How the Stars did Fall Read online

  “Hello?” Faraday said. But Xingu did not answer.

  Then Xingu took a deep breath and spoke.

  “Thank you, Moon. You may go now, before someone notices your absence,” Xingu said. As Moon receded from the cave, Faraday waded farther into it, approaching Xingu warily, as if he were before some new kind of man whose ways were foreign and whose predilections could easily conflict with Faraday’s own. Up close, the elder looked different. His skin was wrinkled and leathery, but behind it lay taut muscle and thick veins, and Faraday thought the old Indian must be strong as a mule.

  Without speaking, Xingu took up a torch and started down a stairway that had been hiding behind an opening in the wall. Faraday considered his options for a moment, then followed.

  At its end, the stairway opened into a much wider cave, so wide the torch could barely dent the thick blackness that hung above and around them. But the old Indian continued on with no fear, and every few feet he passed a torch hung onto the wall as it had been in the smaller cave and lit it, keeping on and on until they had circumambulated the whole chamber. With all of those torches lit, Faraday got a much clearer sense of the size of the cave and remarked to Xingu how extraordinary the underground structure was, but Xingu shushed him.

  “Wait a moment,” Xingu said.

  The moment passed and the sound of a thousand rusty gears erupted from all around them as if the whole cave were mechanical in nature. And the rocks did move. In the ceiling a new light appeared in a gap, and with every second more, the gap grew larger and larger until a hole had formed above them, and through it the sun shone fierce as ever, illuminating every inch of the cave its rays could reach. Then the sound stopped.

  “No white man has ever seen this place,” Xingu said.

  “It is extraordinary. Did the Ohlone build it?”

  “Oh no. This place is much older than the Ohlone. In fact, they have only occupied this mesa for a hundred and twenty or so years. Before that, the mesa had been uninhabited for somewhere between five hundred and a thousand years.”

  “And before that?”

  “It was home to a variety of different tribes for varying lengths of time.”

  “Then who built it?”

  “An ancient race long since vanished.”

  “Why did they vanish?”

  “The records do not say.”

  After he had said that, Xingu walked to the center of the cave. A great chasm opened up there with a narrow stairway carved into the side of the rock. Faraday felt ill just thinking about walking those steps, yet while Xingu stood on the edge of the precipice, with the sun bathing him, he looked not like an old Indian of that country but perhaps one of the legendary figures of those vanished tribes, an effigy of an earlier race of men holding in his hand the empyreal flame with which the world of men had been wrought. Faraday considered asking Xingu if he was a descendant of those peoples but thought better of it. He took a moment to look again at the cave. Like the belly of a giant whale, the space stretched out and out. All along the walls of the structure, holes had been dug out. Entrances to other caves guarded by crudely fashioned gates.

  “Did people once live here?” Faraday asked.

  Xingu did not answer. Instead, he began descending the very steps Faraday had been dreading. Down into the chasm he went.

  “Hey, come back here,” Faraday said. “Where are you going? What is the purpose of this? Some elaborate sacrificial ceremony? Tell me what your intentions are or I will go no further.”

  That last bit made Xingu stop in his tracks and come back up until he could see Faraday.

  “It is easier if I show you. Come down with me. See what exists down below—then I will answer all your questions. I mean you no harm. If I did, you would be dead.”

  Convinced, Faraday took to the steps right behind Xingu, hugging the rock wall as much as he could, trying not to look down the chasm. They went down some twenty feet and, finding an opening in the wall, crossed into yet another cave, this one much smaller than the first, the ceiling barely high enough for the pair of them to walk upright. There were no torches inside this cave, so Xingu held the one he had in his hand close to the wall and told Faraday to note it. Painted on there were primitive drawings, figures of buffalo and horses and deer. As Xingu moved, more drawings were revealed and further ahead a section appeared that had no paint on it. Instead, symbols had been sculpted in relief, but Faraday knew not what they meant. But that was not what Xingu wished to show him, for they moved past these symbols and stopped in front of a wide tapestry that had been hung from the rock. The tapestry had been painted on, and the painting was much more complex than anything else in the cave, the techniques seemingly modern. But what startled Faraday the most was not the incredible realism of the work, nor its incongruity, but the event it depicted. There, in full color, Faraday saw a ring of tall stones set in a circle in the middle of a forest, and within the circle was a man, white and lightly bearded, possessing upon his forehead a third eye, open and glaring. Above this man, above the stones and the forest, a thousand falling stars crisscrossed the night sky, their trails like long tails of brilliant white light.

  Chapter Nine

  All Daniel’s striving and banging upon the coffin and yelling and commanding that he be set free accomplished nothing. It left him exhausted and out of breath, his heart filled with hate. He dropped the little bottle, vowing to himself that he would not take his own life. Would not give them the satisfaction. The hours went by like days. He lay there in total blackness with only his thoughts to keep him occupied. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Eventually he felt a desire to urinate. He held it in for a while, until it began to sting, and then he let himself go, filling up the coffin with the stench of his own waste. This release relaxed him somewhat and he soon fell asleep despite his best efforts to stay awake.

  When he awoke gasping for air, his head was filled with the images of the dreams he had just had. But they were fleeting and in a matter of seconds he could remember barely any of it. Only one scene stayed with him, and he held on to it by playing it over and over again in his mind. He strides into a meandering forest, sheaths of light cutting through the foliage, not a breeze blowing. No sound in the air but that of his own steps on the soil. There are seven different trails ahead and Daniel stands at that crossroads, hesitant. Then someone appears next to him and this person points to one of the pathways. Daniel decides to heed the stranger and sets out down that path, and before long he can see lights in the distance and people dancing and he is sure his mother is there. Even though he never met her he is sure she is there. He increases his pace but the party remains the same distance away. He walks and walks and even breaks out into a run, but he comes no closer to the party. So he stops and sits down. The stranger sits next to him.

  The man’s face is blurred. He speaks without a voice.

  “The forest is treacherous. It speaks, yet we cannot hear it. If you’ll walk the path, then walk it. In every movement a choice is made.”

  The scene ended there. Now being stuck in that box began to weigh on Daniel. Panic showed its ugly feet at the edges of his consciousness. Again he pushed at the wood above and kicked at it, the leeway insufficient for him to affect the integrity of the coffin. His thoughts raced. He thought of his brother and his father. Felt a deep guilt for betraying Faraday’s trust. Then he banished those thoughts from his mind. If it was his time, he would go without regret. And he remembered the times as a boy he had wished he had never been born. Facing death, he bitterly admitted to himself that those had been lies. He wanted to live. More than anything, he wanted to live.

  He lay there with his eyes closed, breathing in as deep as he could. After careful consideration, he came to a conclusion. He could not save himself from the box. His only hope was to survive inside it as long as he could on the chance someone would come and free him. With this in mind, Daniel let himself relax, pushing away all vestiges of panic. His thoughts became clearer. He could not tell for sure
how many hours he had been inside but he reckoned breathing should have become a whole lot harder by now. With his fingers he felt out the sides and the bottom of the coffin, and right at the very edge of his reach he felt two little holes in the wood on either side. As soon as he made this discovery a wave of euphoria and relief passed over him. He was never meant to die in there. It must be a test, he concluded. So he waited and before long he had fallen back into slumber.

  He still slept when the coffin was wrenched open, the cracking wood waking him. The Good Man bent down and helped Daniel up and out of the coffin. Mr. Collins was there and Adler, too, his red robe accented by threads of gold all along its edges, little sigils engraved upon the cloth. And to Daniel’s surprise, it was Adler who commanded the room, for the other two looked to him for the next step as if his approval were required.

  “Let him enter. He has made his choice,” Adler said before turning to Daniel. “Arise, Daniel, and come with us. You must come before him who directs us.”

  A servant brought Daniel water and bread and a white robe to replace his soiled clothes. Then they moved back into the room with the veil. All of the furniture had been removed, leaving only a throne-like chair sitting in the center of a circular sigil that had been drawn on the floor. Men stood at the perimeter of that circle already, all of them in the same white robes Daniel wore. Adler sat at the throne, while Daniel stood next to the Good Man, completing the circle.

  “Pillars and Arks, I, the Throne, declare this session open,” Adler said. “Quongoron will record our activity. First, a new Pillar has been erected. Come forward, Pillar.”

  Daniel stepped into the circle. At once, all of the other men saluted him by raising their arms to their necks and thrice making a slashing motion.

  “Do any Pillars or Arks intend to petition the Throne? Speak now or keep your peace until the next session.”

  No one said anything.

  “Very well. Quelos, will you serve as material basis tonight?”

  “I will, my Throne.”

  With that, Adler got up from the chair. Quelos, to Daniel’s surprise, was the Good Man. He wore a black robe and, stepping forward, he took Adler’s place on the chair. And Adler chanted in Latin, words of power and summoning, and as he spoke, the Good Man seemed afflicted by something as his body contorted this way and that. When Adler finished, the Good Man ceased his movement and stood up tall, his chin angled upward, full of aggression and temerity, and he held out his arm, palm down, like a saluting centurion of ancient Rome.

  “A spirit of strife has entered our circle,” Adler said. “Are you Quirinus, our Lord and Patron?”

  “I am.”

  “Will you speak to us of things hidden and secret?”

  “I will, soon. But first, I see a new face among my priesthood.”

  “He has passed the trial, Lord. His name is Daniel.”

  “I know him. I have seen him in the battlefield. Look at me, child. Do you bind yourself to this priesthood and swear never to divulge the secrets of our order, nor its practice, nor its theory, nor any material fact revealed to you personally or as part of this lodge, under penalty of being gored by a spear and left to bleed out in a desert?”

  “I do so swear,” Daniel said.

  “Then henceforth you shall be called Quirondoga. Stand with the others so that I may speak to you as one, my beloved priesthood. For I found each one of you long ago when you were only thoughtless specters roaming the shores of Lethe. Now here you are: self-begot and set on the upward path. Ask and you will have the answer. Seek and you will find power and divinity and a plot in the realms of the Father to call your own. I promise you, we shall reign together as gods one day. My only charge is that, when the time comes, you do not drink of that river of forgetfulness and prefer instead the refreshment of Mnemosyne. Then Charon himself will usher you into the deeper circles where the Lord of All holds court.”

  “Lord, we rejoice at your wisdom. But what of our enemies in the present? Have they discovered our nature? What knowledge have they of us?”

  “They know little, yet they march on, their blindness notwithstanding. They come in ships and will be here at your shores before the fortnight is over.”

  “How many ships?”

  “Eleven.”

  “And by ground? How will they assail us?”

  “One thousand men. Some two hundred cavalry. This battalion is near already. They have found residence to the south in a fortified construction by the sea.”

  “Quirinus, Lord of War, what would you have us do to defeat our enemies?”

  “You lack the numbers to defeat them in direct battle. Lure them into a trap and their numbers will mean nothing.”

  “Lord of War, have you any more knowledge with which to gift us?”

  “There is more.” Through the Good Man, the spirit let out a shriek of what sounded like pain and disgust. Then he spoke. “Yes, it is true. I did not believe it at first, but it is true. The enemy comes disguised and through him courses much power. I cannot see him or his purpose, for he shrouds himself in the flames of his furnace. Oh, he is loathsome. Usurper.”

  “How can we combat this one you speak of?”

  “You cannot. Only power may combat power. But I have with me one who may help. He is my familiar and loves the wilds of your plane. A vicious spirit, he is. Will you allow his entry?”

  “Yes, of course,” Adler said.

  Quirinus made the Good Man sit back in the chair and take a deep breath before continuing.

  “A price must be paid for entry.”

  “Another sacrifice?” Adler asked.

  “Yes, a much greater one. But the price may be exacted at a later time. It is sufficient that you agree to the terms.”

  “I agree.”

  So Quirinus spat into the Good Man’s hands and lowered Adler’s cowl. Then he took the saliva and rubbed it into Adler’s eyes.

  The saliva must have stung, because Adler screamed in pain and rubbed at his eyes. When he opened them, they were yellow and black like diseased moons, and his teeth were long and his body changed continuously, taking on the appearance of some animal one moment, then vegetation another moment, from the grotesque to the sublime. He grew wings as wide as the ears of elephants, then tentacles like an octopus, and he grew extra eyes and mouths and then he lost them, and all of this seemed exceedingly painful, because Adler gritted his teeth in the agony of it. Then it stopped and Adler addressed the spirit, questioning him on what had happened. But the spirit would no longer answer, the Good Man stuck in a trance he could not shake off.

  “I release you back to the void from which you sprung,” Adler said, touching the Good Man on the forehead who returned to normal and took his place in the circle.

  In the hours after his initiation, Daniel and the Good Man took a pair of horses and rode south to Novato along with a few of Mr. Parsons’s best men and a wagon filled with gold bars. They stopped at a saloon to have dinner, but the Good Man wasn’t hungry so he waited outside while Daniel ate.

  “May I help you, sir?” the bartender said.

  “Do you have warm stew?” Daniel said.

  “I do.”

  “Two bowls. And beer.”

  “Certainly.”

  While he waited, Daniel sat in front of the fire, eyeing the flame. He looked away from the fire and heard the kindling crack behind him like a mallet of Jove thrown down onto the earth. Then the innkeeper returned with the bowls of steaming soup and a mug of beer. Once he was done eating, Daniel took out a few gold coins from his pouch and laid them on the bar, tipping his hat to the innkeeper.

  By now a throng had assembled around the Good Man just outside the saloon. And he spoke to them with his hood up and his robe touching the ground like some ancient prophet come out of the desert. Daniel could not make out the words but he saw one man leave the group cursing and wiping tears from his eyes. Another man cried out in Spanish for his god, “Dios mío, Dios mío,” and crumbled in front of the
Good Man, his knees buckling in reverence and despair.

  Daniel reached the edges of the throng and heard some of what the Good Man said and heard him clap once. One solitary clap like a demiurge setting the universe in motion, a creasing across the primordial soup. They seemed satisfied by the clap as if some spell had been undone and, oblivious and content, they walked away from the Good Man, back to their houses and their mines and fields of corn and barley and their hard beds and harder bread.

  They rode out of Novato to the east until they came upon a harsh land of dry shrubbery. And they found a hut set among the dying trees with pikes built around it like the thorns of a rose. But the pikes hid no beauty, instead holding the heads of dead men and women as warning. The Good Man rode in confident and Daniel followed. Inside the house a Mexican wearing a wide sombrero greeted them. The Mexican had a fire going and a stove set on top. He motioned for them to sit and they did. Then he took the stove off the fire. From it, he took two large plantains cooked in butter and set them down on a plate. Out of a scabbard hanging from his waist, the Mexican brandished a large hunting knife and with it chopped the plantains into small pieces, offering the plate to his guests, who each took a piece in turn.

  “Usted tiene sed?” the Mexican said.

  “Sí,” the Good Man said.

  The Mexican brought out a thick green bottle and poured out a clear liquid into tin mugs. Then one of the Mexican’s men came into the house, nodding.

  “Vuestro oro se ve bien. Mi siervo le dará los armamentos.”

  “Gracias,” the Good Man said.

  Mr. Collins’s men loaded the rifles and ammunition and artillery rounds and sticks of dynamite they bought from the Mexicans onto the wagon, replacing the gold bars. Then they rode off, Daniel and the Good Man behind them.

  Chapter Ten

  Faraday found Turnbull sitting outside of a short sandstone building. The former preacher held a piece of wood in one hand and a knife in the other, and while he hacked at the wood, whittling it into the shape he desired, he whispered something into the wind.