Children of the Earth (5 page)

Slowly, somnambulantly, she brought her hand from behind her back and stretched her fingers toward the wild-haired girl standing before her. She felt the cool, dry pressure of Luna’s hand in hers and let herself be led through the red-lit room, eyes fixed on the tattoo of a gnarled, wizened tree that covered Luna’s back and sent twisted branches across her shoulders and down her arms.

The rest of the Children of the Earth followed silently as Luna opened a hidden door by the bar and started up a rickety wooden staircase, her hand still wrapped around Heather’s, the charms in her dreadlocks lightly jingling.

The stairs brought them to a large, open attic with a steeply peaked ceiling that sloped almost to the floor. Starlight filtered in through the many skylights, illuminating what looked like a gypsy camp: Mattresses covered in patchwork quilts and tie-dyed pillows littered the floor, clothes hung from mismatched wall hooks and peeked out of beaten dressers, half-burnt candles sat in hard puddles of wax, and scarves had been thumbtacked to every surface to create colorful clouds of silk, batik, and velvet.

“This is where we live,” Luna said. “All together, just like when we were kids at the commune. Now let’s make a circle! Everyone grab a cushion. There’s so much we need to discuss.”

Someone handed Heather a red-and-gold pillow embroidered with an Indian elephant, and she found herself settling into it, wordlessly taking her place on the floor. There was something so familiar, so comforting about being in a circle with these people, her Earth Siblings with the matching eyes. It was like they’d done this before, many times, back when she was too young to remember. Her mind couldn’t recall those days, but to her body, her heavy obedient limbs, it felt right.

Luna lit candles and incense, filling the room with a thick, sleepy scent. The firelight danced on her face as she took the lotus position on a purple velvet cushion, her back straight and proud.

“Ommmmm,” she chanted, her voice low and husky in her throat.

“Ommmmm,” the Children of the Earth echoed.

To the old Heather, the Heather who was captain of her soccer team and secretary of the student council, it would have felt silly to sit in a circle and chant. She’d never gone in for new age-y stuff, couldn’t even sit through a yoga class, but the new Heather, the moody shadow-Heather plagued by nightmares, let the vibrations echo in her chest and mingle with the voices of the others. To shadow-Heather, their chant had the power of a mountain rising from flat land, strong and rare and magical. It stirred her blood and buzzed wildly in her mind.

The chant came to a slow close.

“Children of the Earth,” Luna’s voice resonated through the loft, “we were called here for a reason. The earth is in trouble—grave trouble. In their material greed and lust for power, humans have destroyed the planet we call home, clear-cutting forests, polluting the air and oceans, killing our sacred animals. Right here in Carbon County, an oil rig is scarring the land and bleeding this planet of its life force. And only we can stop it.”

Around the circle, the Children of the Earth nodded, eyes serious.

“The God of the Earth called us here to save this beautiful planet and save humanity from itself,” Luna continued. “But we can’t do it by marching and carrying signs or writing letters to our congressmen. Those things have been tried, and they’ve failed. They are powerless against the greed machine.”

“Yeah!” Across the circle, a slight boy with a black Mohawk pumped his fist in agreement. Layers of black clothing drowned his body, and a fist-sized anarchy tattoo dominated his neck.

Luna fixed him with a fleeting smile. “Instead, we’re going to harness the power of the elements, and our power as Children of the Earth, to bring about real change. Because we
are
powerful, even if we’ve spent our whole lives trying to hide from it. Our abilities are our birthright, passed down from our all-powerful father, the God of the Earth.”

Although the attic was warm, Heather felt herself shiver. Luna’s words forced her to face truths about herself that she’d never allowed into the light, that had always lingered in the dark corners of her dreams.

Luna peered around the circle, her eyes resting on each of them in turn. “What
is
your power?” she asked. “Some of you already know. Like Ciaran.” She indicated a boy to her left with toasted-almond skin and honeyed hair. “His power is intuition. He can tell what people are feeling, even if they don’t say a word.”

Ciaran lowered his eyes and smiled an elfin, enigmatic smile.

“Kimo’s power is location.” Luna nodded at the boy with the Mohawk and anarchy tattoo. “He’s like a human GPS. He can sense where people are just by concentrating on vibrations in the air.”

“Like a bloodhound,” Kimo agreed.

“And Abilene.” A girl with round cheeks and skin like polished mahogany fluttered her lashes. “When she sings, no matter what you’re doing, you’ll stop in your tracks and join. Even if you’ve never heard the song before.”

“Even if you can’t sing on key with a gun to your head,” Kimo added.

Abilene rested her hands on her purple broomstick skirt and cast her eyes downward, a humble smile on her plump lips.

Luna placed her hands palm-up on her knees, thumb and fingers making a circle. “Let’s all meditate for a moment on our power, whatever it may be.” She closed her eyes, and the Children of the Earth followed suit.

In the pinkish darkness behind her eyelids, Heather saw nothing. She was just an ordinary kid from an ordinary family in an ordinary town: kind to children and small animals, decent at soccer, a declared geology major who, she was starting to realize, might never start her freshman year.

She thought of Arizona, which now seemed light years instead of a couple of states away. She thought of her geology major, the way rocks felt in her hands. She’d always loved to be around rocks, ever since she was a little girl—they seemed almost like friends, like if she concentrated hard enough they’d tell the story of where they’d been and what they’d seen. Sometimes it even seemed like they were coming to greet her, like all she had to do was ask nicely and they’d move for her, leaping into her hands.

Her eyes flew open. Could that be her power? What if it
wasn’
t
just a feeling? She looked around the circle, at the Children of the Earth sitting still as boulders, eyes closed, breath coming in slow, even waves. When her gaze landed on Luna, her Earth Sister opened her eyes and gave her a slow smile.

“Did you picture your power?” she asked the group. There were a few muted yesses, scattered nods.

“Good.” Luna uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “We’ll need them, and we’ll need to stick together no matter what, even if things get uncomfortable or weird. We’re not that strong on our own, but when we put our powers together we’ll be unstoppable. Don’t forget what we’re up against: a multibillion-dollar oil business with the government in its pocket, and millions of religious fanatics who believe it’s okay to destroy the earth because God is on their side. It’s crucial that we use every tool we have—after all, we’re just a bunch of hippies trying to save the earth.”

Her smile was modest, almost ironic.

“We’ve already performed the air ritual,” Luna went on, looking at Heather and winking. “It’s what blew Heather into town. But now that all of us are here, our numbers are stronger and our magic is multiplied.”

Next to her, Ciaran shifted on his straw mat. “What about Owen?” he asked.

A cloud drifted across Luna’s face. “That’s what our next ritual is for,” she said smoothly. “But, I have to warn you: These rituals are powerful. They’re old magic, not for the faint of heart. If you’re not strong enough, they won’t work. Do you all think you’re strong enough?”

“Yes!” Heather was surprised to find herself piping up along with the others.

“Good.” Luna leaned forward, her eyes burning. “Because in order to do these rituals correctly, we have to offer sacrifices. It’s the only way to repay the God of the Earth for all the centuries of destruction our species caused. It’s not enough just to say sorry. The God of the Earth demands blood.”

Blo
od
. The word vibrated through Heather like a gong.

“That’s where my special power comes in.” Luna glanced intently around the circle, meeting and holding their gazes. “Most of you have already seen it in action. You’ve seen the way I can tap into people’s hidden desires, finding the ones that suit my needs and bringing them to the surface. Haven’t you?”

Heather felt a cold wind stir beneath the shroud of warmth that enveloped her. Was it Luna’s power of persuasion that had lured her upstairs and kept her there, destroying the pragmatic streak that should have sent her running to her car and away from Carbon County hours ago? She didn’t like the idea of someone else controlling her thoughts. But at the same time she felt happier and more at home with the Children of the Earth than she’d ever felt in her life. She knew that if she tried to go, the nightmares would just come for her again.

“One of the greatest universal desires, deep in the darkest recesses of the soul, is a curiosity about death,” Luna continued. “Everyone wants to know what it’s like on the other side. And in order to honor the God of the Earth and consecrate these rituals, I’ll need to use my power to help people overcome their fear of death, so that they’ll willingly offer their blood to the God of the Earth as a sacrifice.”

Even wrapped in the hypnotizing cloak of Luna’s voice, Heather felt pinpricks of cold sweat prickle her skin. “You mean we’re
kill
ing
people?” she broke in.

“Not at all,” Luna said serenely. “It’s wrong to take another life—we don’t even eat meat. We’re simply activating the latent desire for death, helping our sacrifices transition from this world into the next. It’s what the Earth God wants. It’s what he
needs
.”

Her eyes blazed, and Heather felt her jaw clench shut and her head bob up and down. Of course, what Luna said made sense. Everything Luna said made sense. Her question, examined under the bare bulb of Luna’s gaze, seemed trivial, a senseless detail. She hoped her brothers and sisters didn’t think less of her for asking it.

“The next ritual will be in three days, at the quarter moon.” Luna’s voice filled the room. “We have to act when the moon is waxing, indicating growth and potential. And when the full moon is here, we’ll perform our final ritual and summon our true father, the God of the Earth, to make people stop destroying the planet once and for all. Are there any questions?”

The Children of the Earth sat silent, shaking their heads. Heather felt like she
should
have questions—fragments of thoughts drifted through her head, fleeting and iridescent like dragonflies. But before she could close a net around any of them, they were gone.

“Good.” Luna stood and brushed imaginary dirt from her bell-bottoms. “Now let’s find Heather a place to sleep and help her unpack her things. After all, she’s one of us now.”

7

“YOUR PROPHET HAS SP
OKEN!”

Pastor Ted paced back and forth on the stage. His voice echoed off the walls of the packed Carbon County First Church of God and crackled through a series of hastily erected speakers outside, where a swelling crowd jostled each other to peer through the windows at the Sunday sermon.

Sweat swam down Daphne’s back. She had just finished describing her vision to the congregation, and now she felt exhausted from the effort and desperate to escape the hundreds of eyes staring up at her. She’d told them about the dark shadow with shoulders wide as mountains, about the way he coaxed fire down from the mountains to engulf the rig.

She’d only omitted one detail: that the dark figure had been Owen. That still felt too private—and too dangerous—to share.

“Now, folks, we don’t need to be rocket scientists to figure this one out.” Pastor Ted clutched the microphone and leapt into a feral crouch at the edge of the stage. “Fire. Fear. A dark shadow emanating evil. There’s only one thing this can mean, this vision from a prophet of God. We all know who and what that shadow is, don’t we?”

Heads were already starting to nod.

“It’s Satan himself!” Flecks of spittle flew from Pastor Ted’s mouth and glinted in the light. “Lurking right here in Carbon County, trying to claw his way up from Hell to steal our souls. Do you believe?”

“I believe!” The crowd’s fury was a dull roar in Daphne’s ears.

“We know what this means.” Pastor Ted resumed his pacing, passion painting his cheeks scarlet. “That the End Times are almost upon us, and Satan is waiting in the wings, ready to destroy. Will we let him?”

“No!” the crowd cried. Daphne gripped the sides of the pulpit, dying to sit down. It was hot at the front of the church, with all of the lights beating down on her, and her dress clung to the small of her back with sweat.

“Folks,” the pastor continued, “each and every one of us has a choice, and that choice is clear. We can choose God, or we can choose Satan. If we choose Satan, come Judgment Day we’ll burn alongside him in the eternal flames of Hell. If we choose God, we’ll experience a Rapture unlike any other, knowing perfect peace and perfect light forever. Sounds like an easy choice, right?”

Daphne watched the sea of heads bob up and down. “Let me tell you: It is
not
an easy choice.” Pastor Ted’s piercing stare swept over the congregation. “To choose God, we have to rid our lives of sin. Living a righteous life isn’t easy. It means sacrifice, and patience, and virtue. It means saying no to that cold beer after a long day’s work, turning off the radio when the devil’s music comes on, taking those hard-earned funds you saved up for that nice Caribbean vacation and donating to the church instead.” He spun suddenly, facing Daphne head-on. “It means resisting the temptations of the flesh.”

His laser-blue eyes bored into hers until she had to look away. She felt color creep into her cheeks as she stared down at her shoes and took a deep breath, trying to slow her pounding heart.

Could Pastor Ted know somehow? Could he know about her love for Owen, about the relationship she tried so hard to hide from her disapproving community? Did he suspect her of hiding part of her vision as well? Or was she just being paranoid?

She wished, once again, that everyone could just forget about Owen’s role in Trey’s and baby Jeremiah’s deaths. He’d been there for both, yes, but that was coincidence, and neither was his fault. Pastor Ted spoke so often of forgiveness and redemption, but for some reason he refused to apply those values to Owen. All of them did.

Pastor Ted finished his sermon to a round of wild applause, but Daphne could barely focus on his words. Owen dominated her thoughts, crowding everything else from her mind. Her life in Carbon County would be so much easier without him—but without him, she may as well not bother living at all.

• • •

Hilary found her at the potluck after the service, sitting at one of the packed picnic tables outside. Across the street the skeleton of the new mega-church towered above them, its expansive parking lot littered with lengths of lumber and fat, pink rolls of insulation. It was Floyd Peyton’s gift to the Carbon County First Church of God, and Daphne knew from his blueprints that it would be large enough to finally accommodate Pastor Ted’s hundreds of new devotees. Even though construction was moving along rapidly, with winter on the horizon and more people joining the congregation every week it felt like the new church couldn’t go up fast enough.

“Great job on the pulpit.” Hilary gave her a hug that was all bouncing curls and smiles. “I’d seriously throw up if I had to get up and speak in front of everyone like that.”

Daphne couldn’t help laughing. “I almost did.”

Hilary giggled, but her expression turned serious as she finished her lemonade. “Hey, have you seen Janie at all today?”

“No.” Daphne frowned. “She hasn’t been to church in ages.”

“Damn it—I mean, sorry,
darn
it.” Hilary shook her head. “I went up to see her this week, and she promised me she’d come.”

Guilt soured in Daphne’s stomach as she recalled the last time she’d seen Janie, and her cousin’s accusatory words.
She
hadn’t been up to the Varley house to see Janie. She’d been too busy with work and too preoccupied with Owen and the disturbing contents of her vision to make the time.

“How did she seem to you?” Daphne asked cautiously.

“Honestly?” Hilary lowered her voice and looked around, making sure the Peytons were out of earshot. “Not good. She was drinking vodka straight out of the bottle, and she looked like hell—I mean, she looked like heck. Is that even an expression? Anyway, I’m worried about her.”

“Me too.” Daphne pushed her plate away, her appetite gone.

“Poor Janie.” Hilary shook her head sadly. “Next week I’ll just go pick her up and
make
her go to church. I kind of feel like if she comes back, she’ll find her faith again. Want to come with?”

“Uh . . .” Daphne shifted, the wood of the picnic bench suddenly too hard beneath her. “I don’t know if I should. I’m not exactly her favorite person right now.”

“Really?” Hilary cocked her head. “But she’s always been crazy about you. You’d think now, with you being a prophet and all . . .”

She trailed off, leaving Daphne to shrug into the gaping silence. “I don’t think she believes I’m a prophet,” she said finally. “She said she thinks I’m faking it.”

“Oh, well, that’s just stupid.” Hilary tucked a curl behind her ear. “She’s going through a hard time, so she’s probably lashing out. You just need to turn the other cheek, like Jesus says. You didn’t take it personally, did you?”

Daphne sighed. “Maybe a little,” she confessed.

“You shouldn’t,” Hilary insisted. “There’s a whole mess of people who believe in you, people who came here from a long way off just to be near you.”

Daphne shook her head. She knew that the church was growing, that people were coming to Carbon County from all over the country just to join, but that was because of Pastor Ted’s new TV show, his charismatic personality, and his predictions that Carbon County would be the epicenter of the Rapture. Not because of her.

“It’s true.” Hilary nodded emphatically, her curls shivering. “Actually, I don’t know if you know this but I started a youth group in the church. We’re helping out with the new building, and we’re starting a community outreach program and teen center and all sorts of stuff.
Anywa
y
, the kids in it are crazy about you, and they’re
dying
to meet you. If, you know, you have a minute.”

“You mean, now?” Daphne asked. “Are they here?”

“No, the Christian youth group decided to skip church this Sunday.” A sly smile started to spread across Hilary’s face, but she stopped it with a quick smack to the forehead. “Crap, I’m trying to stop being sarcastic, too. Pastor Ted says sarcasm is like a veil that hides your soul from God. But anyway, yeah, they’re here, and they would
love
to meet you. They talk about you all the time. You’re like a celebrity to them.”

Daphne swallowed the urge to turn and run. She’d been enough of a celebrity in Detroit, when her unsmiling mug shot appeared in the paper with headlines like
Teen
Killer Says, ‘Not M
y Fault,’
to know that life in the spotlight definitely wasn’t for her. She reminded herself that she had a responsibility to her church and her community, whether she’d asked for it or not. “Okay,” she finally said.

“Great!” Hilary bounced to her feet and led Daphne through the crowd of picnickers to a group of teens occupying a series of overlapping blankets on the edge of the lawn.

“Guys, I want you to meet someone really special.” They stopped talking at the sound of Hilary’s voice. “This is Daphne Peyton, aka Carbon County’s hometown prophet.”

A collective gasp spread through the group. In moments they were on their feet, plates of food forgotten as they fixed her with wide smiles.

“Hi, everyone.” Daphne forced a grin, raising her hand in a limp wave.

“Wow, Daphne Peyton!” The guy closest to her extended a flannel-clad arm, offering a firm handshake. His face was square and friendly, with twin dimples framing a sculpted chin. “It sure is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Mark, from Cincinnati. I can’t tell you—I mean, wow, this is such an honor.” Thick blond hair gleamed in the sun as he shook his head, the broad smile never leaving his face.

“You’ve inspired all of us.” The girl next to him beamed. She wore a vintage ’50s housedress printed with cherries and had braided her hair into a complicated crown that circled her head. “The relationship you have with God—it’s just amazing. It makes us all want to lead better lives.”

One by one, they approached her with hearty handshakes and words of praise, words that sounded like they ought to be about someone else, someone who wasn’t anything like the person she felt like inside. Their Daphne was strong and brave, devout and righteous and special. She was a guiding light who brought out the goodness in others, inspiring them to follow their beliefs across the country and start organizations to help those in need. She was anything but the real Daphne, who lived on a diet of guilt and fear and looked over her shoulder with every step. Honestly, she liked their Daphne a lot better. She wished there was a way for her to actually
be
that person instead of just coming across that way.

The youth group invited her to sit, ran to fetch her lemonade, and passed her a plate of chocolate butterscotch blondies. “They’re my grandma’s secret recipe,” giggled Monica, the girl in the vintage dress. “I put most of them out for the potluck, but they always go quick, so I kept a secret stash just in case . . .” She smiled and glanced at her knees, then back at Daphne.

“They’re delicious,” Daphne said honestly. She let the sugar and the youth group’s chatter lull her into a comfortable haze, watched their faces animate as they volleyed around ideas for the teen center.

“We should raise money for a ping-pong table,” said a Hispanic guy with sparkling brown eyes. “And have tournaments!”

“We can host dances every month, with cool themes like the Roaring Twenties and Ski Lodge Chic,” Monica suggested.

“And we can do an antidrug series, but not like one of those cheesy after-school-special ones that just make everyone want to try them more,” Mark added.

Monica took out an iPad and started jotting down everyone’s ideas, “so we don’t miss any of the awesome,” she said, beaming at Daphne.

“This is what all our meetings are like,” Hilary whispered in Daphne’s ear. “Don’t tell me you don’t want in.”

Daphne nodded. She could feel the positive energy in the group, and she longed to let it sweep her away. But the more they talked, the more she felt herself retreating into the emptiness inside of her, succumbing to the doubt that thrummed like a plucked guitar string through her days. She would have given anything to be like the youth group: strong and solid in their convictions, always sure that what they were doing was right.

But how could she be sure of anything? God told her one thing, but her heart said another—and the more at odds they were, the less she knew what to believe.