Hallowed Ground

Chapter Twenty-Three

Cy and Andy trudged into camp just as the sun began to set behind them. Each carried a canvas sack over one shoulder and a peculiar stick with a noose attached to it in their free hand. Those who saw them coming stepped aside, or moved further back into the shadows. Everyone knew what was wriggling around in those sacks, and they were no more welcome among the Deacon's flock than they had been in the Garden of Eden.

The two men stopped at their tent long enough to drop off their spades, and then set off toward Longman's wagon. There was no sign of the little man, but a low glow shone through the cracks along the wagon's siding, and the soft strains of a harmonica filled the air.

Andy climbed up the two steps at the back of the wagon and rapped his knuckles on the wooden surface three times, sharply.

"Longman?" he called out.

The haunting strains of the harmonica fell silent, and the door swung out, nearly knocking Andy from his perch.

Despite his own short stature, Andy towered over Longman. He clung to the thin metal handrail and struggling to keep his balance. Cy stepped up behind him and pushed him back upright. He held both of the canvas bags, so he had to use one to catch his friend. The bag rippled. Andy recoiled from it with a shiver, nearly pitching backwards again.

"There you are," Longman said, grinning. "I was beginning to think you'd gone and got yourself lost. You know, like maybe they'd caught you instead of you catchin' them, if you know what I mean?"

"You're a funny bastard," Andy muttered, pointing at the sacks Cy held up. "The Deacon said we was supposed to bring ‘em here."

"Come in, come in," Longman said.

He held the door as first Andy, and then Cy clambered inside, and then he closed it behind them. A wooden crate had been set up in the center of the room, standing about four foot in height with a screened top. Longman stepped around Cy and grabbed one side of the lid.

"Give me a hand, Andy, don't be shy. The sooner we get ‘em in here, the sooner we can get busy and the sooner you can get gone."

Andy grabbed the lid and helped pry it off, all the while glancing at the bags Cy held suspiciously. Andy didn't like snakes. All the way deep down into his bones, couldn't abide them. He had recurring nightmares about rattlers, particularly after one of these "gatherings" the Deacon sent them on.

Longman chuckled. Cy stood impassively, gripping the tops of the bags tightly, but not particularly carefully. He stepped forward and handed the first of the bags to Longman. The dwarf took it deftly and upended it quickly over the crate.

Writhing, hissing snakes dropped from the bag, winding and twirling about one another. The colorful diamond patterns on their backs glittered in the kerosene lamplight, and they rose and struck at the air as the darkness of the bags was replaced by the lambent glow inside Longman's wagon. Andy stumbled back so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Watch yer feet, big man," Longman cackled. "One of them gets out, you don't want to be facing it on all fours." He made a gesture with his fingers, mimicking a snake's fangs going in deep.

"Just get the damned things in the box," Andy snapped.

Longman laughed, a rumbling belly laugh, as he dropped the first bag and took the second from Cy. He dumped the serpents in on top of the others. There were more than a dozen of the sleek, powerful bodies twining around one another like knotted ropes. Longman leaned in over the crate and watched, fascinated. "Look at them. Glorious."

Cy stood beside him, refusing to look at the snakes, or anything else in particular.

"Put the damn lid on it, Longman," Andy said. He backed as far away from the box as possible, until he was pressed up against the wall. "Before one of the bastards gets out."

Longman turned, and snapped the wooden lid back into place. "No reason to cut loose in your pants," the little man said. "They're locked up safe and sound."

"Found a nest," Cy said. "Must have been ten in that one place. Followed the bones, just like you taught us."

"Very, very good." He turned back to Andy. "You really have to get over this problem of yours," he said. "The amount of times we've gone through this, you'd think it would be old rope by now."

"Damned things ain't natural," Andy muttered, still refusing to come away from the wall. "Never going to be over my ‘problem' cuz it ain't a problem. A smart man'd steer clear of those damned scaly bastards. No good can come of this, mark my words."

"No good intended, I'm sure," Longman replied. "We'd better get started before they get themselves riled up in there. Don't want ‘em getting feisty now, do we?" He winked at Andy. "The Deacon left some new instructions this time - reckon it's going to take a little longer than usual to complete."

"You sure you and Cy can't handle this by yourselves?" Andy asked. His voice rose in pitch. He eyed the door hopefully.

"You can wait outside and make sure no one disturbs us if it bothers you that much," Longman said. "I'd hate to think what might happen if, say, we were startled at the wrong moment. Once the lid's open the last thing we want is someone barging in."

Andy didn't wait for further elaboration. He edged around the wall, skirted the crate carefully, and slipped out the door. Longman closed it behind him and turned back to Cy. They heard Andy clatter down the wooden steps. Neither one of them laughed.

"In the back of the wagon," Longman said, "there are shelves. On the top shelf are several glass jars. Bring one of them to me at the table, and then fetch the first of our friends."

Cy nodded. He found the jar. It was a wide-mouthed container with a crude stopper. He lifted it off the shelf carefully, afraid it might shatter in his hands, and carried it to the table. Longman took it, popped out the cork, and set it aside.

Cy turned to the crate and lifted one corner of the lid. Inside, the snakes were in constant motion, coiling, slithering around the very edge of their prison in search of an exit. It didn't take long for the first one to rear up and make for the light. The big man gazed into the shifting geometric patterns of skin and scales and leaned down, never taking his eye off them. He reached casually into the crate. As he did so, he spoke in a calm voice, keeping his tone even.

"They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover."

"So says the Gospel of Mark," Longman agreed.

Cy gripped one of the rattlesnakes behind it's diamond-shaped head and lifted it free of the box. With Andy gone, he didn't bother to close the lid. He took the snake to Longman, who, instead of holding out his hand, simply lifted his arm. Cy released the snake and it wrapped itself in a coil around the dwarf's forearm, slithering up toward his neck. Cy turned back to the box.

He brought them one by one and each time the serpent wrapped itself around Longman, joining the others in constant motion until the little man wore a second, moving skin. With the crate empty, Cy stood to one side.

Longman spoke softly. His words were too low in pitch and tone to be made out, but the rhythm was smooth and powerful. He drew the open jar closer and held his hand out, palm up.

One of the snakes wound its way down his arm until its head rested in his cupped hand. With deft, careful pressure Longman opened the serpent's jaws, tilted it over the jar, and began milking its poison. The snake gripped his arm, coils tightening, and releasing, then gripping again in syncopation with the continual flow of his hushed words. He worked until he had milked the snake dry, and then held it out to Cy, who returned it to the crate, carrying it reverently.

They labored for an hour, and then a second. Five snakes remained when there was a sharp rap on the door. Without waiting for an answer, Andy pushed it open and stepped over the threshold.

"The Deacon says…" Andy’s words died stillborn on his lips.

Cy turned slowly. Longman stood, momentarily startled. The serpents dropped from him, some to the floor others to the table. One reared, poised to strike.

The little man caught himself and began to speak again, the words rushing faster this time as he sought to reestablish control. The snake shot forward - and stopped, fangs bared. Longman held out his arm, whispering now. The snake wrapped itself around his wrist, returning to his shoulder. Cy stood among the others that had fallen.

"Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means harm you." He said.

Andy stood rooted to the spot and utterly terrified by what he saw.

Cy leaned and retrieved the first of the fallen snakes.

"So says the Gospel of Luke," Longman muttered, the words only a momentary break in the chanting, rhythmic susurrus of the incantation that fell from his lips.

He returned to his work, and Cyrus, a snake in each hand, watched Andy intently. The small man backed slowly out the door, his eyes locked on Longman, and the snakes.

"I..."

He stumbled back, caught his heel on the jamb and the door swung shut behind him as he toppled into the darkness, leaving the wagon to its silence.

There were no further disturbances. Drop by drop Longman gathered the poison. Cy watched, waited, and when they were drained, carried the serpents to their crate.

On the stroke of midnight, the door opened, and Cy climbed down the steps silently. Andy stared up at his friend, a question on his lips. He bit it back.

"The Deacon said to report to him when you were done, I…"

"His will be done," Cy intoned.

Andy turned away in silence, and walked back to their tent. In Longman's wagon, the lights burned flickered and danced.