Pilgrimage (27 page)

He stopped running and turned around, more confused than frightened. He looked in time to see Lloyd fire again. Blood sprayed out of Caia's back, the bullet had gone right through her. She was still holding on, still trying to take the gun, still trying to wrap her fingers around Lloyd's neck. Blood gushed from three different holes in her body. Lloyd fired off the last two bullets in his revolver; the first pierced Caia's leg and she collapsed, dodging the last bullet by pure luck. Lloyd kicked her away. She reached out to grab Lloyd. He walked over her, crushing her underfoot as he approached.

“I forgot to save one for you.” Lloyd said as he flicked the blood off his fingers. “I guess I got carried away.”

Griffith said nothing. There were no words, only fear.

“That's fine. I still have something for you.” Lloyd reached into his pocket and retrieved a switch blade. The blade revealed itself with a wicked snap. Griffith felt the sting of the knife edge just by looking at it.

Griffith's eyes darted between Caia's body and Lloyd's knife. He was all out of heroes.

“You brought this on yourself, you know,” Lloyd continued. “You've worked against me from the beginning, trying to stop me every step of the way. You made the master hold me back and stifle me. When I finally discovered the true secret to power, you did everything you could to stop me. You betrayed me and lied to me and planned against me! As long as you live, you're a threat to my plans.” Lloyd approached Griffith, breathing heavily, fist clenched around the knife.

“What plans?” Griffith backed away, keeping as much distance between him and Lloyd as he could. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't act like you don't know!”

“You're insane.”

“You only say that because you fear me. You should fear me! The world should fear me!”

Griffith turned to run. Lloyd threw the knife. The blade embedded in Griffith's leg. He tried pushing forward. His leg gave out. Griffith hit the dirt and turned to face Lloyd.

“You're right,” he said. “I am afraid. I've been running from you.”

“It's too late, Griffith. I know everything and you can't escape your fate.”

A sudden, piercing, agonised scream pulled their attention. Caia writhed and twisted on the ground. Her skin tore like paper, her muscles bulged outwards, rippling like water and spitting the bullets from her body. The muscles warped and wrapped around the torn skin, revealing veins, arteries and bones. Tendons snapped, her intestines uncoiled onto the ground. Her whole body was turning itself inside out, tearing itself apart and knitting itself back together. Her bloody, skeletal hands dug into the earth and tore up chunks of the ground that sizzled, melting and bonding with her shifting form. Griffith's stomach was doing acrobatics, bouncing his food back up into his throat but he couldn't unlock his eyes from the disgusting, unnatural display. Caia's body stretched and grew, the muscles fused, tore and fused again growing layer after layer with every second. Her skin regrew solid like bone, with mixed green and yellow discolouration like a turtle shell. Her head grew a thick mane and extended into a wolf-like muzzle. Each hand had grown large enough to wrap around a watermelon. She wasn't just Caia, any more. She was an abomination, a monster made from magic. She hunched forward under her own weight, still at least two metres tall at the shoulder. Caia had dug up the earth and consumed it, growing her body with the extra mass.

She had been on the edge of death and in her quiet, final moments she recreated herself, refusing to accept her wounds or the weakness of her fragile human body. Griffith stared in awe – the force of will was astounding.

The monster that was Caia lifted itself up onto its feet with slow movements.

“What in the hell is that?” Lloyd muttered.

“This is the magic taught to me by Lance Ballinger.” Caia's voice sounded like crunching gravel. “And you will need more than bullets to kill me.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Lloyd turned his attention back to Griffith. “You first.” He took a step towards Griffith.

Before he could take the second, Caia had closed in on him in a few giant strides and wrapped a hand around him. She tightened her grip. Lloyd's bones cracked under the pressure. In a sweep of her arm, she launched him towards the church. Lloyd hit the hearse and rolled over it, face-planting on the asphalt. He struggled to catch his breath amid the pain. Caia charged towards him as Lloyd got to his knees, pushing the hearse aside with one easy shove. She grabbed Lloyd again, dragging him up by his legs to whip him against the church wall. Lloyd gritted his teeth, suffering the pain in silence. Caia dropped him again. He hit the ground and, a second later, Caia brought her heel down on his legs. Lloyd tried to crawl out from underneath her. He grabbed his legs and pulled away from Caia.= Caia lifted her foot. Lloyd tumbled back, free. He started to crawl. Caia caught him in one step and stomped down on his leg again. And again. Finally, Lloyd screamed to wake the dead.

“Caia, enough!” Griffith called out. He struggled to yank the knife out of his leg but each tug paralysed him with shooting pain. Caia stepped off Lloyd. The man's legs had become an unrecognisable pulp of blood and flesh, sprinkled with bone shards.

“Yes,” Caia agreed. “Enough. Now you die.” She wrapped both hands around Lloyd's mangled, bloody body and held him up. He focused enough to look her in the eyes.

“I should have put one in your head,” Lloyd grunted.

“That mistake will cost you your life.”

“And you should have killed me faster.” Lloyd took hold of Caia, his hands barely making it around her wrist. “That will cost you yours.”

Caia squeezed. The thin, broken man flinched but didn't resist. She would turn his ribcage inside out and it would all be over. Then she felt him fight back. Her body went cold, her vision blurred. Her arms twitched. She could feel her muscles begin to atrophy as she stood there. She breathed deep, it felt like sucking ice. No matter how much she gasped, she couldn't fill her lungs. Lloyd had pushed through all his pain, found focus and cast the spell. Caia tensed her muscles and forced her body to stay up. Her fingers were numb but she was still in control. She needed to sleep. Sleep would be so good. Everything was going dark. She couldn't concentrate. Lloyd slipped out of her hands and slumped to the ground in a pile. It didn't help. Lloyd’s disease was inside her, multiplying and spreading. Caia strained to keep her vision clear. She looked over her blood- and gore-splattered body. She was covered in Lloyd. She had been infecting herself the whole time. Lloyd just gave it that extra push when she grabbed him. Damn, that was stupid.

Caia raised her arms up as much as she could – they didn't even reach her head. She twisted, thrusting her arms down at Lloyd. Her limbs swung down more like whips than parts of her body. She struck Lloyd and he rolled across the road, grazing his exposed flesh on the rough asphalt before coming to rest on his back, laughing.

“There are worse fates,” Caia muttered as she fell.

“You don't know the half of it.” Lloyd gave a sickly cough.

Griffith limped towards the church, circling around Lloyd, to get to Caia. She lay motionless and breathless in a patch of black, dead grass. Her body was decaying already, shrivelling and falling apart before his eyes. Griffith lowered himself to his knees, beside her. He put his hand out towards her but stopped short of touching her body. He couldn't. It wasn't safe to touch her. It didn't look much like her now, but this decomposing monstrosity was still Caia. This was his friend. She had given her life to save him. All Griffith wanted to do was put his arms around her, thank her and say good-bye.

But he couldn't.

The body was infected. Caia was dead but the disease still lived. To touch it now would almost certainly be a death sentence. Even the earth around her body was dying.

The earth around her was dying. It was dying. The realisation burned in his mind. Caia's death might also be the death of the whole town. Griffith stood. He limped back to Lloyd, stopping out of his reach.

“Still can't raise the dead, huh?” Lloyd asked between deep, futile gasps for air.

“No.”

“I'm still alive.”

“Not for long.” Griffith leaned to one side, taking the weight off his knifed leg.

“We both know you won't let me die. It goes against everything you stand for.”

“Watch me.” Griffith didn't move. Lloyd had plenty of chances to redeem himself. There was no redemption for him in this life. Maybe he'd have better luck in the next.

“I knew it.”

“Lloyd...” Griffith spoke slow and clear, trying to keep Lloyd focused on him “I need you to tell me: when you die, what will happen to Gravesend? What will your disease do? How far will it go?”

“I knew you wanted me dead.” Lloyd's words were becoming short, broken whispers.

Griffith shook his head. “I wanted to be your friend, Lloyd. I wanted peace!”

“Liar!” Lloyd paused and closed his eyes. “But it doesn't matter now.”

“Lloyd, tell me what will happen.”

“In death, I break you. I still win.”

Griffith sighed. “I won't lie to you, Lloyd; I'm glad you're going to die. I won't miss you.”

“Everything dies. Everything goes with me. I've won.”

“If you need to believe that to die in some kind of peace, then, sure, you win.”

Lloyd made a sick, choking noise Griffith thought might be laughter. “I die and there is nothing to keep it inside me. In my death, I become death, the destroyer of worlds.” Lloyd tried to laugh again. It came out as a pathetic wheeze and then he said no more.

Griffith limped as fast as he could back to the highway. His leg gave out again half way and he fell. He pulled himself upright and dragged his leg towards him. The wound wept blood and his leg felt cold. He gripped the knife and closed his eyes. It took him longer than normal but he focused through the pain. He should have done it sooner. He wasn't thinking straight. Griffith pulled the knife, slowly, from his thigh. The wound closed, the blood ran back into his leg and his skin fused without leaving so much as a scar. He bent his leg back and forth until feeling returned.

Nearly in a state of panic, he ripped his backpack open and pulled out the map. He unfolded it on the road and traced the lines with his fingers. Blue marker highlighted his route and noted the distance between towns. If there was any chance of saving Gravesend from its sleep and Lloyd's disease-ridden legacy, it was in Salem. The master sorcerer could solve this. He had to believe that the answers were at the end of his journey. He just had to get there.

And now he had the hearse. Lloyd's hearse would get to Salem in just a few hours if he drove fast and didn't stop. Griffith leapt to his feet and sprinted back to the Church. The hearse was open but the keys were missing. He checked the glove compartment and the sun visor but came up empty. He dropped his bag in the car and ran across the road to Lloyd. Using a stick instead of his hands, he pulled every pocket inside out. He didn't risk touching it with his bare hands. The lawns around the church had almost entirely withered into black ash. Lloyd's pockets were empty. Griffith gave the corpse a frustrated whack that snapped the stick in half.

“Where did you put them, Lloyd!” He screamed.

Lloyd's corpse didn't answer.

Griffith ran back to the car to look again but, after searching every conceivable nook, pocket, compartment and crevice, he was still empty handed. Griffith sat in the driver's seat and breathed deep, calming himself.

“All right. I'm a sorcerer, I'll use magic.” Griffith focused on the car, narrowing his eyes and staring until his head started to hurt. “Except I have no idea how cars work! What does the spell need to do?” Caia had hot-wired the car, doing something to the ignition. Could he try that? No. Of course not. He had no idea how or where to begin. He didn't understand cars. He looked towards Caia's giant, mutated body lying on the decaying grass. He had to figure it out himself.

Then he noticed something bright blue in the ash by the church wall. A key ring. Griffith dashed out of the car and dug it out of the dirt with a handkerchief. His eyes lit up. The keys had fallen out of Lloyd's pocket in the fight and had sat there covered in dead earth, waiting for him less than a metre from where Caia fell. Caia's corpse had fallen in such a way that she was almost pointing straight at them. Maybe it was fate, after all.

Griffith shook the thoughts from his head and shook the dirt from the keys. He could ponder predestination later. He ran back to the car, jumped into the driver's seat. In one motion he buckled his seat belt and jammed the key into the ignition. The car jerked forward as he hit the accelerator. Closing the door came as an after-thought. Griffith fled fast from the church and a few short minutes later he was on the highway and Gravesend was disappearing into the oncoming night in the hearse's rear-vision mirror. Griffith's eyes were locked on the road ahead. The end was near but it was no longer his future and his safety that rested on finding the legendary master. There was no knowing how far Lloyd's disease would spread or how many it would kill. Untold hundreds of lives now hung in the balance.

Chapter 17

Mal left and came back a moment later with a bucket. He turned the bucket over and dumped a small lake of water over Roland.

“I guess I deserved that,” Roland said.