The Dead Spend No Gold Read online

  Grendel stood in the cave’s front chamber and howled like a child in pain. There was something strange about his profile, as if he had grown thinner. Then I realized that he was missing one of his arms. His remaining hand clutched the terrible wound in his shoulder, and even in the nighttime dimness, I could see the blood flowing. Answering howls echoed from below. With a start, I realized it was not a single howl, as from Hrothgar; another, even louder response shook the cave floor. I lay still and quiet, hoping none of the creatures would remember me.

  The albino child came from the back of the cave, running to Grendel and grabbing him around the waist. Grendel’s howls muted slightly, as if he was comforted by this. Then came the heavy, terrifying tread of another creature. The bones that lined the chamber cracked under the weight of this newcomer. She—for it was clear even in the dim light that it was an older female—strode over to the wounded beast. Grendel wanted comfort, but the female just stared at him, as if trying to gauge how hurt he really was, like a mother with a child who came running to her with a skinned knee.

  I realized that this was Grendel and Hrothgar’s Mother. Both of the smaller creatures, if they could be called small, were her progeny. Where the male parent is, I have no idea. I sense it is not part of the family group. Perhaps males wander alone and only come in contact with others of their kind to mate.

  Finally, the Mother took Grendel into her arms. His head turned against her huge breasts, and I saw his eyes grow large as he saw me, remembering I was there.

  “Skooo cooom!” he cried as pulled away from his Mother to get at me. I didn’t even raise my hands, knowing escape was impossible and hoping for a quick end.

  Then Hrothgar was there, standing between us, holding his palms up beseechingly, but he simply didn’t have the mass to stop his older brother in time, nor did Grendel show any sign of relenting or slowing down.

  I should have been terrified, but a strange calm overcame me. This was the end, then. I’d expected it from the moment I awoke in Grendel’s cave. I’d thought all along it would be a violent death, but instead—like Tucker before me—I was dying slowly of starvation, of thirst, of disease—of simply not having enough freedom of movement to give my muscles and mind the necessary vigor of life. Perhaps it was better this way.

  A quick death was almost welcome, and though I knew those first moments would be agonizingly painful, it would soon be over, or so I prayed.

  The Mother barked a short, simple command, and Grendel stopped as if he had come to the end of a leash. He let out a howl of frustration. The Mother came toward me, but I wasn’t reassured by this last-minute reprieve. She stared down at me curiously.

  I’d noticed before that Grendel seemed to be crafty, almost adult in his gaze. Hrothgar too, though only a child, displayed intelligence. But the Mother! I stared into the depths of her eyes and had the eerie sense that she could read my thoughts, that she could outthink me or any other human. There was an ancient wisdom there; but overlaying it was anger and a ferocity that gave me no hope of comfort.

  “Fire,” she said simply. The English word was distinct but thick, as if she had once spoken the language but had almost forgotten how to form the words. She pulled Grendel to her and took his hand away from his wound. She pointed at the bleeding hole and repeated, “Fire.”

  I nodded in understanding, but then raised my palms as if to say, I have no fire and no way to make any.

  The Mother snarled something to both Grendel and Hrothgar, and they dutifully retreated to the other side of the cave, staring at me, while she returned to the deep darkness of the back. She returned with a knapsack I’d never seen before. Inside were the contents of a miner’s kit, including some rather large matches and fuses, which were probably used to set explosives.

  “I need tinder,” I said. “Wood.”

  She uttered another batch of commands and Hrothgar hurried out the entrance.

  There was a small hammer inside the pack as well. I hefted it while the Mother watched me. Don’t even try to escape, said the look she gave me. I shook my head and set the hammer on the ground. Its head was broad, but not as broad as Grendel’s wound; still, it would have to do, unless I wanted to use the open flame at the end of a branch. Using the hammer would require more than one application, and I wasn’t sure Grendel would sit still for it, or that he wouldn’t kill me for inflicting such pain. But it would be the cleanest way to cauterize the wound.

  Hrothgar returned with an armful of dry wood that was easy to ignite. Soon I had a small blaze, thanks to the small sacrifice of my shirtsleeve. I built up a fire. I looked around the cavern once, and regretted it. I had not seen, until then, the human skulls, some with hair still attached, or the many little creatures and insects that scurried away from the light. Some of the bones were old and brittle, as if they had been there a hundred years.

  I placed the hammer in fire and waited until it glowed red.

  The Mother grabbed Grendel almost roughly and made him kneel by the fire. Already, he was glaring at me as if he wanted to kill me. I lifted the hammer gingerly and approached the giant beast. Even standing, I was no more than shoulder high to him. The Mother gave me a short nod and I drew a deep breath.

  I pressed the glowing hammer to the center of the wound, where the blood flowed fastest. Grendel raised his head and screamed, and the gold walls seemed to gather the horrible, tortured cry and send it echoing back and forth, again and again, across the cave.

  The wound stopped bleeding, but the edges were still raw. Grendel was held in the strong grip of his Mother as she nodded her head toward the fire and the red-hot hammer.

  I lifted it again and plunged it deep into the wound. Then Grendel’s hand came flying toward the side of my head, and I tried to duck as I thought, Not again! But he caught me full on the temple. I fell back against one of the gold walls and into darkness.

  I woke later that day and found Hrothgar curled up next to me, regarding me with concerned eyes. I moaned and touched my head, not certain it was still attached after all the knocks it had gotten.

  “Friend,” I said, and it was as if my head split open from the effort.

  “Friend,” Hrothgar echoed, and it was as if I was healed, just a little.

  Grendel’s moans were audible from the back of the cave, and I wondered if my ministrations had done the creature any good.

  There was a heavy tread, and when the Mother appeared, the huge chamber suddenly seemed crowded. She stared down at me, and I wondered if this was end, now that I was no longer useful.

  Hrothgar left my side and scrambled over to his Mother. He climbed up her legs and body and up to her shoulder, where she nuzzled him. Then she lifted him and gently placed him next to me again. There was a look on her face that was very human: sadness and resignation, and a little fear. But her demeanor was determined. After she put Hrothgar down, she turned and marched out of the cave, and I shuddered.

  Without the Mother to protect me, I wasn’t sure how long Grendel would let me live.

  Whoever had injured Grendel was about to get a visit from his Mother.

  I had a feeling she was even stronger and faster than he was.

  * * *

  Jean Baptiste sprang at Bidwell, who was surprised by the attack and drew back momentarily. Jean kept coming at him from under the massive wolf’s chest, going for the throat. The bigger wolf rose upward on his hind legs, and Jean had to settle for lunging at his flank. Faster than the eye could follow, Bidwell struck out and knocked Jean to the side.

  Litonya rushed toward him, but two wolves broke away and waylaid her. She kept them at bay with her knife, but barely.

  More wolves were circling Frank, who was fighting back to back with Hawkins. Three others kept Virginia busy, and every time she tried to help Frank, it made her vulnerable.

  There was a cry from Hawkins, followed by a thump, and Frank was left to fight alone. He looked away and waited for death. Jean Baptiste was down; the giant wolf had him by the shoulder
. Virginia was furiously battling three wolves, but the rest had already passed her, their strange eyes on Frank as they crouched, waiting for an opening so they could spring for his throat.

  That moment seemed to last forever.

  * * *

  The crash was so massive, so unexpected, that everyone in the room, human and wolf, was thrown off their stride. The entire building shook. A log rolled out of the giant fireplace and lay burning among the combatants, the wagon wheel chandelier swayed, and the wax from the candles splattered onto the floor. There was one more enormous crack and the saloon doors teetered wildly on broken hinges. A cool wind blew through the long room and the fire flared up, sending sparks high into the air.

  A massive shape loomed in the doorway, silhouetted in moonlight. Each footstep echoed like thunder as it entered the dim bar.

  Howls broke the stillness as the werewolves backed away, eyes riveted on the creature before them. It was clear they understood three things: that the creature was a fellow predator; that it was an enemy; and that everyone in the room was in danger. Their pack instinct took hold. The wolf that was Bidwell charged the creature while his packmates surrounded it, going for the tendons of the back legs. Once the monster was down, they would make short work of it. No doubt they thought it would be no harder than bringing down a buffalo or an elk.

  But this was no common prey. Buffalo and elk didn’t think; they reacted by instinct. By the time the wolves launched their attack, the Ts’emekwes had figured out their stratagem. She broke through the circle of wolves, punching one of them so hard that it was flung completely across the room, where it slammed back first into the bar’s edge. There was a crack and the wolf slid to the ground. Frank saw life in its eyes, a burning desire to rise and attack, but it couldn’t move.

  The Skoocoom’s back was to the wall, the fireplace to one side of her, so the wolves could no longer get behind her. The pack had no option but to attack from the front, and when they did, two more were flung into the air. One crawled on its front legs, not away from the fight, but back toward it. The other didn’t move at all, the fierce light going out of its eyes.

  Then there was a moment of stillness. The fire crackled in the sudden quiet, and there were whimpering sounds from the wounded wolf that was dragging itself toward the battle.

  The two types of predators examined each other, each the master of their own world, afraid of nothing.

  This isn’t the same Skoocoom as before, Frank realized with a start. This was obviously a female; her hair was red instead of black, and she still had both arms. Despite being female, this creature was larger than the other. Frank sensed that she was older, much older than the male that had attacked them. But the rage in her eyes was every bit as fierce as that of the Ts’emekwes that Virginia had defeated at the ferry crossing.

  This is the Mother, Frank understood instinctively.

  The predators measured each other, and it was the werewolves who gave ground.

  Bidwell backed away. The other wolves followed him to the broken doors. Bidwell-as-wolf hesitated in the doorway, and, raising his muzzle, howled one last time in defiance. The others joined him in filling the air with howling insolence.

  Then they were gone.

  Only Virginia still faced the Skoocoom. Litonya lay on the ground, unconscious or dead, bleeding from a gash to the head. Jean Baptiste had turned back into a man when the wolves retreated, revealing a gaping shoulder wound. Ignoring the pain, he knelt at Litonya’s side, lifted her over his good shoulder, and carried her from the battlefield.

  Frank fell to his knees in despair. This beast was beyond any of them. Upstairs, the humans must be cowering in fear. No townspeople would come to their rescue; the events of this night were beyond them, too. These creatures were things that men hid from, denying their existence so they could carry on with their lives, could continue to believe they were the masters of this world.

  The room filled with a terrible stench, and Frank gagged. The Ts’emekwes would attack and they would die. There was no other possibility.

  The Skoocoom lumbered forward, her eyes fixed on Virginia. Reacting without thinking, Frank snatched Johnny Hawkins’s huge knife off the floor, doing his best to ignore the detached hand that was still clutching it. He caught up to the Skoocoom just as she reached Virginia, who stood waiting. The girl looked defiant, but Frank could see the exhaustion in her face. He stabbed at the creature’s back leg, hoping to slow her down or distract her.

  Virginia, meanwhile, didn’t do what the monster probably expected. She didn’t turn tail and run. Instead, she attacked, leaping into the air, pushing off against beast with a double kick. It barely budged the huge creature, but the Skoocoom stepped back and bumped up against Frank, knocking him off his feet and against the burning log that had rolled out of the fireplace.

  Frank kicked the log toward the Skoocoom, and it rolled under her raised foot.

  The creature tried to catch her balance, but she stumbled on the log and toppled backward. Frank rolled away, just managing to get out from under her. Her head cracked against the stone mantelpiece over the fireplace, shattering it.

  The whole building shook from the beast’s fall, and she howled as the long red hair on her back and shoulders caught fire. She rolled on the flames till they were out, knocking the tables around like toys.

  The hair on the monster’s face had burned away on one side, and when she rose and turned toward Frank and Virginia, they saw that under her pelt, she was strikingly human. She had a heavy brow and a wide nose, and her skin was red and black from burns, but her visage could have passed for a human’s.

  The monster seemed to enlarge, her shoulders bulging and chest expanding, as if the pain and rage had redoubled her strength. She raised her arms, reaching the ceiling. Her face was blistering and oozing, and she was shaking from the pain. She opened her mouth, her huge teeth seeming longer and sharper without the fur to cover them.

  “Skooo cooom! Skooo cooom!” she thundered. Virginia and Frank both took a step back, but there was no escape.

  The saloon rattled and the floors shook. Frank knew that nothing could stop the creature’s next charge. He turned to Virginia to say good-bye, but her eyes were darting about the room as if she was calculating something, as if she had a plan.

  She grabbed his ragged sleeve and tugged him toward the long bar on the other side of the room. “Run, Frank!”

  She stepped toward the creature, who roared again.

  He hesitated, unwilling to leave her alone.

  “I’ll follow you!” she cried. “Run, dammit!”

  The floor shook beneath Frank’s feet as he sprinted toward the bar. Virginia stood her ground for a moment, and for the first time, the Skoocoom showed caution, slowing down. When Frank had gotten far enough away, Virginia followed him, the Skoocoom lumbering after them. Frank was certain one of those giant hands would close over his head, but then the bar was in front of him, and he vaulted over it. He landed in the narrow space behind the bar, and Virginia landed next to him a second later. She scrambled toward the end of the bar, and he followed her.

  The Skoocoom didn’t stop and didn’t jump over the bar; she went through it. The giant log shattered, breaking in half. The creature slammed into the big mirror behind the bar, and all the glittering bottles of liquor on the shelves there rained down on her, shattering, spraying her with alcohol. For a few short seconds, they smelled the stink of liquor rather than creature.

  Without the reflected light from the mirror, the room dimmed. Virginia gripped Frank’s arm. He winced at the small woman’s unexpected strength, but managed not to cry out. “I need you to lead the Ts’emekwes toward the fireplace,” she said, her voice tight and urgent. “Can you do that? Can you make it that far?”

  Frank looked at the end of the bar, only a few feet away. Beyond were the shattered doors and escape. He wanted to yell at Virginia to flee. They were foolish to think they could defeat this creature. But then he remembered that Fea
ther…Litonya and Jean Baptiste were still among the wounded and that his father was in one of the rooms above. They couldn’t leave.

  “I’ll try,” he said grimly.

  The Skoocoom shook her head, recovering from the collision.

  Frank rounded the end of the bar and sprinted toward the fireplace. He gathered his last strength, more than he’d thought he possessed. The saloon had seemed so much narrower when they’d first come in. Frank ran with all the energy he had, knowing he had nothing to lose.

  “Hey, you ugly beast. Come and get me!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

  The creature started after him, making him regret his words, for the Skoocoom accelerated with a fearsome burst of speed. Suddenly, Frank wasn’t so sure he would reach the fireplace.

  And if I do, what then? he asked himself. Do I just stand there with a stupid grin on my face?

  He cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see that Virginia had scrambled up to the highest point on the shattered bar.

  Then she leaped.

  What is she doing?

  Her outstretched hands caught the edge of the chandelier, an impossibly long jump. The candles rained down like falling stars, splattering about the floor, splashing hot wax everywhere. Most blinked out, but a few remained lit, starting small fires on the rough wooden planks.

  Not that Frank noticed any of this, for the Ts’emekwes grabbed him around the middle, a grotesque smile splitting her half human/half beast face.

  Virginia emerged from the billowing smoke feet first, flying through the second half of the expanse directly toward the Skoocoom’s back. The beast was completely focused on dangling Frank by one arm, her smile widening as she reached for his leg with her other hand. She didn’t see Virginia coming. Then Virginia slammed into the creature’s back, right between her shoulder blades.

  It wasn’t much, perhaps, Virginia’s small weight compared to the monster’s huge size, but it pushed the creature forward just enough so that she dropped Frank as she toppled into the fireplace again. The alcohol that drenched her fur ignited, and bright fire flashed over her body. It was almost beautiful, the flames of different colors, greens and blues and reds and yellows. The stink that pervaded the room became stronger still, now accompanied by the smell of burning flesh and fur.