me against my family! My father has offended you in some way, and now you are punishing me for it because you can’t get at him anymore.”

  “Silas,” Maud interjected, trying to calm him, “we are your family.”

  “Family is more than blood and bloodline,” Silas railed at her, “more than a name!” He could see now why she had been against this happening. She knew he’d be furious. This was not Maud’s doing or a part of her plans. He turned back to Jonas and shouted, “How could you expect I would go along with this? What were you thinking?”

  “There is no need to lose your composure. Do not take the work personally. We did not cause the condition that afflicts the corpse that stands before you. We merely seek to cure it of this curse.”

  “He is not an it!”

  Jonas looked wounded. “I see you and your father indeed share more than a name. Silas, listen to me. What you see before you is corruption. It is an abomination of nature. We need not become hysterical. It is merely our job to restore order, and we can absolutely do that. I have done it many, many times. Do what must be done. I promise you, it will get easier and easier. In time, you will come to take satisfaction from your work. I swear.”

  “Enough!” Silas snapped. “That was your life! This is mine! I refuse to bring the Doom down upon these people. Can’t you see how incredibly stupid it is for you to claim any moral high ground here? You are a ghost! You are dead like them!”

  “I most certainly am not dead like them. You speak as if you think I am some unnatural thing.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Let me assure you, I am nonesuch!” said Jonas, the flames in the brazier rising higher behind him. “Even before incarnation in the act of birth, spirit is present. When death comes, spirit remains though the body decays, dissolves. Those you see in this house, the ghosts of your family, we are not like the putrid corpses you see before you, neither are we like those poor shades who grow quiet too soon, who give up so easily in death and consign themselves to an eternity of silence. We are the enduring essence of life itself. Pure souls who—”

  Silas waved his hands in the air as if to dispel Jonas’s words.

  “No more philosophy. You have asked me to do something. You have the right to ask. I refuse. That is my right. Now I am going home, as is also my right. If you continue to argue with me, to coerce me, or try to stop me in any way, when I leave this house, I will shut these doors so that they shall never open again,” Silas proclaimed coldly, though he was unsure whether or not he could actually seal the doors of Arvale.

  Jonas’s face fell. The air around him soured as he stared at the floor. “Always and always it is to be the same. As with the father, so with the son.” He looked up. “Silas, there is no need to threaten us with imprisonment. It is merely redundant.” Jonas closed his eyes. He looked at Silas miserably, as if the words he was speaking were diminishing him.

  Jonas gestured with his hand and many of the spirits in the room fell away, through wall, through floor, passing beyond the candlelight. When the hall had become absolutely silent, Jonas spoke softly to Silas alone.

  “Silas, in you now is the blood of all your kin—”

  “Please, I want no more lectures.”

  “Hear me out, I beg you. Then I will be silent on the matter and you can do as you please.”

  Silas nodded, his breathing slowing slightly.

  “In your veins is the blood of many extraordinary people. Some noble, some kind, some loving, a few wretches, to be sure. There are certain tendencies, particular gifts. Again, some are a boon, others . . . less so. From your mother’s side, from your great-grandfather’s line, comes the potential of something very unpleasant. You see it before you now. You must fight such inclinations, both in the dead and in yourself. To indulge such tendencies could . . . complicate your ongoing work. You would become something very terrible, something infinitely worse than a mere walking corpse.”

  “Are you saying I am going to be like him when I die? That I will continue?”

  All the color went from Silas’s face. He loved his great-grandfather, as much as he had ever loved anyone, but he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to be like him.

  “I cannot see the future. I am saying it is possible. After making a life’s study of the ataphoi, of the Restless, I believe that there may be a choice involved. I am saying that if you are dedicated to eradicating those who suffer from this illness, you may be less likely to share their fate.”

  Silas stood unsure of what to say. In the heavy silence, Augustus Howesman peered inside and spoke up in a kind and encouraging tone. “Silas, it’s all right. I don’t want you to come to any harm, son, and I don’t want you to worry. You can let these folks have their way. If you need this to happen, it’s all right. If it will help you to become what you want to become, I’ll step down. Hell, you know it’s only mere curiosity that keeps me going . . . that, and my love for you. Stand tall if you must. If need be, I’ll call it a day. And if my spool’s about to run out, well, son, I’d just as soon it be you who cuts the thread.”

  Silas couldn’t feel his limbs. He would never do anything that would bring harm to his great-grandfather. Love and instinct drove him on.

  He stepped toward the doorway and said, “Great-grandfather, is it your wish to take the waters and forget and pass on beyond?”

  “Not particularly, no. But I will, if it will help you.”

  A hopeful smile crept across Jonas’s face.

  Silas’s eyes were sodden with tears.

  “Augustus Howesman, great-grandfather, step back from the threshold into the world again. Return with your neighbors and friends to your true homes and never again heed the call of this house, unless it is your express wish to do so.”

  Silas raised his hand and the door began to close. “I, the Janus of the doorway and Undertaker of Lichport rel—” but Jonas rushed forward cutting off his words.

  “Stop!” he shouted at Augustus Howesman. “You are not released. You are bound to the threshold and must remain. Do not stir a step from this place, Augustus Howesman! In the absence of the required words, I shall pronounce the Doom upon you!”

  Maud ran forward, crying desperately. “Jonas, you must not! It is not your place. Please! You’ll drive the boy from the house! He will leave us! Let these others go for the boy’s sake!”

  Without thinking, Silas grabbed the black scepter from the table, and ran to stand between Jonas and his great-grandfather. As he held it up, he felt all the muscles in his arms pull taught as though a current had been put through them. The heat ran from his hand up his arms and into his torso, radiating through his body like a spreading fever.

  “Silas, what do you think
you’re going to do with that? Shoo him from the porch? Shatter the Limbus Stone?” said Jonas incredulously.

  Silas looked at Jonas coldly. “It’s not for him. I was just wondering, Jonas, what would happen if I struck you with it.”

  At the threat, Jonas moved swiftly backward through the air, retreating as far away from Silas as he could while remaining in the hall.

  Maud joined Jonas at the back wall. Seeing Silas wield the scepter clearly frightened them. Now Silas knew they would not stand against him.

  Much of the anger had left Jonas Umber’s face and was replaced with a mask of desolation. Silas stared at Jonas, daring him to speak. Good, Silas thought, now I will finish this my way. He turned back toward the door in preparation to release his great-grandfather and the other Restless. Suddenly, Silas heard a sound from outside that was both awful and familiar, a cry, somewhere near the outer wall of the house, just beyond the door. It was that moaning, the soft, pitiful crying Silas had heard in the sealed cell down in the catacombs. It swiftly rose in pitch, shattered the cold quiet of the night outside, and tore through the walls as though the stones and bricks of Arvale were made of cloth.

  As the cry became a shriek, most of the remaining spirits in the hall fled. Something struck the roof of the house and howled along the battlements. A wail of pure anguish reverberated through the walls. One of the enormous oak corbels, covered with intricate carvings of birds, fell from its nest among the ceiling beams of the hall and broke to pieces as it struck the floor.

  Maud seemed to assume the noise had started because of something Jonas had done. She turned upon him, shouting, “Jonas Umber! Your days of governance are long since finished. You may not preside over the Doom, nor command the dead in any way. In death we are all made equals. This is out of all proportion, and will bring harsh judgment down upon this house and everything we have built here. The Janus is present! You must not take upon yourself the—”