On an impulse, Ryan hobbled to the altar and picked up the bloodied whip, heaving that into the sea of flames that surged up the stairs.
“More pews?” Krysty asked.
“Why not?”
THE WHOLE BUILDING was ablaze.
As Ryan and Krysty looked behind them, there was a huge pillar of smoke, dark at its base, lighter as it rose into the blue sky, billowing through the shingled roof, which was blazing fiercely. More smoke came through the open door, and tendrils crept from the slitted gaps in the tower.
“Won’t be working any more evil,” Ryan said.
“And it was such a pretty building.” Krysty shook her head, her dazzling red hair gradually easing out across her shoulders as the tension relaxed.
“I’m sure that Doc would have some neat little saying about there being a worm at the heart of the red apple,” Ryan told her. “Something like that.”
He winced and shifted his balance again, aware of the warm stickiness of fresh blood trickling down the back of his wounded thigh.
“Hurting?”
“Some.”
“Get Mildred to take a good look at it when we get back to the raft.”
He nodded. “Sure will.”
They were out in the beautiful gardens, still staring back at the flaming church.
There was a great crash that made them duck, and the exquisite stained-glass windows on the one flank of the doomed building exploded in a shower of multicolored splinters, bright orange, purple, crimson, emerald, turquoise, gules and argent.
“Gaia! It’s like a fountain of glass. Lovely.”
The rope had to have burned through at the bottom of the belfry, as the bell began to toll, slowly at first, then faster.
Its sonorous tones echoed out across the fertile land of the old gardens, as though calling the news of the death of the wicked Father Sandor.
“Leaves the place a mite cleaner than when we arrived here,” Ryan said thoughtfully.
“Generally do, lover. We generally do.”
THEY MADE THEIR SLOW WAY back toward the clean-running river, where the others were waiting for them. The column of smoke had been spotted, and J.B. had been preparing to lead a recce party to find out what had happened.
The corpse of a large wild pig, shot neatly behind the right ear, lay on the ground, being butchered by Jak, ready for cooking on their own bright fire.
“Have any adventures out there?” Mildred asked. “You both look like shit.”
Krysty began to laugh and Ryan joined her.
Chapter Sixteen
After the horrors of the morning, the rest of the day drifted by in a haze of sunshine and overeating.
The roast pig was absolutely delicious, the crackling thick and crunchy, the meat pink and tender, flavored with the wood smoke. Mildred had found a tall tree in the old orchard with some ripe pears and another that dripped peaches. She sliced them all together and boiled them for a few minutes until they simmered down into a kind of fruit stew.
It was the middle of the afternoon before everyone had recovered enough from the enormous meal and was ready to embark once more on the raft, pushing off back into the fast-flowing stream of the Tennessee.
They took a pile of sliced and hacked pork with them, ready to eat when they camped for the night. They could wash it down with the clean water from the river.
Mildred had checked out Ryan’s wound, whistling between her teeth at the amount of fresh blood and the deep bruising around it. She warned him that he couldn’t afford to keep aggravating it, pointing out there was a serious risk of poisoning if he didn’t take proper care.
“Don’t tell me,” he replied. “Tell that crazed son of a bitching priest!” He grinned up at the woman. “If you can find him.”
” MAKE SHILOH AROUND NOON tomorrow,” J.B. said, lying back alongside their fire as the sun sank to the west and a cloud of midges buzzed over the inlet of the river. “Long as we don’t laze around stuffing our faces with roast pork all morning or set fire to some churches.”
“That’s if Shiloh’s still there,” Ryan stated.
“Not many people around. Only seen a few today.” Jak had peeled off his shirt and was gingerly massaging the spectacular bruise that lay below his belt buckle.