wrong?”
She moved towards him, to hold him, comfort him, untangle his knotted hair. “Get away!” he roared at her.
“Cara! Don’t come near!” Tikki wailed, and they writhed and twisted and shrugged their bonds, trying to rock the chairs backwards. “Don’t come near us!” Tikki whispered.
The vein in her father’s face seemed to throb; what looked at first like two rows of metal thorns emerged through the skin. They glinted in the candlelight, encircling flesh, closing. The flesh disappeared, and out of her father’s face another tiny face slid out. It grinned, befanged, a visage like a child might model of a human face in clay, with tiny eyes that blinked. From all the sores, across the once handsome shoulders and breasts and bellies of her family, from behind their ears, out of their nostrils slipped things as thick as a finger. Worms.
Cara’s male voice bellowed, harsh with horror, and she stepped back, moaning, shaking her head. “What is it? What is it?” Stefile called from outside. She ran into the room, and stopped, and fell utterly silent. Cara, shivering, found a chair. Stefile stood behind her, clasping the back of her neck.
The worms looked at them, blinking. The worms spoke.
“We do not want to do this,” said the worm in her father’s face, in a high, piping voice.
“Forgive us, mistress,” said another.
“The Galu make us do this,” said a third. “We were their enemies, and this is how they punish us.”
“But we must eat to live,” said the worm in her father’s face.
“Do not come too near us. Do not sleep in this house, or we will find you too. When your family dies, do not carry them out. Leave them, or we will slip into you as you bear them.”
“How . . . long do they have to live?” Cara found herself asking them.
The worms turned to each other, and then looked back. “Sometime yet, mistress.” Cara’s father groaned, and shook his head. “We try not to pierce the vital organs for as long as we can. We try to make it last.”
“We are sorry, mistress.”
“We are sorry, sister.”
“We were human too.”
“They came in the night, Cara,” said Tikki. “They covered the floor. We couldn’t escape.”
“How many nights ago?” Cara asked, and Tikki told her. The worms had come the night she had tried to kill the Galu. This was their revenge.
“What are the Galu?” Cara demanded. “What manner of thing?”
“They walk like men, mistress,” pleaded the worms, in fearful, squeaking voices.
“They look like men.”
“But they are not?” Cara demanded.
“Oh do not make us answer that! We must not answer that! If we do that, they will punish us again.”
“How could they punish you more horribly than this?” Cara asked, her voice controlled and even.
“The Galu can always think of something worse,” whined the worm in her father’s face.
“If you tell me,” Cara said, “I promise to set you free.”
The worms looked at each other, back and forth, and nodded their heads. “They walk like men, but they are not. Their love is different. To have sons, they must be murdered, out of hatred, by the children of God. If they tempt the fallen children so, then a blossom rises out of them, bearing three eggs, which grow into their children who are exactly like them. The Galu cannot change. They can only grow more numerous.”
“Which they are doing now.”
“You were not the first.”
“They love killing,” said the first worm.
“They love pillage,” said another.
“They yearn for the knife,” said a third.
“They will bring ruin.”
“Cara,” said Stefile, gripping her shoulder. “Cara, we must be away. You heard what they said. They will come for us.”
“Yes,” said Cara in the same, flat, damaged, weary voice. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Outside, in the yard, four of the Old Women stood, arms folded.
“So, Cara,” said Mother Danlupu, and tutted. “You return to see what your precipitous spells have
She moved towards him, to hold him, comfort him, untangle his knotted hair. “Get away!” he roared at her.
“Cara! Don’t come near!” Tikki wailed, and they writhed and twisted and shrugged their bonds, trying to rock the chairs backwards. “Don’t come near us!” Tikki whispered.
The vein in her father’s face seemed to throb; what looked at first like two rows of metal thorns emerged through the skin. They glinted in the candlelight, encircling flesh, closing. The flesh disappeared, and out of her father’s face another tiny face slid out. It grinned, befanged, a visage like a child might model of a human face in clay, with tiny eyes that blinked. From all the sores, across the once handsome shoulders and breasts and bellies of her family, from behind their ears, out of their nostrils slipped things as thick as a finger. Worms.
Cara’s male voice bellowed, harsh with horror, and she stepped back, moaning, shaking her head. “What is it? What is it?” Stefile called from outside. She ran into the room, and stopped, and fell utterly silent. Cara, shivering, found a chair. Stefile stood behind her, clasping the back of her neck.
The worms looked at them, blinking. The worms spoke.
“We do not want to do this,” said the worm in her father’s face, in a high, piping voice.
“Forgive us, mistress,” said another.
“The Galu make us do this,” said a third. “We were their enemies, and this is how they punish us.”
“But we must eat to live,” said the worm in her father’s face.
“Do not come too near us. Do not sleep in this house, or we will find you too. When your family dies, do not carry them out. Leave them, or we will slip into you as you bear them.”
“How . . . long do they have to live?” Cara found herself asking them.
The worms turned to each other, and then looked back. “Sometime yet, mistress.” Cara’s father groaned, and shook his head. “We try not to pierce the vital organs for as long as we can. We try to make it last.”
“We are sorry, mistress.”
“We are sorry, sister.”
“We were human too.”
“They came in the night, Cara,” said Tikki. “They covered the floor. We couldn’t escape.”
“How many nights ago?” Cara asked, and Tikki told her. The worms had come the night she had tried to kill the Galu. This was their revenge.
“What are the Galu?” Cara demanded. “What manner of thing?”
“They walk like men, mistress,” pleaded the worms, in fearful, squeaking voices.
“They look like men.”
“But they are not?” Cara demanded.
“Oh do not make us answer that! We must not answer that! If we do that, they will punish us again.”
“How could they punish you more horribly than this?” Cara asked, her voice controlled and even.
“The Galu can always think of something worse,” whined the worm in her father’s face.
“If you tell me,” Cara said, “I promise to set you free.”
The worms looked at each other, back and forth, and nodded their heads. “They walk like men, but they are not. Their love is different. To have sons, they must be murdered, out of hatred, by the children of God. If they tempt the fallen children so, then a blossom rises out of them, bearing three eggs, which grow into their children who are exactly like them. The Galu cannot change. They can only grow more numerous.”
“Which they are doing now.”
“You were not the first.”
“They love killing,” said the first worm.
“They love pillage,” said another.
“They yearn for the knife,” said a third.
“They will bring ruin.”
“Cara,” said Stefile, gripping her shoulder. “Cara, we must be away. You heard what they said. They will come for us.”
“Yes,” said Cara in the same, flat, damaged, weary voice. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Outside, in the yard, four of the Old Women stood, arms folded.
“So, Cara,” said Mother Danlupu, and tutted. “You return to see what your precipitous spells have
Similar Books
