Edgeland Read online

  Nothing moved.

  Except for their mouths.

  The lips of every last man, woman, and child in the room were in motion. Wren watched a little boy who sat on the bottommost rung of a nearby ladder. He was mouthing the same words again and again: Drown the Serpent of Fear.

  Wren looked around at the others. “The mantra,” whispered Wren. “They’re all mouthing the mantra.”

  Alec nodded.

  Together, they gawked at the scene before them. It was like watching a chorus of the dead, only it was utterly silent.

  “Alec … Does the Common Book say anything about a place like this?” whispered Wren.

  Alec leaned down to touch the gritty ground beneath his feet. It was stone covered by a few inches of sand. “I think this is supposed to be the Moonlit Beach.”

  “Yessssss,” said a raspy voice that floated toward them through the darkness. “This is not the Moonlit Beach, but it reminds us of that heavenly place. There are hundreds of rooms like it in this bliss house. Course, we don’t call them rooms. Beaches sounds nicer, don’t ya think?”

  Alec and Wren turned toward the voice. It belonged to an old man with stringy white hair, who sat on the lowest perch of a ladder about a dozen feet away.

  “How did you die?” he asked, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Was it violent? Let me guess … The girl drowned and the boy tried to save her, then you both perished in cold northern waters. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” said Wren, lying with practiced ease. She sounded genuinely surprised. She and Alec hung back, reluctant to get any closer. “How’d you know?”

  “It’s common enough down here,” said the man, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Everyone who comes to the beaches in this bliss house hails from Edgeland and points north. Geography. That’s how we sort our dead on this side of the island. Go next door, to Bliss House Forty-Eight, where they keep the Canyon Landers, and you’ll find beaches and beaches filled with people who died of thirst.”

  The man eased out of his chair and walked over to a small torch hanging against the wall. He took it out of its holster, then hobbled toward Alec and Wren. When he was a foot or two away from them, he stopped and grinned. The whites of his eyes, lit up by the flickers of the torch, were a pale yellow, like the dog-eared pages of an old book.

  “Those first steps out of the chair are always the hardest part,” the old man said. His head tilted back at an odd angle, as if it weren’t properly attached. “But I have to keep doing it—have to keep making that trip up to the Meadow—otherwise I’d be off in bliss. And I can’t do that, as much as I would like to. No sir, I can’t. Old Lamack’s gotta look after his bliss house.”

  “Are all of these people … sleeping?” asked Wren.

  “Sleeping is for the living, darlin’,” replied Lamack. “You two and the rest of these folks are dead. Soon enough, once you sit in the chairs, you’ll feel the pull of bliss—like a rock sinkin’ to the bottom of the pond. Once you start yawning, there’s no fightin’ it.”

  Yawning. Wren glanced up at Alec, who nodded. That’s what the bald man had done.

  “And why’d you want to fight it?” continued Lamack. “It’s bliss, after all.” He cackled. “The fast road to heaven. You’ll see, oh, you’ll see. Now, where are your chairs?”

  Lamack leaned in and took the tickets from Wren, then held them several inches from his nose.

  “Well, aren’t you the lucky dead.” His mouth opened wide in surprise, revealing a few solitary teeth sticking out of purplish gums. “You got a spot on one of the nearby beaches. Bless your fortune! They’re much nicer than the rooms—I mean, beaches—deeper below. How’d you manage that? Well, no matter. I haven’t been on that beach in a while. I ought to look around—make sure all is well.”

  Lamack turned around slowly, as if his old joints were rusted tight, then began hobbling across the sand and deeper into the gloom of the vast space. Alec and Wren followed him, occasionally glancing up at the wax-like figures above them. One girl was clutching at her shirt, eyes opened only a crack, as if terrified of what she’d just seen. And there was a slender, willowy woman, hands clasped to her head, pulling at her own hair. Only their lips moved.

  “These are the good seats,” said Lamack, gesturing to the nearby ladders. “The folks here have been in bliss since before I came, and I showed up, well … a very long time ago. Couple hundred years at least. Been sayin’ their mantras—waitin’, waitin’, waitin’ for that sweet call to heaven. Should be soon now. Could be any moment. That’s what Shade says. Gotta keep at it.” He nodded and shifted his head back and forth, as if his words were music.

  “Sir,” said Alec. “How many people from this Bliss House have been called to heaven so far?”

  Lamack ignored the question.

  “Newcomers generally go to the lower beaches,” he said. “I try to keep families together, of course. Got one family takin’ up four ladders—beautiful family—all of them in bliss together, even the baby. All sayin’ their mantras. Do you have any family that died recently?”

  Wren hesitated. Her own mother would be tucked away in one of the island’s many bliss houses—on the Sun side. Wren pictured herself back on the front porch of her cottage, where she’d grown up, sitting in that rocking chair. Then she pictured the women from the Sisterhood of the Sun: their old, wrinkly faces filled with sorrow. Your mother is gone—you’ll not see her again, child.

  “No family,” said Wren, glancing at Alec.

  “Me neither,” said Alec.

  “Well, sometimes that’s for the best,” said Lamack. “You don’t age down here, of course. That can spook folks … Ah, here we are.”

  Lamack came to a halt. Before him was a darkened hole in the ground. Upon closer inspection, Wren and Alec saw that it was actually a stairwell. “Watch your step,” said Lamack. “Ages ago I slipped and snapped a few bones in my neck. Didn’t feel a blasted thing, of course, but as you can see, I’m all crooked now.” He cackled again. “No matter, anyhow. Gives me a different perspective.”

  Lamack led the way down many flights of stairs. Every so often, there would be a doorway, but Lamack kept descending. Eventually, they heard a clanking from far below—the distant sound of metal striking rock.

  “What’s that sound?” asked Wren.

  “Oh, that,” said Lamack. “That’s the diggers makin’ more beaches—because, well, the dead keep comin’.”

  At one point, Lamack held his torch up to the wall, revealing the number 17 carved into the wall. “Good, good, good,” he said. “This is your beach. Lucky you, moments away from bliss.” He shuffled through a doorway, and they entered a large, echoey room that looked like the one where they’d first met Lamack.

  They followed him between two rows of ladders, both full of people whose open eyes seemed to twinkle and glow in the light emanating from the moonlike orb overhead.

  As they walked, they became aware of a noise up ahead.

  “Oh dear,” said Lamack. He quickened his pace until he reached an elderly woman sitting on the lowest rung of a ladder. She was whimpering and her shoulders trembled constantly. Lamack reached out and stroked her head. “Now, now, now,” he said tenderly. “Easy, my love, easy.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” asked Wren. She looked horrified. “Why isn’t she in bliss?”

  “Oh, she is—she is,” replied Lamack. “For some folks, that’s what bliss does to you. Most are real still—dead-like—but a few here, like this bitty, are always sobbin’—cryin’ with joy, I’m sure.” Lamack reached out to stroke the woman’s head. “You’re fine,” he cooed. “Right where you belong, in peaceful purgatory. And old Lamack is here with you.” Lamack continued to pat the lady’s head and even began to hum a lullaby—as if she were a colicky baby.

  Of all the strange things that Wren had seen since landing here, this was the worst. The old woman looked like a shopkeeper from the Shakes—with calloused hands and a withered face.

  Wr
en stole a glance at Alec. His eyes were wide with shock.

  The old woman’s whimpers began to diminish, her shoulders relaxed, and at last, she stopped trembling. Once again, she was mouthing the mantras, just like everyone else. “See that,” said Lamack. “It’s almost like she can hear me. That’s the funny thing about bliss—there are moments when folks seem to be coming out of it. But once you’re in bliss, you don’t come out. And this pretty lady, well, she’ll be back to her sweet dreams soon enough.”

  Lamack smiled and shook his head, then shuffled onward into the darkness.

  Alec could feel Wren’s eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Instead, he gazed up at the people in the chairs around him. He tried to imagine all the dead he had ever encountered at House Aron, sitting in Sun versions of these bliss houses—waiting and waiting. There had to be something good about this place, something he wasn’t seeing. There had to be some reason why Ember Aron was involved. Alec had felt certain of this, but he could sense his certainty starting to erode, like a mound of sand crumbling at the water’s edge.

  Lamack led them across the room, past several dozen ladders jam-packed with bodies, until they came to one whose bottom two perches were vacant. “Easy-peasy. You’re such lucky sods!”

  A small brown-skinned girl in a stained summer dress occupied the third rung up from the ground. Her curly black hair was braided in pigtails that dangled to her elbows. Her mouth moved constantly, repeating the mantra like everyone else.

  “Have a seat,” urged Lamack.

  Alec climbed up into the seat directly beneath the girl, while Wren took the one at ground level. Alec leaned against the back of the chair. He saw Lamack staring at him, so he closed his eyes, guessing that was what was expected of him.

  “No, no, no,” said Lamack as he looked at Alec. “Don’t close your eyes. You ain’t sleepin’. The trick is lettin’ yourself be what you are. You’re dead. Your body wants to be dead. So don’t fight it! That’s the key. You’ll be in bliss soon enough. What you do is repeat the following mantra: Drown the Serpent of Fear. That way your lips keep mouthin’ the words, even after your mind goes. Then you’ll kind of feel yourself slippin’ into bliss. After that, everything’ll be fine. Here, look …”

  Lamack swung his torch in a wide arc, stopping it just shy of a man’s face. He was a strapping, muscle-bound laborer in well-worn coveralls. The heat of the flame blackened his chin. The man didn’t even flinch.

  “Don’t!” yelled Wren.

  “Stop that,” said Alec. “Please.”

  Lamack laughed. “All right then, don’t get all queasy. He’s happy as a clam—on his way to heaven!” Lamack shook his head knowingly. “You new arrivals are all the same way, thinkin’ the same kinda thoughts as when you were alive!” He waved his hand theatrically. “You’re dead, so start actin’ like it!”

  Wren and Alec remained frozen in their seats. Lamack leaned in close to make a final point. His face was somber. “Now, just to be clear: Don’t think about leavin’ your seats,” he whispered. “There are places not as nice as this. Got it?” He patted them both on their shoulders, straightened up, and smiled. “I have to walk around, inspect the ladders, make sure all is well. Then I’ll swing back. Check on you. Understand? But don’t bother waitin’. You’ll be too far gone to see me.”

  Lamack then pivoted and hobbled away into the gloom. Alec and Wren began to mouth the mantra, again and again. Their chairs were damp and cold, chilling them to the bone. Alec couldn’t imagine how anyone could sit here, unblinking and unthinking. But then, of course, he wasn’t dead.

  Finally, he could wait no longer. He scooted to the edge of his chair and leaned down toward Wren.

  “Wren!” he whispered.

  She looked up.

  “This is bad. We need to get out of here before Lamack comes back.”

  At that moment, a tsking sound floated down toward them.

  Alec and Wren looked up, astonished. The little girl in the summer dress was leaning over the edge of her chair, her eyes open and alert. She was a wisp of a child—with spindly legs and a torso that bent toward them like the wilting stem of a dandelion.

  “You’re, w-well, you’re …,” stammered Alec. “You’re not in bliss.” He looked around nervously, aware that his voice had carried farther than he expected.

  “Fancy that,” chirped the girl.

  “Did you just get here?” asked Wren, straining her neck to look up at the girl.

  “Nope—been here a very long time,” the girl replied. “Stuck in this kid’s body for hundreds of years.” She frowned. “Not what you’d call an ideal situation.”

  She moved sideways from her chair to the ladder and climbed down two rungs, so that she was almost eye level with Alec. “So, you got to meet Lamack? He’s a real charmer.” She reached toward Alec and ran a forefinger over one of his blond cornrows. He quickly pulled away. The little girl shrugged. “He’s gonna be back here soon enough,” she announced. “And then what’ll you do?”

  Alec and Wren exchanged glances. Wren was about to respond, but the girl continued to talk.

  “Well, tell you what,” she said. “Suppose I could help you?”

  “We don’t need help,” said Wren. She crouched in her chair, ready to pull this girl away from Alec.

  The girl stepped down another rung and again leaned toward Alec. He shrank back. “Oh, I think you do,” she said. “Lamack’ll be none too pleased when he finds the two of you—eyes wide-open—whispering to each other.”

  “We haven’t really tried to get into bliss,” said Wren. She got up out of her chair and stood at the base of the ladder, looking up at the girl.

  “Well, you won’t get into bliss, no matter how hard you try. You can’t do it, because …” The girl paused and grinned. “Well, just because.”

  “Why aren’t you in bliss?” Alec asked, eager to change the subject. “Aren’t you worried Lamack will find you?”

  “I can fool him and the graylings. I know my way around.” She puffed up her chest and patted it with her hand, proudly. “I can be useful to you.”

  “Are you a grayling?” Wren asked. “You’re the right age.” She paused. “And you’re awake.”

  Still on the ladder, the girl extended her right arm, as if about to bow. Her arms were even thinner than her legs, like two flimsy sticks wrapped tightly in brown skin. “I look the part,” she said, “but I’m not a grayling. Not when I was alive, and not now.” She held up her right arm. It was bent strangely at the elbow. “Shade doesn’t use children who are broken.”

  Alec nodded and eyed the girl carefully. He had to figure out what was going on here. The freckle-faced girl had handed them a ticket, which led them to this seat, where this little girl was waiting for them. It might be a trap or it might be a rescue, but it certainly wasn’t a coincidence.

  “Tell me,” he said, inching backward to put a little more distance between them. “Are all the world’s dead on this island? I mean, hasn’t anyone gone on to heaven?”

  The girl raised her eyebrows. The effect widened her already-large eyes. “Nope,” she said. “What you were told at the harbor is rubbish. I’ve been here longer than Lamack—’round about five centuries—and I’ve never seen anyone move on. Not a single person. That’s the dirty little secret down here. Lamack knows it. The graylings know it. And Shade and Ember know it.”

  Alec leaned back in his chair. Five centuries. Alec imagined all of the clients who had passed through House Aron over the years. There must have been tens of thousands. And not one of them was in the Sunlit Glade. Could this be true? No. There was no way. And yet … what if it was true? Alec felt sick.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Alec finally. “Purgatory is supposed to be, you know, temporary.”

  “Bring that up with the gods if you meet them,” said the girl, twisting her mouth into a smirk. “But you won’t find ’em here.”

  With that, the girl jumped gracefully from the ladde
r to the sand, about six feet below. “There’s a way out of this bliss house—I can show you.” She turned and started walking away.

  “Wait!” said Wren.

  The girl didn’t stop. Wren and Alec jumped down from their seats and followed her.

  “Hey—you! Where are you going?” said Wren.

  “I have a name,” said the girl, without turning around. “It’s Flower.”

  Flower continued toward the far end of the room, past dozens of ladders stacked with people, until she reached a towering pile of broken ladders propped up against the wall. “Be careful here,” said Flower. “Squeeze in slowly. It’s tight for me and it’ll be tighter for you.”

  Flower eased into a crevice between the ladders and the wall, while Alec had to push himself through rather forcefully, ripping his cloak and scraping his back as he went. It was easier for Wren. She was used to navigating spaces like these.

  They emerged into a narrow space with an uneven stone floor. The only light filtered in from the hole in the wall they’d just pushed through.

  “Where are we?” asked Alec.

  “A staircase no one uses,” said Flower.

  Wren saw flickering lights far above. She sensed Alec standing next to her. “Are you sure no one else uses it?”

  “Yup,” said Flower. “These older bliss houses have tons of old tunnels and stairs that no one uses anymore.”

  Flower started to climb. The steps were big for her, and she had to use her hands to scramble up.

  “Wait,” said Wren. Flower turned around, her pigtails swishing back and forth like two rope swings.

  “Before we come with you,” said Wren, “I want to know why you’re helping us. What’s the catch? I mean, it’s always something for something.”

  Flower ran her finger across her crooked arm, the one she’d broken. “Well,” she said. “If you gotta know—I’m in need of a couple of breathers.”