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Chapter Thirty-One

Hiram walked with his son out of the desert, heading for town, as the sun rose steadily in the sky.

They stopped at the Udalls’ shack to get Hiram some clothes.

Michael knocked on the door, and then explained that they’d found Jimmy’s murderer. He’d been brought to justice, and the boy had found peace at last.

Priscilla Udall was too proud to cry in front of them. She told them Jimmy had appeared to her in a dream, just before she awoke, and had told her, “Mamma, I’m happy now.”

Moses blew his nose three times and gave Hiram a pair of overalls. He also thanked them, both for news of their boy and for the flour. The overalls barely fit. They rose up to Hiram’s mid-calf, and he had to wear them shirtless. When Hiram promised to return the overalls, Moses insisted that Hiram keep them as a token of his respect.

“Mama, I’m happy now,” Mrs. Udall was repeating again and again as Hiram and Michael walked out of earshot.

On their way in to town, Hiram pondered the events of the night before. Hiram had felt the power of the stars and the planets, and specifically Jupiter, and it had humbled him. Michael knew far more about the planets and the stars then he did, and that felt right. Hiram was proud of his son. Adding astrology to their knowledge of how God’s power worked in the world could only help them.

And maybe it would lead Michael toward a career in astronomy one day, or even—why not?—piloting a space ship.

Hiram didn’t know what kind of reception they would get in town, or if the widow Artemis had not only taken Lloyd Preece’s bearer bonds but also their Double-A. Losing the toolbox and the truck would be a blow, and he would require time and money to rebuild his arsenal, as well as to protect a new automobile as the Double-A was protected.

Hiram carried the rifle slung over his shoulder; he felt exposed. Michael walked with the shotgun over the crook of his elbow. They were dusty and exhausted, their vehicle had been stolen and their ammunition spent. Hiram remembered days in the way when he had been similarly filthy, exhausted, and spent, a haggard warrior in a foreign and hostile land.

Michael wasn’t Yas Yazzie, but he was a new war buddy and best friend, a fellow fighter in the dark and painful war Hiram fought against the forces of evil. In the morning light, Michael was also the spitting image of his father. A lump stuck in Hiram’s throat. He swallowed it down.

They crossed the bridge over the Colorado River and kept walking the dirt road until they reached the town of Moab. Like always, it seemed like a quiet, sleepy place, full of people working hard and trying their best to make it through the Depression.

The Double-A was parked on Main Street, in front of Banjo & Sons Mercantile.

Hiram hurried forward, leaving Michael behind. To his great relief, the toolbox was there. Going to the cab, he saw the keys in the ignition. Diana had rightly assumed no one would steal it. Why had she left it for them? He doubted he’d ever get the chance to ask her.

Michael ambled up. “Well, darn, I never thought I’d see the day that woman did something nice for us.”

“Darn?” Hiram asked.

Michael nodded. “I can’t very well cuss and be an instrument for the source of all power.” He cocked his head. “And this lust thing. I don’t see how you handle that. It’s so…tough.”

“They call them deadly sins for a reason.” Hiram peeled down the shoulder-straps of his borrowed overalls to throw on an old shirt that was lying behind the truck’s seat. There was still a wide gap showing pale skin between the bottoms of the overalls and the Harvesters.

“Now, what, Pap?” Michael asked.

“I want to get back to camp so I can put some real clothes on. But first, we need a phone.”

“The Maxwell House Hotel?”

Hiram grinned. “We might as well go in and see what kind of reception we get. And heck, Leon might not even be around.”

“Heck is right,” Michael agreed.

They stowed their weapons in the front seat of the truck, along with the toolbox.

Hiram and Michael walked up the steps and into the lobby. Hiram didn’t remember when his muscles had ached so much—in addition to the chase and the fight, he and Michael had hiked all night to get out of the Monument. He was also hungry; it was after breakfast time, and Hiram didn’t think lunch would be ready for another good hour. Even then, they’d probably had their last delicious meal from Arnie and his father.

Maybe the hotel could spare him an apple.

A man Hiram didn’t know stood behind the counter. When Hiram asked for a phone, he pointed to a coin-operated device near the stairs, across from where Erasmus Green had fallen asleep at their table. Those astrological signs would still be under the table; if possible, they should discreetly wipe them away…just in case.

Michael provided Hiram the dime. He slipped it in and got an operator. It took a bit, but he finally reached the Utah Highway Patrol. He told them there were at least three bodies to be found up at the Monument. There had been trouble up there overnight, something to do with wild animals. He didn’t say more.

The officer on the phone promised they’d send a car down from Price. When he asked about Sheriff Jack Del Rose, Hiram hung up.

Then, true to Hiram’s word, they drove to their camp to recover their things—including Hiram’s pistol, which they found lying in the dirt of the riverbank—and for Hiram to change into his own clothes.

Later, driving north, Michael sighed. “Hey, Pap, there’s something I don’t understand.”

“Just the one thing?” Hiram squinted against the sun. “This won’t take long.”

“I hope it doesn’t.” Michael actually seemed to squirm behind the wheel. “I had trouble with the divining rod when I was in Preece’s cabin because of, well, Diana Artemis. I kept thinking about her. If you know what I’m saying.”

Hiram’s squint turned into a wince. “It’s just another sin. Let’s not make too much of it.”

“That’s the thing,” Michael said. “If we separate our biology from the religious connotations of lust, or sin, or any of that, we were created with these urges. It’s not a flaw in my character, just as it’s not a flaw for horses, pigs, chickens to want to…you know.”

Hiram did not want to be talking about this. And yet, it was as unavoidable as it was futile—he was not going to win an argument with his son. Hiram thought maybe if he didn’t say anything, another subject would come up. That was wishful thinking.

“There’s even that song by Cole Porter,” Michael said. “‘Birds do it, bees do it…’”

“This is why I don’t like jazz.”

“The problem doesn’t end with the lust, but this whole idea of us being faulty instruments.” Michael sighed. “If I’m faulty, it’s by God’s design. Am I to be punished for His shoddy design? I’m not saying I don’t believe, I’m saying…I don’t understand.”

Hiram took his time answering. “Or perhaps,” he finally said, speaking slowly and choosing his words, “you’re not faulty. Perhaps you’re simply not perfect yet. And perhaps you’ve come to this earth to become more perfect, as part of a long, long journey that started eons ago and will continue eons from now. And perhaps God will bless you for all the perfection you achieve and the good that you do, and above and beyond your desserts, only you can’t even see how much God is blessing you, because your perspective is narrow and human, just like mine.”

Michael whistled. “Perfection, huh? What’s your charm for achieving that one, Pap?”

“I don’t have a charm,” Hiram said. “And my only strategy is to try to serve others, as much as I can. If you come across a more effective path, you let me know.”

“I guess maybe I should be going to church.”

Hiram shrugged. “It’s not the worst idea. I do think you and I need to read the scriptures together a little more. I thought you knew them better.” Then he lifted his voice, singing an old hymn:


God moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform;

He plants His footsteps in the sea and rides upon the storm.


“Hey,” Michael said. “I used that very song to dowse up Lloyd Preece’s bearer bonds. Because I, uh, couldn’t think of a Bible verse. And it worked.”

“You’re smart, son.” Hiram felt the sun on his skin, the wind in the hair on his arms, and the scent of the last bit of moisture leaving the desert as the sun removed it. “Smart, brave, funny…and also doubting, headstrong, and sometimes maybe even lustful. You’re human. You’re not perfect yet, but you’re pretty great.”

Hiram thought of the maggots on the Reverend Majestic’s right foot, after five years in that boot. Those creatures had kept him alive. God could truly do wonders with some mighty peculiar instruments.

“You don’t have all the answers,” Michael said finally.

“I hardly have any.”

“Pap,” Michael said, “I have one last question, and then I won’t pester you again until we get to Lehi.”

“What is it?”

“You got bitten by a werewolf. Twice. Two different werewolves, actually. Are you going to sprout hair and fangs?”

“If I do,” Hiram said, “you’ll be the first to know.”

By mid-afternoon, they were in Lehi.

* * *

They returned to Moab and to the hotel a week later. Hiram would have preferred to come alone, being unsure how the meeting would play out, but he needed Michael to drive. And besides, Michael had earned his place in the meeting.

Inside the lobby of the Maxwell House Hotel, Leon Björnsson, Erasmus Green, and Banjo Johansson sat a table. At a second table sat Sheriff Jack Del Rose and Deputy Pickens. They were all in their best suits, dressed as they had been at Lloyd Preece’s wake, and they fidgeted as if they were deeply uncomfortable. Björnsson held the Peteys in a stranglehold and Del Rose drummed his fingers so quickly on the tabletop, he looked as if he was trying to punch a hole in the wood. That put Hiram’s mind somewhat at ease—he felt none too comfortable, either.

In the corner, reading a newspaper over a cup of coffee, sat a man in a dark suit and hat.

Hiram scanned the five of them, looked each in turn in the eyes. “No more trouble.”

“The Blót is over,” Green said. “What more trouble could there be?”

“No more trouble,” Hiram said again, “ever.”

“You called the police, didn’t you?” Green asked, glancing at the man in the dark suit.

“I did.” Hiram pulled back the edge of his coat so the assembled men could see the bishop’s Jupiter Knife, now on Hiram’s belt.

Del Rose grimaced. “We shouldn’t be talking about the Blót in front of strangers.”

“I know about your hunt,” the stranger in the dark suit said, not looking up from his newspaper.

Michael put in his two cents. “That wasn’t who my dad called that morning. He called the Utah Highway Patrol, and he didn’t tell them about the Blót or any of you.”

The five men exchanged glances.

The man in the corner folded his newspaper neatly on the table and stood up. “My employers received a telegram the next day.”

Leon petted his dead dogs. “Well, now, I don’t know who this fellow is, but I do have one question. It’s about Diana Artemis. She cleared out of town the morning after. She gathered up her things and took the first train to Helper. She drove your truck that night on the Monument, didn’t she?”

“We had help,” Michael answered. “Who it was doesn’t matter much.”

“She didn’t kill Preece, but you knew that,” Green itched at his scalp. Dandruff drifted down onto his suit jacket. His hand was bandaged. All three herd members had marks on them, now healing. Banjo had a gash on his good ear. His bad ear had probably been injured in another Tithe, Hiram reflected. Leon favored his left arm, the one bearing the load of Peteys. “I mean, not alone. She helped Gudmundson.”

“The meaning of the Tithe,” Hiram said. “You pay your tithe by running in the hunt and taking your chances. Some of the deer die, but the rest gain wealth.”

Green nodded.

“Gudmund and Clem are gone,” Del Rose said. “That’s the important thing. They took it too far, it went to their heads.”

“You don’t care,” Green said, “that we…as long as no one…”

He lapsed into silence.

Michael snorted. “You killed a kid. One that we know of, maybe more.”

“I do care that you run around in the desert and kill each other,” Hiram said slowly. “There’s a way to earn a living in this world, and that’s by the sweat of your brow, not by murder and human sacrifice.”

The men ground their teeth. Were they sorrowful? Were they defiant?

Green sighed. “Look, the Udall boy was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, though that doesn’t excuse what Gudmund did. Preece shouldn’t have let anyone live near the arch. Hell, we told him. But Preece had a way about him, an obstinacy, even before he wanted out. He got too rich, I guess. Thought he was above the rules.”

“Adelaide Tunstall doesn’t know anything about your nonsense,” Hiram said sternly. “I swore I’d protect her by ending the cult. I don’t take my promises lightly.”

Leon chuckled, his jolly demeanor abruptly falling away. “The Blót is thousands of years old. We’re not going to end it. You’re going to back to your farm, and you’re going to forget all about us.”

“I thought that might be how you felt.” Hiram nodded. “So I invited one more person to this little meeting.”

“And I came, Mr. Woolley.” The voice emanating from the stranger in the dark suit and hat who now stepped forward, physically entering the conversation, seemed to echo from across a vast space.

Jack Del Rose sneered. “What are you, some sort of Pinkerton? A cop? What’s your name?”

“My name is irrelevant, Mr. Del Rose.” The stranger’s face was bland, so bland that Hiram didn’t think he could describe it if pressed. Dark eyes, he would have said, and a complexion…well, dark eyes, and maybe he was Asian, or an Indian. Or was he fair? Suddenly, Hiram wasn’t sure. The man stood with his hands unthreateningly at his sides. “I am in the employ of the Rockefeller family.”

Erasmus Green trembled and shut his eyes.

“What have the Rockefellers got to do with anything?” Jack Del Rose asked.

“Davison Rock,” Green squeaked. “His real name was Rockefeller.”

“I am here to give you an order,” the stranger said. “Not a suggestion and not a debate, but an order. And then I will make a threat. The order is this: no more Blót, ever again. I have been tasked to watch this land, and I will watch it faithfully, for a century. I will know if you run your Tithe. Do not do it. Your old ways die today.”

“A century?” Del Rose smirked.

“Uranium is coming, in any case.” The stranger smiled. “And other, stranger forms of wealth. This valley will no longer prosper by the law of the Hoof and the Fang.”

Michael fidgeted. His face shared, subdued, some of the skepticism that rode on Del Rose’s. Hiram touched his son’s elbow lightly to hold him back.

“Uranium, my eye.” Del Rose stood. “Okay, we have your order, Mr. Rockefeller goon. Now what’s the threat? Are you going to come down here with hired muscle like you have some strike to break, and force us into line?” His smile looked wolfish, his teeth long and yellow. “Are you going to beat us up?”

“My threat is this.” The stranger’s voice was mild and he never quit smiling. He opened his mouth and somehow his jaw seemed to drop a foot, or two feet. The inside of his mouth was pitch black, black as the void between the stars, with no visible teeth or tongue.

The voice that burst from that maw was terrible, and it filled the room. “Go in unto Pharaoh: for I have hardened his heart, and the heart of his servants, that I might shew these my signs before him: And that thou mayest tell in the ears of thy son, and of thy son’s son, what things I have wrought in Egypt, and my signs which I have done among them; that ye may know how that I am the Lord.

The Book of Exodus. Each word boomed like a terrible bell striking the hour of Armageddon.

The five men began to choke, Fang and Hoof alike, clawing at their throats, lips open, mouths working, slobber dribbling down their chins.

Leon Björnsson dropped the Peteys to claw at his throat.

Erasmus Green’s bad scalp turned an angry red even as his lips turned blue, and still, he couldn’t get air in.

Jack Del Rose fell, eyes bulging, cheeks becoming a terrible shade of purple.

All were choking, gasping, unable to breathe.

“Pap!” Michael cried out in terror.

Hiram watched in fear. He didn’t dare look directly at the man in the dark suit. He had telegraphed the Rockefellers to tell them of the death of Davison Rock, and ask for their help. An answering telegram had promised assistance, and had fixed this appointment.

But who…or what…was this man?

“Stop this!” he called out.

The man in the dark suit, the man with the bland face, clutched an amulet in his fist and said nothing. Or was it a rosary?

Michael had his hands over his eyes.

The man’s voice continued to boom.

All five of the stricken men slid from their chairs, kicking at tables, writhing on the floor. They clutched their throats, seconds from death.

Leon finally got onto his knees, and he punched himself in the gut. He shook with the first blow, and then hit himself again, over and over, as if trying to dislodge something from his throat. What was stuck there?

Green’s neck bulged weirdly, as if there was an animal trapped inside.

Hiram knew what must be coming, because he recognized the verse from Exodus 10, and he knew its context: the plague of locusts. He was glad his son wasn’t looking. He wanted to glance away, but he found he couldn’t.

Jack Del Rose opened his mouth. A long, fat grasshopper came tumbling out, staggering left and right across the sheriff’s tongue until it tumbled over his lower lip and fell to the flow. Others followed, the stream thicker and thicker, until he was literally vomiting locusts, the swarming column of insects lubricated with food, drink, and bile.

Green, Leon, the others, all ended up on their hands and knees, puking up their lunch and the locusts.

Michael dropped his hands to watch as he heard the men sucking in air again. His eyes were big as headlights.

“That is the threat.” The man put his talisman away. He then nodded at his gasping victims. “No more Blót, not for a century. I will be watching.”

He smiled at Hiram and Michael and then left. Ten seconds after he was gone, Hiram couldn’t remember what he looked like, other than the fact that his mouth had been large and he had held something in his hand.

“So, do we help these guys?” Michael asked. “All part of the same eternal family, and all that stuff?”

“I think they’ve had all the help they can stand.” Hiram left the hotel, and Michael followed.

“No more Blót,” Jack Del Rose wheezed as Hiram walked away.

“No more Blót,” Green whimpered.

Michael was still shaking as they drove away from Moab again. “I can’t believe what I just saw. He did it to them…that guy…he put those grasshoppers inside them. What was he, Pap?”

“I don’t know.” Hiram wanted to ease his son’s mind, but he couldn’t.

He had no idea who the man was, or what.

A demon? An angel? A wizard?

And did he work just for the Rockefellers?

They drove in silence for a long time.


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