Out of her body it slithered, growing taller and taller, its eyes brilliant, its mouth open, its flawless skin gleaming as perfect as that of any human babe. And it fell upon its mother as I had once done, and began to drink from her, first draining one breast and then the other. And then it stood up, and all around the people cheered and roared.
"Taltos! Taltos! Make another. Make a woman, make Taltos until the sun rises!"
"No, stop this!" I cried, but this newborn horror, this baffled child, this strange wavering giant, had covered the hag of a woman and was now raping her as surely as I had done. And another hag had been brought to me and placed before me, and I was being forced down upon her, and my organ knew her, and knew what it wanted, and knew the smell.
Where were my saints?
It seemed the people in the hall were stamping and singing, chanting now with the drums. All were one voice, monotonous and low and incessant. And when I was pulled back, my eyes rolled and I could not see. The wine was splashed in my face, a child was being born to this new woman who had been given me, and once again the people cried, "Taltos, Taltos, Taltos!" And finally, "It is a woman! We have them both!"
The hall went wild with lusty cries. Once more the people were dancing but not in circles, but arm in arm and jumping up onto the boards and onto the chairs and rushing up the steps merely to jump in the air. I saw the Laird's face, full of wrath and horror, his head shaking as he cried out to me, but his words were lost.
"Make them till Christmas morning!" cried the people. "Make them and burn them!" And as I struggled to my knees, I saw them take the firstborn, the boy who was now as tall as his father, and throw him into the Christmas fire.
"Stop it, stop this in the name of God!" No one could hear me. I could not hear myself. I could not hear him scream though I knew that he did; I saw the anguish in his smooth face. I went down on my knees and bowed my head. "God help us. It is witchcraft. Stop it, oh, God, help us, they have bred us for sacrifice, we are the lambs, oh, God, please no more, no more to die!"
The crowd was roaring, swaying, humming in the mighty and endless drone. Then suddenly screams broke the air, more loud and numerous than my own, impossible for them not to hear.
Soldiers had forced the doors! Hundreds streamed into the hall. For every man in armor with a shield and sword, there came a shepherd or a plowman with a pitchfork or a crude plowshare in his hand.
"Witches, witches, witches!" screamed the attackers.
I rose to my feet and cried out for silence. Heads were being lopped from bodies. Those who were stabbed were screaming for mercy. Men fought to protect their women. And not even the little children were being spared.
The assailants laid hold of me. I was carried out of the hall, and with me the other monsters, newborn, and the hags from which they had come. The cold night opened up and it seemed the screams and war cries echoed off the mountains.
"Dear God, help us, help us," I cried. "Help us, this is evil, this is wrong, this is not your justice. No. Punish those who are guilty but not all! Dear God!"
My body was flung on the stone floor of the Cathedral and I was dragged up the aisle. All around me I heard the great windows bursting. I saw flames. I began to choke on the black smoke, but my body was being scraped as I was dragged. I saw in the far distance the hay of the manger explode! The tethered animals were bellowing in the fire from which they could not escape.
And finally at the foot of the tomb of St. Ashlar I was thrown.
"Through the window, through the window!" they cried.
I struggled to my knees. All the wooden benches and ornaments of the Cathedral were burning. The whole world was smoke and the cries of the massacred, and suddenly my body was lifted by hands that held each foot and each arm, and by these beings I was swung back and forth, back and forth and then flung towards the great window of the saint himself!
I felt my chest and my face slam against the glass. I heard it break, and I thought, Surely now I will die. I will go up into the peace and into the night and into the stars, and God will explain why all this has come about.
It seemed I saw the valley. I saw the town burning. I saw every window a fiery mouth. I saw hovels blazing. I saw the bodies strewn all around me and in a daze I realized that these were not the visions of a rising soul. I still lived.
And then the mob came, and once again laid hands on me in their fury. "Drag him to the circle," they said. "Drag all of them, burn them in the circle, burn the witches and the Taltos."
All was blackness and panic, a gasp for breath, a desperate attempt for purchase--nothing for one moment that was not wild animal struggle, no, dear God, help us, don't let it be the flames.
As they raised me to my feet I saw the dim ancient circle of stones surrounding us, their crude outlines looming against the sky and against the flames of the town burning behind us, the flames engulfing the great Cathedral, all of its beautiful glass broken and gone.
A stone struck me, and then another, and another. And a third brought the blood pouring from my eye. I heard the flames. I felt the heat. But I was dying beneath the stones. One after another they struck my head, pitching me this way and that way so that I scarce felt the fire when it touched me...
"Dear God, into Thy hands, Thy servant Ashlar can do no more. Dear God. Infant Jesus, take me. Blessed Mother, take me. Francis, come to help me up. Holy Mary, Mother of God, now and at the hour...into Thy hands!"
And then...
And then.
There was no God.
There was no Baby Jesus in my arms.
There was no Blessed Mother, "now and at the hour of our death."
There was no Light.
There was no judgment.
There was no heaven.
There was no hell.
...
There was darkness.
...
And then came Suzanne.
Suzanne calling in the night.
Ashlar, St. Ashlar.
A bright fleshly being, scarcely visible in the circle! And look at it, the ring of stones, how round! Hear her voice!
And down the long long years the call came, feeble and tiny, like the faintest spark, and then louder and clearer, and I came together to hear it:
"Come now, my Lasher, hear my voice."
"Who am I, child?" Was this my voice speaking? Was this my own true voice speaking at last?
No time, no past, no future, no memory...
Only a dim vision of warm flesh through the mist, a blurred entity reaching upwards from the circle.
And her childlike answer, her laughter, her love:
"My Lasher, that's who you are, you are my avenger, my Lasher, come!"
Thirty-seven
LASHER SAT SILENT with his hands flat on the table, his head bowed.
Michael said nothing, but cautiously looked up at Clement Norgan, and then at Aaron, and at Erich Stolov. He could see the compassion in Aaron's face. Erich Stolov was amazed.
Lasher's face was very calm, almost serene. The tears were there again, these tears he wears like jewels, Michael thought, and Michael shuddered all over as if trying to break the spell of the being's beauty, of its soft even voice.
"I am yours, gentlemen," said Lasher in the same gentle manner, gazing at Erich Stolov. "I have come to you after all these centuries to ask for your help. You offered it to me once; you told me your purpose; I didn't believe you. And now, I find myself hunted and threatened again."
Stolov glanced uneasily at Aaron and at Michael. Norgan watched Stolov as if for some cue.
"You've done right," said Stolov. "You've done wisely. And we're prepared to take you to Amsterdam. That is why we're here!"
"Oh no. You won't do this," said Michael softly.
"Michael, what do you want of us?" demanded Stolov. "You think we can stand by and let you destroy this creature?"
"Michael, you have heard my story," said Lasher sadly, wiping at his tears again so like a child.
"B
e assured no harm will come to you," said Stolov. He turned to Michael. "We're taking him with us. We're taking him out of your hands and out of any place where he can hurt you or any of your women. It will be as if he was never here..."
"No, wait," said Lasher. "Michael, you've listened to me," he said, his voice heartbroken as before. He leant forward; his eyes were glazed and imploring. He looked for all the world like the Christ of Durer.
"Michael, you cannot hurt me," he said, his voice unsteady and filled with soft emotion. "You cannot kill me! Am I to blame for what I am? Look into my eyes, you cannot do it. You know it."
"You never learn, do you?" Michael whispered.
Aaron quickly tightened his grip on Michael's shoulder.
"There will be no killing," Aaron said. "We will take him with us. We'll go to Amsterdam. I shall go with Erich and with Norgan. And with him. I shall make absolutely certain that he is taken directly to the Motherhouse and there placed..."
"No, you won't," said Michael.
"Michael," said Stolov, "this is too big a mystery to be destroyed in an instant by one man."