Swan Song

by Robert McCammon

It had to be finished before the blood started bursting out like a firehose. When that happened, Roland knew, the King would die. He lifted the cleaver over his head, his shoulder throbbing with the effort—and suddenly it was not a meat cleaver anymore; it was a holy axe, and he was Sir Roland of the Realm, summoned to free the trapped King from this suffocating dungeon. He was the only one in all the kingdom who could do it, and this moment was his. Righteous power pulsed within him, and as he brought the holy axe flashing down he heard himself shout in a hoarse, almost inhuman voice.

“What’s your name?” It was a minute before he could find his voice. “Josh. And yours is Swan?” “Sue Wanda. But my mama calls me Swan. How’d you get to be a giant?” There were tears in his eyes, but he smiled anyway. “I guess I ate my mama’s cornbread when I was about your age.” “Cornbread made you a giant?” “Well, I was always big. I used to play some football—first at Auburn University, then for the New Orleans Saints.” “Do you still?” “Nope. I’m a ... I was a wrestler,” he said. “Professional wrestling. I was the bad guy.”

He winced. The urine burned like battery acid spewing out of him. But I’m alive! he reassured himself. There might not be a whole hell of a lot to live for, but I’m alive. Tomorrow I may be dead, but today I’m alive and pissing on my knees.

My real name’s not Sister Creep! she thought suddenly. My real name is ... but she didn’t know what it was, and she didn’t know who she was or where she’d come from. How did I get here? she asked herself, but she could provide no answer.

The bathroom was a wreck as well, but Macklin’s flashlight found a few handfuls of water remaining in the toilet bowl. He drank from it, and then Roland and Teddybear took their turns. Water had never tasted so sweet.

He pushed upward, his shoulder following his arm, breaking the hole wider. Then his entire arm was out, and the top of his head was ready to press through. As he pushed he thought of watching his sons being born, their heads straining to enter the world. He felt as giddy and afraid as any infant could possibly be. Behind him, Swan was pushing at him, too, giving him support as he stretched to break free.

They left the Bucket of Blood to get the gas from the dead man’s truck. Behind them, the red-haired hag scuttled over to the table they’d left and watched the fly buzzing around in the upturned glass. She suddenly picked it up and snatched the fly as it tried to escape, and before it could get loose from her hand she shoved the fly into her mouth and crunched her teeth down on it. Her face contorted. She opened her mouth and spat a small glob of grayish-green into the fire, where it sizzled like acid. “Nasty!” she said, and she wiped her tongue with sawdust.

Have to tell Sister, he thought. Have to tell Sister ... that the glass ring in her bag ... is a crown. Have to show her this card ... because Swan and the Empress ... have the same face....