The First Voice: Song of Teeth 1 Read online

The First Voice

  By Eve Hathaway

  Published by Publications Circulations LLC.

  SmashWords Edition

  All contents copyright (C) 2013 by Publications Circulations LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this document or the related files may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, companies and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Prologue

  EXCERPT FROM THE diary of Adalina Espanosa, April 13th, 1604. Translated from the original Spanish by the South Carolina Society for the Preservation of Historical Documents.

  "AH, WHAT A SURPRISE today! My hands are still shaking as I write this. I must calm my nerves. Even Mama is getting nervous from watching me. But I don't dare describe to her what has happened, or her heart might start beating too fast and she may pass out, as she tends to do."

  "Where to begin? All the events seem mad, even as I prepare to write them-I must get them down soon, or I will stop believing them myself. From the beginning, Adalina."

  "Today was abnormally, atrociously hot. Every time I begin to adore the deep mystery of these jungles, the next day I am reminded why I despise this pestilent, moss-drenched place. Ah, my Espana, how I miss you! Today was one of those despicable days. I was absolutely dripping through my clothes while doing my chores, before the sun had even reached its high point. So, after collecting the eggs and helping with the milking, I went to The Spring to cool myself and draw some fresh water for the house."

  "I filled the buckets, and then decided to sit for a while on the edge of the wall and rest. Have I described The Spring before on these pages? It is a mystical place, where the water bubbles up from deep beneath the earth all the way to the surface. We did not even have to build a well to extract this fresh and pure water. One need only recline peacefully on the stone ledge that we raised around it, and reach in for a palm full of the cleanest, coolest water you could hope to find in this cesspit. Father Miguel says it is an unholy spout from the depths of Hell, though this has never stopped him drinking from that water instead of the swamp. I always enjoyed the serenity there, but after today, I am inclined to agree with Father!"

  "As I was relaxing on the stone ledge, trailing my hand in the cool water, I suddenly felt a horrible pinching on my fingers! It felt as if my hand was being crushed by the blades of two saws smashed together. Terrified, I withdrew my hand from the water and held up a baby crocodile, its jaws snapped tight around my three prominent fingers, my blood spilling between its teeth! Never have I screamed so in my life, and may I never scream so again, by the blessing of Mother Mary!"

  "Yet, I hold off on the most terrifying description of this horrible, horned lizard, for I fear the workings of the Great Deceiver Himself, and I fear attracting His attention. Give me pause, for I must steady my nerves."

  "All right, I have returned. A dram of sherry sits in my belly, fixing me against fear. I will now describe the true nature of this monstrous creature, which I am convinced was a spawn of demons, swimming up through the bowels of the earth to gnaw upon my blood."

  "All together, the creature was perhaps as long as my forearm, half of that length consisting of its tail. Its eyes sat upon the crest of its head, its jaws stretched long and awful, lined with so many teeth that I cannot see how it could have possibly closed its mouth. At first, it looked very much like the treacherous alligators that we have sometimes encountered in the most brackish, evil of waters, often mimicking a log floating by. However, this creature was more gruesome by far."

  "First, its cold skin was not dark brown and log-like, but pale. So pale I could see the movements of its inner parts through its skin-like the skin of Death's horse that will come for us all in the End Times. Even its eyes were so clear that the blood shone through them like the gleaming red eyes of Lucifer."

  "Worse than its color were its hands. Yes, hands! They were somewhat like the webbed lizard claws of the alligators, but its fingers were stretched long and thin, like the hands of a human. I shudder to recall this, but it had its cross-breed hands wrapped around my thumb even as its jaws clenched firm against my bones, as if it were a human infant grasping its mother's hand while suckling! My stomach churns just thinking of its ungodly, mutated form."

  "Like a fool, I had not thought to bring a companion with me to fetch water, so no one heard my screaming as I flailed around, trying to fling this creature off my hand. It held on stubbornly and I became dizzy from the excruciating pain, heat, and loss of blood which splattered down my arm and all across the ground. I screamed and screamed until my throat burned. I was so frightened that the thought of trying to walk back to the fort alone, with that thing crunching my bones had paralyzed me. Then, in the midst of my screams, I was stopped cold by a sound more terrifying than anything I have described thus far."

  "For a moment, I thought I was hearing an echo of my scream, which would have puzzled me more-being in the open jungle-had I the wits to contemplate it. Soon, however, I realized I was not hearing an echo, but the crocodilian creature itself was screaming! Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it was mimicking my scream, for the tone was pitched perfectly to my own."

  "I hardly need say that this astounded me so much that my body froze completely, and in that moment, the creature released me from its jaws and dropped to the ground. I cannot say if the sound emanated from its throat, for its mouth did not move, but it wailed a sustained note at me for longer than a goodly animal should be able to breathe. Were it not coming from such an abhorrent thing, I would almost imagine the sound to be a chime from a cathedral organ. I suspect the creature may have bewitched me with this tone, for I was too astonished to move as it crawled up the stone ledge and dove back under the water. How my skin shivers to remember its hands gripping the stones like a human!"

  "All day, my mind has been in a daze over this. When I had my hand treated and bandaged by the doctor, I told him it had been crushed by a rock. What else could I have said? To my great relief, he assured me that my fingers were not damaged beyond repair and I will have full function of them again."

  "What worries me most is the knowledge that a nest of these creatures lives beneath our precarious settlement, in the very water that sustains us. For surely, any place where this youngling would be must also house its parents and siblings. Who knows but there might be an infestation of them, ready to ambush us whenever we draw water? I do not know who to consult on this matter. Mama will likely die of fright, and Papa is too quick-tempered for matters such as this. One thing I am sure of, we must proceed cautiously for we know not how many of these creatures exist, nor how large they may become. He is a bit of a soft-skinned fool, but Father Miguel may be my only reasonable option. Tomorrow, I shall describe the entire incident to him and ask his advice. I can only pray that he will believe me."

  In Spanish, La Fuente, the original name for Archopolis' underground water source. Historians believe the name referred to a natural spring, rather than a fountain.?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Present Day

  "HEY, MARK," AARON nudged his side with an elbow, "there's that weird girl I was telling you about."

  Mark turned in the direction of Aaron's elbow. A frazzle-haired girl wearing worn jeans and a tee shirt was just turning into an alley across the street. She clutched a small notebook below her chin, and
her head fiercely swiveled down, up, down, up, as if her eyes were photocopying the entire landscape directly onto the paper. As she stepped into the alley, just before her skin perfectly melded with the dark shadows against the brick, she looked back over her shoulder. Her searching glance almost immediately found Mark and Aaron as they watched from their cafe table. The furious brightness of her eyes, even from that distance, stabbed Mark's breath and held it in his throat. He felt a wave of guilt, as if she was accusing him of invading her privacy, but she quickly continued around the corner out of sight.

  Both Mark and Aaron exhaled at the same time. "See what I mean?" Aaron raised his eyebrow. "Kind of...off."

  "Um, I guess." Mark nodded slightly, still watching the alley entrance. "What's her name?"

  Aaron scrunched the corner of his mouth. "Her name? She's just the weird girl. It's too bad you're not in my biology class, so you can hear the bizarre questions she asks."

  "What kind of questions?"

  "Ah, I can't remember. Always about lizards or something. No, crocodiles! Yeah, she's always going on about crocodiles, no matter what the teacher's talking about. The other day we were starting the chapter on 'reproduction,'" Aaron drawled the word out for emphasis, "which is pretty much the only time we get to talk about sex, right? And there's lizard girl interrupting to ask how alligators lay eggs or something. What a weirdo, right?"

  Mark tilted his head in commiseration and chuckled. "Very strange. Maybe not as weird as you, but then again, she is prettier than you."

  Aaron gasped melodramatically. "Me, weird?" Switching into a high-pitched British accent, he whined, "Why, whatever gave you that idea, good sir?"

  "Oh, just a gut feeling I've always had about you. Plus, I've watched you snort a packet of mustard for a dollar."

  "Now, now, wait; let's not get distracted by my talents here. Back up. I think you just said lizard girl is pretty! Do you have a crush on her now?"

  Mark rolled his eyes and quickly slurped his ice coffee, wincing at the cold jab to his forehead. "Whatever. Let's get back to studying. My test is tomorrow, and I have to be at work in an hour."

  Always quick to be distracted, Aaron went back to quizzing him on battles of World War II. Mark tried to concentrate on pronouncing French names, on the sweet chill of vanilla coffee and on the heavy sun; but a pair of eyes kept cutting through his mind-their vivid clarity against the damp afternoon.

  AS MUCH AS he hated the lingering stench of ketchup that clung to his clothes after work, Mark hated even more the stale, faintly rotten air that always drifted up when he opened his front door. Old mildew, tired carpets, fetid remnants of food long since thrown out of the fridge. It was the unmistakable odor of a house that had stopped caring long ago.

  Dropping his keys in the hideous ceramic bowl he had made in first grade, Mark called out, "Hey, I'm home. Anyone here?"

  No one answered, but he heard the creak of his brother's steps in the hallway and the careless thud of the bathroom door closing. Sighing at what he knew would be a long wait for the shower; Mark went to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. There was just enough peanut butter left for one or two more sandwiches-he would have to remember to pick some up tomorrow. He could barely taste that sweet earthiness that he loved over the scent of burnt hamburger clinging to his nostrils.

  After nearly 20 minutes, Mark heard a flush, the bathroom door click open, and his brother creaked in. Maybe because he had always been so tall and gaunt, Jacob always twisted and stooped as low as possible when he walked, barely lifting his feet, as if he was embarrassed to take up any space.

  "Hey," he muttered to Mark as he shuffled to the refrigerator. A sickly, oily sweetness wafted after him.

  "Ugh, Jake, have you been smoking again?" Mark wrinkled his nose. "You reek."

  "Yeah, well, so do you." Jacob grabbed a sports drink and chugged the entire bottle while holding the refrigerator door open. "'Sides, it keeps me relaxed."

  Mark snorted. "What, relaxed from all that school and work you don't have?" Jacob ignored him.

  The doorbell rang. Mark got up to answer it, since Jacob was very skilled at ignoring everything around him when it was inconvenient.

  At the door was a petite woman whose heavy makeup could not hide the weariness tugging down her eyelids and cheeks. Her lustrous black hair was carelessly knotted back, and she balanced a silent, plump baby on her hip.

  "Hey, Mark. Jake here?"

  "Hi, Maria." Mark held open the door. "Yeah, he's in the kitchen." The baby stared hugely at his taut ginger curls as they passed by, as always. Mark was used to the odd looks, being the only one of his family who had inherited the trait. "How's little Robbie?" he asked.

  The baby wriggled his arms at the sound of his own name, but Maria looked too tired to stop and talk. "Roberto's fine, thanks," she said without turning her head. Anticipating an angry conversation he would not want to overhear, Mark hurried to the shower.

  Even through the rush of the water, Mark could still hear the swells of voices, distorted hollow and harsh through the tiles. Even Robbie, normally so quiet, started wailing. The cry trilled sharp and high like a distant, lonely bird. As Mark finished his shower and reached for a towel, the front door slammed so hard the medicine cabinet shuddered, and then silence squatted over the house.

  On his way down the hall, Jacob walked past him, muttering. "Crazy bitch. What does she want me to do? It's her baby." He wasn't looking at Mark, but slowed down, apparently pausing for validation.

  "Uh, well, it's yours too," was all Mark could think of saying. Jacob hunched even lower and opened his mouth in a scowl, but faltered at words. For a moment, he looked so ungainly and awkward, like a lost gosling, that Mark felt a bitter wave of protection sweep over him. But he had nothing comforting to say to his brother, and Jacob stomped away to his bedroom.

  Mark collapsed on his bed and did not bother fighting against the exhaustion that quickly pulled down heavily on every muscle. He did not even hear his mother come home from her late shift, as he usually would. Crossing into sleep, his thoughts unspooled in a tangle: his brother's childishly frightened, bloodshot eyes; Maria's dull glitter; tiny Roberto's patient wonderment; and especially the wild-haired girl striding around corners, twisting around to gaze back at him, her eyes flashing over and over.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A CRUEL BEAM of late morning sunlight pierced Mark's eyes as he rushed around the edge of the library door. How could he have forgotten to print off his report yesterday? He feverishly hoped he had arrived early enough in the lunch period that he wouldn't have to wait for a computer. Too many times had he seen his brother in this position and give up; the memory of Jacob's despondency last night only made Mark more anxious.

  With a simultaneous lurch of relief and nervousness, he saw one computer open: next to the girl from the alley. Although she still wore plain jeans and a tee shirt, today they were clean and stylish-a detail he would never usually notice. He sat down and logged on, looking from the corner of his eye for any reaction from her. She stared at her screen, clicking swiftly through websites, apparently oblivious to the fact that another person was even sitting beside her. A cold sliver ran through Mark's chest-relief? Insult?-When he realized that he had turned and stared directly at her. She must really think he was invading her privacy now. He cleared his throat politely.

  "Hi. Um, look, I didn't mean to stare at you yesterday at the cafe. I'm sorry."

  The girl stopped briefly and studied him with a sideways look. Mark tried to imagine how his freckled, timid smile might appear to her. "Yeah, all right," she said, turning back to her research.

  Mark tried to focus on his computer again, running mindlessly through his report, sending it to the printer. But now he had seen those eyes close up-thickest brown with specks of gold-and he could not concentrate. He couldn't sit there and say nothing.

  "I'm Mark, by the way."

  For a moment, she hesitated, and he was sure she would ignore him. Then she tur
ned fully towards him and extended her hand. "I'm Tatiana."

  He involuntarily grinned as they shook hands, noting the smooth dryness of her palms contrasting the rough scrape of her fingertips. "Can I ask what you're working on?"

  She shrugged. "Just some personal reading."

  "Oh. I just caught a glimpse of a lizard, and thought maybe it was a biology project or something." Tatiana started to scrunch her lips to the side and frown. "By accident! I wasn't trying to pry."

  She relaxed. "It's just some old legend about crocodiles living underneath the city. Nothing anyone else finds interesting."

  Mark thought he could detect a hint of blush beneath her skin. "Is it less interesting than old diaries and letters from history? Because no one understands why I love reading that stuff, but I'm fine admitting I'm an old man."

  For the first time, Tatiana smiled. Heat rushed to Mark's face, which he knew must glare through his pale skin, which made his blood even hotter. If she noticed, Tatiana pretended not to show it.

  "Maybe we should swap old people stories someday," she said.

  "How about this afternoon? We can meet after school at the cafe from yesterday and start over." The words came from some other part of Mark's brain that he could not seem to control. He was never able to speak with girls so directly.

  Crossing her arms and leaning back, Tatiana gazed intently at him for several long seconds, searching for any sign of insincerity. Her face was so smooth and blank; Mark began to be afraid that he had said exactly the wrong thing.

  Instead, she finally said, "Yeah, all right. I don't know about you, Old Man Mark, and I kind of like that."

  Mark could only flush even redder, which she acknowledged with a mischievous smile before she left.

  MARK STARED INTENTLY into the clear whirls of melting ice in his vanilla coffee, sipping so slowly he imagined tasting the minutes themselves. Yet, his heart insisted on beating faster and faster the more he tried to slow down time. She would not come. Why would she come, when all he had done from her perspective was stare at her too much? The coffee dissolved paler and paler.

  Then, a soft cough across the table, and he finally looked up.