Chapter Thirty
Blood gushed down Hiram’s chest.
The weight of the werewolf’s body disappeared, and a naked human trunk crashed to the stone. The head came away in Hiram’s arms, and he found himself holding it.
Mercifully, the head retained the wolf’s form.
The howling stopped instantly. The clatter of the running deer-men continued for a few seconds, and then a stunned hush fell over the entire amphitheater.
The Jovial light shed over the scene seemed to throb.
Michael stepped to Hiram’s side, turning to stand shoulder to shoulder.
Would the beast-men all attack Hiram and his son now?
Hiram dug his fingers into the thick fur, now slick with blood, behind the wolf’s ears, and raised the severed head high. The monsters stared at him, and their muzzles drooped.
Hiram slowly raised the Jupiter knife, pointing its tip toward the nearest wolf-man. He met the beast’s gaze, and stared until the creature flinched and looked away. Then he stared down the next, and the next, turning slowly and displaying his trophy until every one of the wolves was cowed and shrinking.
The deer-men fled before the wolves had finished submitting.
When all the werewolves crouched low, Hiram tossed the wolf-bishop’s head to the ground beside the naked human body of Gudmund Gudmundson. Only when the head touched the stone did it finally revert to the shape of Gudmundson’s human skull, with its broad face and its strong chin. Hiram was grateful that shadow obscured the man’s facial expression.
In a stray skein of starlight, Hiram could see that one of the bishop’s feet was missing toes.
Hiram lowered the Jupiter knife. “Sheriff Del Rose.”
Del Rose shifted from wolf form; the sheriff crouched, kneeling naked like some sort of perverse parody of a medieval knight. He kept his eyes down as he addressed Hiram.
“I’m here.”
“Leave the body where it lies. Bishop Gudmundson disappeared while walking on the Monument tonight. Go home.”
Del Rose assumed his monstrous form and padded off into the night. The other werewolves followed him.
“I want you to know,” Michael said, “that I feel like saying all kinds of cuss words, but I’m not doing it. Science has a lot to say for itself, but tonight, it’s the chaste and sober mind that wins.”
“You haven’t totally quit cussing.”
“No. But I’m getting better.”
Hiram should have been trembling from the aftermath of the fight. Instead, he felt strong and vital. He wiped the Jupiter knife clean on his own shirt, which was already bloodstained. He then retrieved the sheath off Gudmundson’s broken belt. He stuck the dagger into his pants pocket.
He couldn’t quite bring himself to wear it. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Lloyd Preece’s knife lay on the stone beside the bishop. Hiram handed it to Michael.
“I think there’s someone down the canyon who would like to see this corpse,” Michael said.
Hiram clapped his son on the arm. “I hadn’t forgotten. I’m glad you hadn’t, either.”
They waited a few minutes to let the blood pouring from the body dwindle. Hiram found his strength was enough to hoist the body across his shoulders, severed neck away from himself to keep the blood from getting on him too much. He carried Gudmundson’s head in the crook of his arm.
“What kind of burial do we give Gudmundson?” Michael asked.
It was a good question. Hiram didn’t want to consecrate a grave, because he didn’t want to seal this murderer up to the resurrection or make him any spiritual promises. On the other hand, leaving the corpse lying in the open felt indecent. It felt as if it might have been the burial Gudmundson wanted, too, his predator corpse finally picked clean by carrion eaters, and Hiram didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.
Also, a grave felt like a sort of quarantine. Whatever evil residue might ooze from this man’s body and spirit, Hiram felt it should be contained.
“I need to think about that,” he told his son.
Down in the wash, a fire continued to burn. Some of the embers from Hiram’s wall had gotten into a thicket, farther up the canyon. This thicket was isolated, and there wasn’t enough wind to spread the fire, but for the moment there was fuel and to spare, and the fire was growing.
Good. Hiram could use the flames. Perhaps for more than one end.
He dumped the body beside the fire. This was near enough where he’d had his vision of Jimmy Udall—within a hundred feet or so.
“Are we going to talk to him?” Michael whispered.
Hiram nodded. “Would you like to do it? You’re the hero of the hour.”
Michael snorted. “Pap…”
“It was your craft that figured out the Jupiter knife,” Hiram pointed out. “It was your book-lore, in fact, your astrology, your mastery of knowledge that has always been out of my reach, that did it. And then it was your plan that tricked the knife out of Gudmundson’s hands. And that’s not even to mention your interrogation of Green, and your use of the clay balls to discover Diana’s guilt.”
“Yeah,” Michael said, “and then it was you that kicked his…you took all the beating.”
Hiram chuckled. “That’s what a father is for.”
Michael was silent for long moments. “You talk to him.”
“Jimmy,” Hiram said. “We know you’re here. We hope you saw what happened tonight. We believe the man who killed you has been brought to justice.”
The fire crackled as the last tree in the thicket took flame.
“Jimmy, I think you can hear my voice, but I know you can see the fire. Reach into the fire, Jimmy. It’s not heavy, you can push it, you’ve done this before.”
Michael seemed to be holding his breath.
“I’m going to ask questions, Jimmy,” Hiram said. “If the answer is yes, make the fire move. Is that okay with you?”
The bonfire snapped sideways. Yes.
“Jimmy, this man, Gudmund Gudmundson…is he the one who killed you?”
Yes.
“Is he the only one who killed you?”
Yes.
Hiram hesitated, afraid of what answer he might get to this next question. “Can you rest now, Jimmy?”
Yes.
“Holy smokes, Pap.”
One moment, Hiram and Michael were alone with the blaze, and the next, Jimmy was standing beside them. The young boy looked down at the headless corpse at his feet, and Hiram thought he saw compassion in the ghostly eyes.
Then Jimmy raised his arms over his head. His sleeves fell, and Hiram again saw the circular bitemarks, the tooth impressions that looked like they had been made by a human mouth. Slowly, they twisted, becoming elongated and deepening, rearranging themselves into the pattern of a beast’s long muzzle.
And then they faded entirely, and Jimmy’s flesh was unmarked.
Jimmy Udall smiled at Hiram and Michael, and then he was gone.
“That’s what you saw before.” Michael’s voice was barely above a whisper. “In your dream.”
“Or maybe not a dream,” Hiram said. “Yes.”
They stood awhile, alone together with the fire and the wonder.
Then Hiram picked up Gudmundson’s body and heaved it into the flames. He kicked the head deep into the embers, not wanting to touch it with his hands or look into its eyes.
Then he sat on a rock and began to unlace his boots.
“Pap,” Michael said, “what are you doing?”
“I’m covered in the gore of that monster,” Hiram said. “He was a murderer, a child-killer, and he also went to church every Sunday and smiled at his congregation as their bishop. He killed Jimmy Udall and then preached a sermon at the boy’s funeral. I feel…unclean.”
“You can wash in the river, when we get there.”
“I’ll do that, too. Here, hold these.” Hiram handed his son his Zippo lighter, his bloodstone, and Gudmundson’s Jupiter knife.
“What if the werewolves come back?”
Hiram thought about the daunted looks in the monsters’ eyes as they had submitted to him. “They won’t.”
“What do we about the Blót?” Michael asked. “Those guys might be scared of you now, but I don’t see them giving up their evil ways once you and I go back to Lehi.”
Hiram nodded. “I have an idea about that. There’s a telegram I need to send.”
Hiram set aside his Redwing Harvesters, and then stripped off all his clothing. Overalls, socks, and long johns all went into the fire. Then Hiram lay down in the sand and rolled around. He took handfuls of it and scoured his skin where he thought he was covered in blood, and when he was finally as clean as he could get, he laced his boots back on.
“Pap,” Michael said. “You look like a madman.”
Hiram shrugged and chuckled. “Well, appearances can be absolutely correct.”
Michael held out his fedora. “I found this. It must have fallen off when you were coming up the canyon.”
Hiram took his hat into his hands and grinned. “It needs a good dusting-off. Maybe I should throw a hat-brush into the toolbox.”
“Only if you can use it to, I don’t know, brush a man to sleep or brush away wounds. We need all the space in that toolbox for our charms stuff. I found the rifle and shotgun, too. No ammo, though. I guess we’d better get walking,” Michael said. “We don’t want to run into anyone when you’re like this.”
Hiram laughed. “Well, it wouldn’t be my preference, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world, either. I want to stay and make sure the fire burns out. And first, I want to say a prayer over Bishop Gudmundson’s body.”
Michael nodded and folded his arms.
Hiram hesitated, then removed the widow’s Uranus cross from around his neck and threw it into the flames. Then he set his hat aside and raised his arms to the heavens. He was conscious of the spectacularly odd scene he made, but he felt clean.
“Great God of Heaven,” he said. “We beg thee to forgive this man, Gudmund Gudmundson, as much as thou canst. And what cannot be forgiven, we beg thee to burn it up in fire, that it may no more stain this land or trouble this people. Amen.”
“Amen.”
They stood and watched the flames. Gudmundson’s corpse took fire and burned like a fat taper, sputtering and glowing a deeper red than the trees and brush around it. Hiram chanted assorted Bible verses about fire and corruption, to help the process along.
“I found the money,” Michael said, as the fire was crumbling into its last embers, and the sky in the east was beginning to turn pale. “Lloyd Preece’s cash. It was hidden inside his mirror, in the cabin.”
Hiram laughed. “And that’s what he meant about there being a fortune to be had in a man’s good opinion of himself. Adelaide Tunstall will be pleased.”
“She’s not going to be very pleased when I tell her that I was dumb enough to let Diana Artemis take it from me.”
“When did that happen?”
“Well, I offered to pay her to help rescue you, and she agreed. But then, just before I got out of the truck back there, she hugged me. I’m pretty sure that’s when she took the dough. And that’s why she just drove off like she did.”
“But not before saving me,” Hiram pointed out. “Those flashing lights and the horn led me right to you.”
“No, you can’t make her good. She just left us to die.”
Hiram didn’t argue. Instead he laughed. “Well, Adelaide will live. Her dad’s lawyer will sell their land, and she’ll even live well. I don’t think you need to trouble yourself about the bearer bonds.”
“And Diana?”
“The widow Artemis took something from both of us, son, but she doesn’t matter anymore. And everything that does matter…I have it back, safe and sound.”
“Ordinarily,” Michael said, “this might be a moment that called for a hug. But I think I’d rather wait until you have clothes on again.”
In the yellow light of the rising sun, they began their hike back across the Monument, and back toward civilization.