Hallowed Ground

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Creed might have held her all night, but the sudden deep silence was broken by an unexpected wail. It was filled with hunger, with anger, and yet it sliced the darkness as cleanly as a knife. Mariah pulled back to arms length. She turned, looking around for the source of the cry.

Colleen stood, very still, the child clutched in her arms. It wailed and waved its tiny fists in the air while she hushed it. Creed glanced around the tent. Balthazar was gone. There was no sign of the woman, Lilith, and even the bodies of her crow men had disappeared. The stench of death was heavy in the air, but it had yet to turn rank. It would, when rot set in. Only the Deacon, lying in a pool of blood, buzzed with the first of the flies.

"My son," Mariah said. She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Colleen clutched the child.

"He gave him to me," she said. She couldn’t meet Mariah’s gaze. Looking down at her feet she said, "He said it was the child I would never have."

Smiling softly, Mariah eased free of Creed’s embrace and took a step closer. She looked at the child swaddled in his blanket, his face red with anger and hunger, but nothing more. He struggled feebly. She reached out and ran a finger down the baby’s cheek. Her son was warm and alive, but he didn’t feel like her son anymore. There was no recognition to her touch and he only had eyes for the woman cradling him.

"What was mine has passed on," Mariah said softly.

She turned and glanced at Creed, then turned back to Colleen. "He might share my flesh but he’s no son of mine. Look at the way he adores you; you are his mother in every way that matters. Care for him. Feed him and brush his hair, hold him when he cries and when his heart breaks, rock him at night and tell him stories. But do not tell him about his other mother…there is no need for him to know the truth."

"Here, dear," a voice cut in.

They all turned. The sisters stood to the side. Lottie held a blown glass bottle. There was a cork in the top – up through the center a glass tube ran, and the end of that tube a soft rubber nipple glistened. It was wet with the milk filling the bottle.

"The child must eat," Lottie said.

"He hungers," Attie added.

Colleen took the odd glass bottle, stared at it for a moment, and the light of comprehension came into her eyes. She tipped it and placed the rubber teat to the baby’s lips. It suckled hungrily. She held the bottle carefully and glanced up at the old women in gratitude.

"He’s special." Lottie explained

"Great things one day," Attie agreed, "Important things."

Chessie said nothing. She stepped closer, reached out a thin, clawed hand, and stroked the child’s cheek. Her ancient face, which seldom showed emotion, was awash with wonder. Her lips moved, but she said nothing.

Creed turned to Mariah. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

"I am not Benjamin," he said. "At least, not Benjamin alone. I was … much more. I was Remliel, though now I am Provender Creed."

"I am not Elizabeth, either," Mariah said. She laid a hand on Creed’s heart. "But we are bound. I knew it the moment I set eyes on you."

"We could read for you?" Lottie suggested.

"Chessie could throw the bones," Attie agreed.

Chessie turned, just for a second, her lips parted.

Creed shook his head.

"The bones have a way of building their own roads into the future," he said, "and then urging men to follow them. I did not choose to walk the roads of this Earth, but if I must, I will make my own trail…and choose my own companion."

He reached out a hand and drew Mariah to him. She didn’t resist.

"What about me?" Colleen said softly. "What about the child? Where will we go? What will I do?"

She turned and she scanned the ruined tent. Bodies lay strewn across the floor and the chairs. The night sky was clearly visible through the rent in the canvas overhead. The only sound was the child, suckling on the odd rubber nipple.

"You have us, child," Lottie replied.

"You’re not alone," Attie cut in.

"I reckon we’d like to throw our hats in that ring," a voice cut in.

Everyone turned. In what had once been the doorway of the tent, Longman, Cy, and several others stood. Longman stepped forward.

"The tent is ruined," he said, "and we don’t have a healer. Doesn’t mean we can’t move on. Cy here – he has a voice people will listen to, and I’ve never met a man more versed in the scripture. The sisters…they have a purpose no matter where we stop. We’d be pleased if you’d join us."

Colleen didn’t answer. She stood, and she rocked the child, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"There are a lot of dead," Creed said.

"We’ll take care of them," Longman replied. "We will see them on their way."

"Rookwood was a good town," Creed added.

"We’ll stay a while," Cy said. "We’ll put things to rights."

Creed nodded. He turned to Mariah.

"And what will we do?" he asked.

Mariah met his gaze, and then she glanced down at her guns, and her knives.

"I only know two things," she replied. "I know how to kill, and I know that – whoever and whatever you are – I have always loved you. That has not changed in this new life."

Creed lowered his eyes, but a smile curled his lips. It was tragic, and bittersweet, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"There are others," he said. "Men like the Deacon, powers like Balthazar. They live on pain and suffering. They feed on misery and death. If this is to be my life, then perhaps stopping them is my purpose?" It was every bit as much a pledge as it was a question.

Mariah smiled. There was no humor in the expression, but there was love.

"The night is still young," she said.

Creed grinned.

"That it is. Shall we ride?"

They came together, walking with their arms wrapped around one another’s shoulders, moving like twin shadows through the doorway of the tent and into the night.

Those few who remained stared after them. The baby burped, and the Sisters gave a soft chuckle.

Longman smiled.

Cy stepped to the door, watching the couple depart. The moon cradled them as they walked toward the horizon, both more than human, both damaged, both saved and forsaken, both fallen and risen again, both more together than they ever could have been alone. Cy spoke in his deep, sonorous voice: "In the beginning, there was the word …"

"And the word was?" Lottie asked.

"Remliel," Attie said.

"Amen," Chessie whispered.

At that sound, a thousand crows launched from the trees by Deadman’s Gulch. Their cries sounded like a hymn of promise.