DoG (17 page)

“Okay,” he started, “let’s just get something straight off the bat. I’m not like the Captain.”

“Who’s the Captain?” Nereida asked. “What are you talking about?”

Culann ignored her and continued, “I am not trying to dominate you or harness your power. I just have a simple request.”

“Who are you talking to? Are you talking to that thing?”

“Please, I am begging you, don’t hurt her. Let her live.”

“Are you talking about me?” Nereida rose to her feet. “Are you some kind of fucking psycho?”

“Please,” Culann continued. “You spared me, you spared the dogs. Please, spare her. She is just a child. She has done nothing wrong. She is innocent.”

111

The electricity returned, stronger this time. It coursed through Culann’s fingers, up his arms, and into his brain. Pain drilled into the base of his skull and radiated through his head. Black amoebae swam through his eyes as if he’d stared too long at the sun. He gritted his teeth so hard pieces of enamel broke off his molars and fell into his dry throat.

The dogs bayed wildly from shore while Nereida’s fearful cries filled his ears.

The pain relented, and Culann hunched over the orb on the brink of

unconsciousness. Nereida spun around and ran back to shore. She passed Alphonse midway down the dock. The dog continued towards Culann despite having been previously admonished to remain ashore with the other dogs who dutifully sat at the water’s edge. The dog stared with such intensity that Culann wondered if he was about to be eaten. The rain came down hard, slapping the deck with each drop. Alphonse stopped just before Culann, his eyes glowing like blue lightning, and opened his jaws.

“You would bargain with a god?” Alphonse growled.

“Holy shit.”

Alphonse bared his fangs but said nothing.

“You are the Dog-God?” Culann said after regaining his composure.

“I have many names. To the Egyptians I was Anubis, the jackal-headed king of the underworld. To the Greeks I was Cerberus, the guardian of the dead. The Aztecs called me Xolotl, bringer of lightning and death.”

“I am Culann Riordan, teacher of English.”

“I know who you are,” Alphonse snapped. “You want this child’s life. What have you to offer me in return?”

“Uh, my soul?”

“You must offer me something I do not already possess.”

“What do you want?”

Alphonse drew back his lips into a ferocious smile.

“I will tell you a story.”

112

4

“One of your philosophers once said ‘If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent Him.’”

“That was Voltaire,” Culann said.

Alphonse growled from deep in his belly. Lightning slashed across the sky behind him.

“Sorry, continue.”

“This Voltaire was right. The gods are a human invention, but that makes us no less real. My power is nevertheless nothing compared to the power of human imagination, which managed to turn matter into energy after all. Even I, whose faintest growl is thunder, whose panting creates hurricanes, whose bite rends the sky with lightning, can only marvel at the awesome displays of death your kind unleashed at Hiroshima, Nagasaki and Chernobyl. It is the power of human imagination that gave rise to me soon after your ancestors dropped from the trees and began stalking the savannah.

Even as they slew the beasts around them, these early hunters observed the remarkable physical abilities of the creatures around them. One day, an ancient hunter saw a pack of wolves in the distance. The pack chased an antelope into a copse of trees where another wolf lay in hiding. The hunter said in a long-forgotten tongue that he wished to be as cunning as that wolf. With this first prayer, I was born.

“With each prayer, I grew stronger. For millennia, I was worshipped by your kind. I birthed the storms, ruled the underworld, guarded the dead.

“And then came Moses and Jesus and Mohammed. The old gods began to fade.

We clung to the last vestiges of our power until Voltaire’s followers convinced the world that there were no gods at all. The flames of my fellows extinguished one by one. I endeavored to control my own destiny. I vested all of my power into an object and dropped it from the heavens. A man was to find it and wield its awesome power. The others would fear this man. They would pray—to me—for protection. My power would grow until I became again as I once was.

“But Fate toys with the destinies of gods as well as men. The orb landed in the middle of the jungle. An old monk found it and carried it back to his temple. The other monks succumbed to its power, but the finder is always spared. I offered him enough power to rule your world. He refused it. He lived alone in the jungle for nearly two centuries, surrounded by the bones of his brethren.

“And then your people brought your fantastic war machines to the wilderness.

One came close enough that I was able to reach up and pluck from the sky a man who hungered for power. I drew him towards me. The young alpha overthrew the old. Finally the orb was in possession of one who would use it. He could have marched across the continents, sewing death and fulfilling my plan. But instead he took the orb into one of those machines. The orb contained my power as the Great Growler, Lord of Thunder, and the lightning caused the machine to fall. The orb sank into the sea.

113

“But this finder had caught the scent. He hunted and hunted until at last I was found by you. As before, the young alpha did battle with the old. Your victory was…surprising. I’d have preferred you to have been defeated.”

“But didn’t you allow me to win?” Culann asked. “You let me control the dogs.”

“You are both finders and you both possessed the power to control my children.

The other held them back, but my children cannot change their very nature. A dog is, above all, loyal. My children could not ignore the command of you who care for them.”

“So you didn’t choose me, and I didn’t choose you either. We’re stuck with each other.”

“For now.”

“What if I decide to row you back out and drop you in the middle of the ocean?

How long will it be until someone finds you then?”

“You threaten a god?”

“I’m not making threats. I’m negotiating.”

“I do not fear you, finder. You must offer me more.”

“Well, you’ve figured out by now that I’m more like the monk than the Captain.

I’m not going to walk the Earth allowing you to kill enough people that the survivors start to worship you.”

“You will not be the last finder. My time will come.”

“But what if you don’t have to wait? What if I can get people to worship you now

– without having to kill anyone?”

“How would you do this?”

“The girl can do it. She is about to accomplish a great feat. She will become famous. In our world, fame is more important than faith. We can make her your prophet.

But only if you let her live.”

Alphonse stared up at Culann for a moment, the dog’s eyes crackling with

electricity.

“I accept your terms, finder, but you must understand what is at stake. My powers protect you here. You can use them to keep your people away. If this girl is to live, you will lose those powers. You must face the justice of your people.”

Culann paused to consider this. He’d sought out this Alaskan adventure as a means of avoiding the consequences of his actions. He’d viewed the challenges he’d faced as a sort of substitute punishment, but the law was unlikely to see it that way. He could escape into this life of adventure, but would have to sacrifice Nereida to do it. To save her, he would have to rejoin the world and be held to account for what he’d done.

“It’s a deal,” Culann said. “My freedom for her life.”

114

5

Culann found Nereida on the western edge of the island, where her boat had grounded. Rain continued to bombard the island. The dogs shivered behind him.

Alphonse, now back to normal, wedged his bulk up against a tree in the vain hope of keeping dry.

Nereida stood at the water’s edge, staring out to sea with her hands on her hips.

She’d left Julia’s bathroom on the pier, so she wore only her swimming suit. She glanced over her shoulder at Culann’s approach.

“Leave me alone, weirdo.”

“Sorry I freaked you out back there. I’ve been out here by myself for a while and I’m not used to talking to people.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“I will. All I want to do it is help you get off the island so I can go back to being a weird hermit.”

She turned to face him. “How can you help me? You don’t know anything about sailing or electronics.”

“That’s true,” he said with a smile. “Are you religious?”

“I’m Catholic,” she replied, her eyes narrowing. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Do you know about St. Christopher?”

“He’s the patron saint of travelers.”

“Right,” Culann said. “And you are a traveler in trouble. I may not be able to fix your boat, but St. Christopher can help you.”

Nereida stared at him for a moment. The rain poured down her face as she took stock of Culann’s words.

“It doesn’t work that way,” she said. “Saints aren’t genies – you can’t ask them to grant wishes. They just give you the strength to do things for yourself.”

“True enough. So why not ask him for strength?”

“Fine, I’ll pray to God for the strength to get out of this mess.”

“No, not to God,” Culann said. “You have a traveler’s problem. You need to ask St. Christopher for help.”

She rolled her eyes as if she’d grown weary indulging the suddenly-pious hermit with whom she was trapped.

“Here,” Culann said. “Take this.”

He reached into his pocket and drew forth a picture he’d cut out of one of Worner’s books. It was a medieval representation of St. Christopher, shown as a man with the head of a dog. Culann had sealed it in a ziplock baggie to keep it dry. He limped over to Nereida and pressed the picture into her hand. She squinted at it.

115

“Why does he look like a dog?”

“In the Middle Ages, people had a greater sense of the fantastic. Some people believed in a race of dog-men and that St. Christopher was one of them. But I think it works more like a metaphor. St. Christopher was as loyal and obedient to God as a dog is to its master. Also, as the patron saint of travelers, St. Christopher is like a guide dog who can lead people through danger. So people imagined him as a dog because he had these positive qualities that reminded people of dogs.”

“Whatever,” she said. “So you want me to take this picture and ask St.

Christopher for help.”

“What can it hurt?”

“If I do it, will you leave me alone so I can figure out how to get my boat working?”

“You have my word,” he said, placing his hand over his heart.

“Fine.” She held the picture up in mock reverence. “Dear St. Christopher, please help me get off this island. Thanks.”

“Not like that,” Culann said. “You have to take this seriously, or it won’t work.”

“I think I’ve wasted enough time on you. Now leave me alone like you

promised.”

Culann saw her acquiescence slipping away and with it her life. He needed to be more persuasive.

“Dogs,” he said, “line up.”

The dogs snapped to attention and trotted over. Twelve dogs stood abreast in front of Nereida in a perfect line. Twelve more lined up behind them, followed by two other ranks. All of their eyes trained on Nereida.

“Growl,” Culann commanded.

As one, the dogs growled. The collective rumbling drowned out the sounds of the rain and the waves. Lightning lit up the sky on all sides of the island. Nereida stepped back, tripped over a root and fell backwards. She sat on the ground, staring open-mouthed at the dogs.

“Look at the picture and ask St. Christopher for help,” Culann said before turning and heading back to Alistair’s. The dogs broke ranks and followed after him.

After Culann had walked about a hundred feet, the rain stopped and the sun shone down on him. He stopped and scratched Alphonse behind the ears.

“Thank you,” he said.

116

6

Nereida had asked for help from a particularly-canine St. Christopher, and she’d received it. The storm cleared, allowing her to swim back out to her boat. A gentle wind blew her to the mainland where she was able to replace her damaged electronic equipment. She sailed home to her parents, safe and sound.

Back on the island, the orb had disappeared. The dogs continued to regard Culann with affection, but they no longer obeyed his commands. The fog that had blanketed the island was gone. A trio of police boats soon motored across the water. They encountered no strange weather or mechanical difficulties.

The ensuing investigation made national news. Forty-six people were dead, and Culann was the only suspect. When questioned, Culann answered truthfully, which led many to suspect he’d be found not guilty by reason of insanity. In the end, prosecutors declined to charge him with the murders he was widely suspected of committing due to lack of evidence. Culann agreed to plead guilty to charges of drug possession and corpse desecration in Alaska as well as statutory rape in Illinois on the condition that all the dogs of Pyrite were given good homes.

The following summer, Nereida became the youngest girl to sail around the

world. She was photographed holding the picture of the dog-faced St. Christopher, and she credited the patron saint of travelers for her achievement. She’d of course seen the media coverage of the lunatic captured on a remote island in the Bering Sea. Of all the bizarre stories she’d heard, she knew her experiences with him were the most outlandish of all. Though she pitied him for the unkind things the world was saying about him, she knew that telling her story wouldn’t do him any good, so she kept it to herself.

Culann smiled in his bright-orange prison jumpsuit as he watched the news

coverage of Nereida’s impressive achievement. He would bear the privations and indignities of his incarceration and its aftermath with the sense of pride that he had finally done the right thing. With each of Nereida’s many remarkable public successes that would follow, Culann would again smile from a distance.