Gregory moaned and hid his head in Gwen's shoulder. She made soothing noises as she glared at the tombstone; the skeleton didn't see it tremble.
No, it was the skeleton who was trembling—or rather, nodding. It made a happy noise, then moved away from its grave, stepping in time to the music, its whole body bobbing and weaving as its skull rotated, seeking. Suddenly it stiffened, facing west, then leaped in the air, landing with the sound of a xylophone run. It gave a joyous yelp and set off in a stiff and awkward dance, moving away down the main street of the village. Shutters slammed in its wake, but it didn't notice.
Rod and Magnus rose from behind the wall. "If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it!" Rod breathed.
"It doth not seem ill-intentioned," Magnus pointed out in a shaky voice.
Fess stepped up behind him out of the night. "It does seem harmless."
"Ya-a-a-h!" Magnus leaped five feet straight up. "Must thou move so silently!"
"My apologies, Magnus. Rod, may I recommend seeking a campsite?"
"Uh, not just yet." Rod set off down the road.
"Where dost thou go?" Gwen cried down in anguish.
"Why, after that skeleton, of course. You can't think it would mean any harm! Why, it's fairly whistling!"
"To whistle," Fess pointed out, "one must have lips."
"And it needs vocal folds to sing, but it's doing a pretty good job of that. Gwen, you didn't tell me witch-moss could grow in graves."
"I had not thought it," she admitted, swooping low. "Now that thou dost speak of it, I wonder an it doth occur by nature's way."
"Nay! Someone did seed each grave with witch-moss!" Geoffrey cried, alighting next to Rod.
Rod looked at him askance. "And where do you think you're going?"
"Why, with my father! If 'tis as safe as thou sayest, then I am at no hazard!"
Rod opened his mouth to answer, then closed it with a sigh. "One of these days, I'll start saying no."
"Tomorrow," Cordelia suggested, "or mayhap next year."
"A possibility. Okay, family, let's go see where the skull is headed. Just be ready to hit the treetops on a moment's notice, okay?"
The skeleton led them out of town, past three fields, and into a pasture that was bordered with a circle of piled stones—musical ones. The night was filled with hard, jangling sound, and the cows had fled to the nearby wood-lot. Rod had a notion there wouldn't be much milk in the morning.
Not that the field was empty, of course. In fact, it was rather full—of bones. Not heaped, but articulated. It was a night of the walking dead, in various stages of mummification.
There were only twenty of them, though—Rod counted. The rest of the crowd…
"Papa," Cordelia gasped, "they are living folk!"
"Yes, dear—their descendants, no doubt. A little on the young side, too."
In fact, they were still trickling in—young folk in their teens and early twenties, heads nodding, feet weaving in intricate patterns, bodies moving in time to the music.
"Are they blind to the presence of the dead?" Magnus demanded.
Rod was about to say "yes" when he saw a zombie rise up in the center of a circle of young folk, who shouted and clapped their hands as their ancestor cavorted. After a few minutes, they left off clapping and began to dance with one another in the stiff, awkward movements of the skeleton, while he beat time over their heads, signalling them in their progress through the dance.
"Nay," Gwen said, coming down to earth. "They see, but do not see."
Rod frowned. "How can that be?"
"Like the drifters we met," Magnus explained. "They used lotus to rid their minds of thought—but for these young folk, the music alone doth suffice to achieve that end."
Rod turned to him, appalled. "You don't mean they're trying not to think!"
"Aye," Cordelia said. "They told us they had wearied of the sad and endless task of seeking to make sense of the world."
Rod remembered his own adolescence, and held his peace. He turned back to watch the dancers for a while, then whispered, "Of course. They seek to be like the zombies."
"Rod."
He shook off the mood. "Yes, Fess?"
"You must establish the mechanism and, if possible, determine who has created this situation."
"A good point." Rod frowned. "Any advice on methodology?"
"Gather data."
"How are we to do that?" Magnus asked. "Will watching tell us aught more?"
"Maybe," Rod said, "but I'd like to try a more direct approach." And, before anybody could stop him, he dove into the center of the circle of dancers. Gwen gave a scream, then clamped her lips shut, pale with anger.
"He will be well, Mama," Cordelia said faintly.
"An he is not, we shall drag him out! Children! Be ready!"
Rod surfaced inside the circle, coming up right next to the dancing bones. Now he could see why the skeleton stood head and shoulders above the youths—it danced on a broad stump.
Rod waved. "Hi, there!"
The skeleton turned about, bobbing and beating time, not seeing him.
Rod steeled himself and reached up to tap a scapula. "Hey! Got a minute?"
"Eternity." Now the skull swivelled toward him, the sightless eyes seeking his own. "What wouldst thou of me?"
Rod swallowed. "Just some information. Mind telling me the reason for the party?"
"What is a 'party'?"
No, the culture wasn't ready for democracy yet. "This festival, then. Any particular reason you climbed up out of your grave? Or did you just feel like taking a walk?"
The skeleton made a dry, rattling sound that Rod hoped was a laugh. "I only know that I swam up from darkness to feel a steady rhythm round me, like to a heartbeat. I wished to hear more of it; I swam up through the earth, and the closer I came, the more clearly I heard—till I broke through to air, and climbed again upon the surface."
Rod stared. "You mean the music was loud enough to wake the dead?"
"Aye. I was the first; anon I gathered all the pretty rocks that made such wondrous sound, and brought them here, to set in a circle by which I might dance. Ere the night had ended, others had waked from their long sleep to join me."
Rod swallowed. "Well—at least it doesn't seem to be doing you any harm."
"Oh, nay!" the skeleton carolled, and pirouetted for joy, stamping a foot down to stop so that it faced Rod again, and all its bones rattled like castanets. "Nay, this music doth make me stir as though with life again; it doth fill my bones with the need to dance! Oh, happy are we all for this second chance at life, and ten times thankful to be waked!"
Just what Gramarye needed—a band of grateful dead. "You're setting a bad example, you know."
"What—by dancing?" The skeleton stared with sightless eyes, incredulous. "How can that be so bad?"
"Because your descendants are imitating you. They were raised to respect their elders, after all."
" 'Twas we who were raised, not they." But the skeleton looked about at the young people. "How is our example harmful to them?"
"Because they're trying to become just like you— mindless zombies. You don't want them to grow up to be deadheads, do you?"
"Wherefore not?" The skeleton turned a toothy grin on him.
Rod was still trying to phrase an answer, when the skeleton looked past his dancing circle and saw the family. "Oh, I see! Thou hast children of thine own, and dost fear to lose them!"
"Well, there is that, yes."
"Let me see!" The skeleton hopped down off its stump and pushed through the dancers, over to the ring of stones. The children saw it coming, and drew back—but the skeleton halted a dozen paces away. "These are not of my village."