Ceremonies

Lewalski was fitting his camera back into its case. 'You know, mister, we'd really appreciate that.' He turned to the other. 'Come on, let's go – we can do a really thorough job tomorrow.'

They followed the old man down the path that wound northward. He was whistling.

'You seem to know these woods pretty well,' said Lewalski.

The old man smiled but didn't look back. 'Yes, known 'em since I was a boy. Grew up around here.'

They were passing a tall clump of bushes. For just an instant the old man's eyes darted to the side, toward where the leaves and brambles grew thickest, and he gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

'Stay with me now,' he added, 'I don't want to lose anybody.'

It wasn't till the three had continued down the path and were almost lost from sight amid the foliage that the bushes stirred, then shook, and the hulking form of the farmer pushed its way out onto the path.

It stood for a moment, watching their retreating forms; then it turned to face the mound. Pressing its shoulder to a massive grey rock, larger than any living man could move, it wrested the thing from the earth and rolled it toward the base of the hill. Another boulder followed, and another. Soon the structure rose against the hillside.

It was building an altar.

'You know we've got to do something… '

'No doubt of it!'

The men had walked down the path from the Sturtevants' house in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Now the group stood huddled together by the roadside.

'I ain't never seen old Joram so upset.'

'Well, and don't he have a right to be?'

'Seems to me we got to act now. Let's get our trucks and head on out to Sarr's.'

'Now just a minute, Rupert, we can't none of us be sure-'

'I ain't takin' no chances!' Lindt smacked his fist into his palm. 'I was at the Poroths' place last Sunday, and I watched that boy. I saw the way he was lookin' at my little Sarah.'

'We're not gonna do him any harm now, that wouldn't be right.'

'Course not, Matt. We're just gonna call on him, that's all. We're just gonna see that he leaves-'

'Before tonight.'

'Before dark!'

'Yeah, leaves before dark and never comes back.'

'No weapons now, mind you.'

'No, o' course not! We don't need weapons against a little worm like that! Why, did you see how soft his hands are?'

There was a pause.

'And if he knows spells,' said Abram Sturtevant, touching on what was in all their minds, 'you know that weapons ain't gonna help us anyways. We got to trust in the Lord.'

'Now wait a minute,' said Geisel. 'The Lord counsels patience, you all know that, and maybe we should talk this out with Joram first, when he's come 'round again. Ain't no need to rush into things.' . 'Don't forget what day this is, Matt. We don't want that sort of person around here tonight. He could get himself into all kinds of mischief.'

'But there's no sign he even knows what tonight is.'

'Listen, brother.' It was a leathery-faced old farmer who spoke up. 'I gave that boy a ride in my car just the other week, and do you know what he kept askin' me? All about this very day – the thirty-first of July – and whether we get many killin's on this date.' He glared at Geisel. 'Now what do you say to that?'

The other was silent.

'That settles it,' said Lindt. 'Come on!'

Walking through this part of the woods with the two scientists, he feels a tug of memory almost akin to nostalgia.

He remembers, even now, with perfect clarity, how a century ago he stood here while the Master still lived to command him. He remembers that day in the woods, that chilly Christmas afternoon, and how, as a boy, he first saw the black form in the tree…

And he remembers exactly what it told him that day – remembers because his entire life, since that moment, has been lived in accordance with its words. He remembers how the black thing's eye glared at him and how it opened up its black fleshless mouth.

He remembers what it said.

I have been waiting for you.

'How long?' the boy had stammered, breathless.

Long.

'What do you want of me?'

Muck.

'What must I do?'

You shall perform Ceremonies in my honor.

'Ceremonies for what?'

To bring me back as my Son.

'Where is he now?' the boy had asked, and he remembers today the Master's answer.

He isn't born yet.

The planet rolled through the afternoon with only a scattering of clouds. A soft breeze sprang up, tropical in its warmth; the pine trees stirred among themselves on the other side of the brook. Where small birds had hopped and chirped among the branches, there was now only the whisper of the wind, the most solemn of stillnesses. The branches stretched yearningly toward the two sleeping figures on the farther bank; the shadows of the trees grew longer, reaching across the water where they lay. Slanting rays of sunlight hung like curtains before the bases of the trees, shifting with each movement of the branches. The sun seemed to die a little.

Still prisoner of some all-enveloping dream, Carol shifted in her sleep as if in response to a call. Slowly she stretched and sat up. She gazed across the water into the darkness of the woods; and if she saw the figure there standing veiled in yellow curtains of sunlight, as unmoving as the trees, and if she was surprised, and if she saw it was a man, tall, bearded, nearly naked, his clothing in ribbons, his hands black with dirt, and if she saw the thing that had happened to his skull, she made no sign. She stared at him a moment and said nothing.

Gazing at her from across the water, the figure raised its hand and beckoned.

She stood, paying no attention to Freirs sleeping obliviously beside her among the weeds. Hesitating but a moment, she stepped slowly into the stream, the water swirling round her bare ankles. Heedless of the chill, looking neither left nor right, she walked across, stepped onto the other side, and joined him where he waited for her. His hand reached out for hers, took it imperatively in his grasp. For a moment, as his hand touched hers, she turned to cast a single, half-regretful backward glance at the man still sleeping on the other bank. Then the figure pulled her toward him, and the darkness of the woods closed over them both.

The day is waning at last, and he is glad of it. It is the night that concerns him. He watches impatiently as the professor and student climb into their car and drive off. They wave one more time in thanks. He nods, waves back, smiles till the car has disappeared. They will not return today, and tomorrow – tomorrow will be too late.

For a moment back there on the trail he had contemplated ordering the Dhol to kill the two of them – it would have been far simpler and wasted less precious time – but there is always a chance that the men might have been missed and that others might have come looking for them: others who might interfere with the events planned for tonight. No, he decides, there's no use taking chances. Not with so much at stake.

Which is why he must dispose of the extra man. There is no more need for him; the woman, by now, must be in their hands, and the role Freirs was to play has already fallen to another. It will be well, for safety's sake, to make sure he cannot threaten the proceedings. It will be simpler this way. Cleaner. He has the necessary straps in his pocket, and though they'll eventually be needed for the woman, they may also prove useful for the man.

Hands tingling with anticipation, the Old One turns his back on the road and sets off once more up the trail.

There were less than a dozen of them now: Bert Steegler had had to go back and open the store, Jacob van Meer was feeling poorly, and others had dropped out for reasons of their own. They had crowded into three trucks, Rupert Lindt's in the lead, and had raced along the main road from town, over the bridge and past the silent stone cottage beside it, then up the winding roads into the backcountry. Now they had reduced their speed and were moving up the Poroths' road like a convoy, maneuvering slowly over the ruts and gaps and potholes, yet still stirring up enough dust so that the rear truck, Abram Sturtevant's, was covered with a reddish film, making visibility difficult for the three men inside.