AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Beg pardon?”
“Well,” said the dark unseen adopted mother to Timothy the Seen, Timothy the well lit, the plainly found, “you have drawn up the fierce outlines of Armageddon. You have all but destroyed us with words. Now raise us up so we are half October People and half Lazarus cousins. We know whom we fight. Now how do we win? The counterattack, if you please.”
“That’s better,” said Timothy, tongue between his teeth, writing slowly to his mother’s slower pronunciations.
“The problem is,” interjected the ghastly passenger, “we must make people believe in us only up to a point! If they believe in us too much they will forge hammers and sharpen stakes, manufacture crucifixes and forge mirrors. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. How do we fight without appearing to fight? How do we manifest without making our focus too clear? Tell people we are not dead and yet have been duly buried?”
The dark father brooded.
“Spread out,” someone said.
Those at the table turned as one to stare at the mouth from which this suggestion had fallen. Timothy’s. He glanced up, realizing that, not intending to, he had spoken.
“Again?” commanded his father.
“Spread out,” said Timothy, eyes shut.
“Go on, child.”
“Well,” said Timothy, “look at us, all in one room. Look at us, all in one House. Look at us, all in one town!”
Timothy’s mouth fell shut.
“Well,” said the shrouded parent.
Timothy squeaked like a mouse, which brought Mouse from his lapel. The arachnid on his neck trembled. Anuba stoked up a roar.
“Well,” said Timothy, “we’ve only got so much room in the House for all the leaves that fall out of the sky, for all the animals that move through the woods, for all the bats that fly, all the clouds that come to drop rain. We have only a few towers left, one of which is now occupied by the ghastly passenger and his nurse. That tower is taken and we only have so many wine bins left in which to stash old wine, we only have so many closets in which to hang gossamer ectoplasms, we only have so much wall room for new mice, we only have so many corners for cobwebs. That being so, we must find a way to distribute the souls, to move people out of the House and away to some safe places around the country.”
“And how do we do that?”
“Well,” said Timothy, feeling everyone gazing at him, for after all he was only a child advising all these ancient people on how they should live—or how they should go out and be undead, was more like it.
“Well,” continued Timothy, “we have someone who could make distribution. She can search the country for souls, look for empty bodies and empty lives and when she finds great canisters that are not full, and little tiny glasses that are half empty, she can take these bodies and empty these souls and make room for those of us who want to travel.”
“And who is this other person?” said someone, knowing the answer.
“The person who can help us distribute souls is in the attic now. She sleeps and dreams, dreams and sleeps, in far places, and I think if we go ask her to help our search she will. In the meantime let us think on her and become familiar with the way that she lives, the way that she travels.”
“And who is this, again?” said a voice.
“Her name?” said Timothy. “Why, Cecy.”
“Yes,” said a fine and lovely voice that troubled the council air.
Her attic voice spoke.
“I will be,” said Cecy, “like someone who sows the winds to put down a seed of a flower at some future time. Let me gather one soul at a time and move across the land and find a proper place to put it down. Some miles from here, far beyond the town, there’s an empty farm that was abandoned some years ago during a storm of dust. Let there be a volunteer from among all our strange relatives. Who will step forward and allow me to travel to that far place and that empty farm to take over and raise children and exist beyond the threat of the cities? Who shall it be?”
“Why,” said a voice from the midst of great beatings of wings at the far end of the table, “should it not be me?” said Uncle Einar. “I have the capacity of flight and can make it partly there if you assist me, take hold of my soul, seize on my mind, and help me to travel.”
“Yes, Uncle Einar,” said Cecy. “Indeed you, the winged one, are proper. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” said Uncle Einar.
“Well then,” said Cecy, “let us begin.”
CHAPTER 15
