Bacchanal

by Veronica Henry

  She formed a series of images of herself, starting back to the first time she’d communicated with an animal and how she’d unintentionally killed it, of her family suffering the consequences, of her abandonment when they couldn’t stand it or her anymore. Badger and Elephant bristled at her crushing sense of guilt. There, she urged. I’ve shown you what I do; now it’s your turn.

  Raven complied first. He sent an image of himself, chirping and flying, bringing magical images along with it. Badger showed herself in a series of fierce battles, with foes large and small. She had won many of her fights but was not ashamed of those she’d lost. Badger flooded her with a series of images displaying some of her most impressive scars and wounds. Finally, Elephant stepped into the forefront. She showed herself outsmarting a pack of lions, leading them to their doom in front of a group of human hunters. She showed how she had interfered once when Liza was ten, causing her to kill that young calf. Elephant sent a picture of herself licking Liza’s hand—an apology of sorts. She was verbose if nothing else. She had taken care to show all the ways she had tricked Liza and others throughout her long spiritual life.

  Storytelling. Animals, African spirits, people . . . each had stories that needed telling. An audience to listen and do the retelling. In this way, you were never forgotten.

  When Liza opened her eyes, she was struck by both the happiness and sadness on Ago’s face.

  “It gives the spirits great pleasure to interact with our descendants,” he said. “You, however, to succeed in your coming mission, must reconcile your African and American spirits. Oya is a wise goddess, and she will now let you go on your way; she has handed your teaching to me.”

  Then he turned serious. “I cannot tell you when your foe will come, or what it will look like. But it is a powerful spirit, alive for a millennium. You must defeat it.”

  Liza’s stomach roiled. “Do you know if I will win?”

  “No.”

  Her heart lurched into her throat and sank like a tank into her stomach.

  “But I can help prepare you. Only when you learn to coexist with your spirits will Oya become fully accessible to you. Repeat the mantra, call to your animal guides. Again.”

  Time and again, she repeated the mantra, but her host looked unimpressed. Liza stopped and rolled her eyes.

  “This is not some poem you are reciting for school,” Ago snapped. “You have memorized it, but that is only half of what is required of you. You must feel it.” He tapped her lightly on the chest, above her heart. “In here.”

  “I’m trying.” Liza winced. That came out like a child whining, but she couldn’t help it.

  “When one thinks of someone close—a member of your family. That little sister you guard so closely in the center of your heart. You recall the pout of her upper lip, her bright eyes. The touch of her infant skin. You see her first step. Know the sound of her cry, do you not?”

  Yes, she did know it. Twiggy.

  Ago began to become ever so slightly translucent. “Tulsa is the key. There you will both lose something and find something lost. Go, now.”

  His face took on a grim, resigned expression as he winked out of existence.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CORRALLING THE SPIRITS

  Ishe looked at his watch. It had taken far less time to find this place than he’d expected, but a couple of hours had passed and he was getting worried. Not only would Clay be expecting them back soon, but he couldn’t help wondering if Liza was hurt. He’d tried to follow her, but the same barrier still held.

  He couldn’t believe he’d bared his soul—well, as much as he could anyway—and that she had answered him by going mute. Jamey was a boy and he was a man, a damaged man, but still more than Jamey could ever be. Why she couldn’t see that riled and vexed him to no end.

  Ishe was about to settle himself back inside the increasingly stuffy truck when it hit him. Drums, and singing in a language he hadn’t used since he left home. Food smells. The feathery touch of those same singing spirits against his skin as they swirled around him, whispering in his ear. He spun and swatted at nothing.

  His skin prickled as a coarse, spotted coat sprouted and rippled over his body. He doubled over in pain and clutched at his stomach, trying to will an end to his shifting internal organs.

  “No, not now,” he whimpered, but he would not be able to stop it. He looked up at the mountain and back to the truck. As Ishe broke into a run, the last traces of his humanity gave way to the demon who dwelled within him.

  The way back down the mountain proved far easier than it had been going up. But when Liza reached the truck, she found it empty. She turned and cast her gaze around in all directions. Maybe Ishe had sneaked off to answer Mother Nature’s call or something. After a time, she called out, “Ishe!”

  The only sound that answered back was that of the mountain rumbling behind her; she turned as it vanished. Liza caught a glimpse of a footprint. She followed along a few steps till the trail revealed a paw print, the tattered remains of a shirt. She decided to take the truck.

  Liza wasn’t the most skilled driver, so the truck jerked and coughed along until she got an idea and stopped. She climbed out of the truck and wandered a few paces and used the mantra she’d learned to call on Raven. The bird came to her easily this time, and her heart did a little two-step. Unlike how she talked to other animals, her animal guides dwelled within her. When they came, all she had to do was think about what she wanted to communicate. She formed a picture of Ishe and asked the bird to use its sight to locate the man. Raven responded by showing her an image of Ishe walking this same path and then reaching a rocky clearing. She thanked the bird and set off.

  Sounds of a struggle came at about the same time when, not far ahead, what looked like Ishe in hyena form loomed. She set off at a run, calling out to him. “Ishe!”

  When she reached him, he had killed a stray dog. Taking a closer look, Liza saw it was the dog that had followed her ever since Waco. Had it followed them here? Her eyes widened, and she gulped back the bitter taste of bile. There was still a last sign of life in the dog’s eyes, but it was leaving fast. It had been gutted like a fish, innards splayed on the ground. She laid her palm on the dog’s head and sent it an image: the dog, coat shiny and clean, its step spry with renewed youth, a meaty bone in its mouth. Them strolling through a field toward a soothing sun dipping beneath the trees. By the time the sun set, the dog, wearing a happy dog grin, had taken his bone and trotted away.

  Ishe-turned-hyena stood before her, covered in blood.

  Liza fought back the nausea and took a step forward, holding out her hand. “Ishe, it’s time to come back. Come back to me, here. Send the hyena away.”

  She followed her words with the same images she’d sent that had calmed Ishe that first time.

  The hyena fastened its eyes on Liza and snarled. She steeled herself and took another step forward.

  “Ishe, you can control it. Come on, come back.”

  The hyena emitted a heinous, deadly cackle and advanced. Little was left of Ishe in the thing that now stalked her and raised up to its full height: clothes clung to its body in rags; hairy, bent legs and arms; tufted ears and wild eyes and a glistening snout; a spotted coat. A six-foot-tall hyena.

  Liza stumbled backward, conjuring and throwing as many images as she could. Under the onslaught, the hyena stopped and grabbed its head and growled. The respite was short lived. The hyena dropped into a four-legged run.

  Liza spun toward the truck. Ishe closed on her and knocked her to the ground. She rolled over and threw up her arms, trying to fend off the teeth snapping at her face.

  A throaty, piercing howl rang out in Liza’s head. Though she struggled with him, it wasn’t Ishe. Badger! Her animal guide appeared in her mind, standing with its head held high atop an African savanna. Liza felt her own body changing and let out a cry of her own. What had Ago said? Badger was wise, fierce . . . and, like Raven, sometimes a shape-shifter.

  Her
screams died in her ears as her body shifted. Bones cracked and reformed, teeth stretched into fangs, and the hair on her skin grew shaggy, brown, and coarse. Ishe’s scent was pungent in her snout. As a badger, she easily got away from the hyena-man. She came to her paws and stood on her hind legs and roared, spittle flying from her mouth. She leaped up and, with a right claw, slashed at Ishe’s exposed chest. He turned and ran, and Liza sank down to all fours and gave chase. In her mind, she screamed for Badger to stop, to release her. She didn’t want to hurt Ishe.

  As he ran, Ishe changed. The coarse, spotted coat fell away, and the limbs stretched and cracked as he returned to human form. Ishe crashed to the ground, and the transformation completed.

  Spent, Liza as Badger fell beside him and came back to herself. They lay side by side, panting, bruised, bloodied, and ashamed.

  Breathless moments passed before Ishe’s hand sought Liza’s, and she eagerly entwined her fingers with his. Her slowing heartbeat revved up again. When Ishe pushed himself up on an elbow and peered down into her eyes, it was Liza who surprised herself by pulling him to her.

  There, in the middle of nowhere, Liza delighted in the graceful movements of Ishe’s body against hers as they wove themselves together in previously unchartered pleasures.

  “Where the hell have you two been?”

  Liza could tell Clay was trying hard to sound angry at them, but then he must have taken in their condition: blood, ripped clothes, the way neither would meet his eyes.

  “Go get yourselves cleaned up,” he said and then left them standing where they were.

  They had grudgingly dragged themselves back into the truck, not daring to look at each other or utter a word the whole way back to the carnival. And now, they parted much the same way. Liza hauled herself to the donnicker to clean up and then made a beeline for her trailer.

  On the way, she rounded a corner and stopped cold. Jamey was talking to one of the cooch dancers—one who did the things Autumn wouldn’t. The girl leaned against a trailer, batting her false eyelashes. Jamey tried and, to Liza’s mind, failed to look sharp, his forearm on the trailer, his ankles crossed.

  Liza’s blood boiled. She knew she should march right up and give both of them a good slap, but after what had happened with Ishe, she felt she no longer had the right to care. She lowered her head, fought back a sob, and made herself scarce.

  She found her friend milling around, leaning against the outside wall of her work trailer. “What did he tell you?” Hope’s face was dour. There were bags beneath her eyes, and her normally glowing skin was dull.

  “Only that I have to face the threat that is coming.” Liza picked up a stone and threw it as far as she could. “Couldn’t even tell me if I was going to win. Maybe I should leave.”

  “No,” Hope said. “We face this together. It won’t do you any good to be off somewhere by yourself. Especially when you don’t even know what you’re looking for. No, you stay here. I can help you. Ishe can help you.”

  Liza was grateful for her friend. She hadn’t wanted to leave, but then she didn’t want to endanger her friends either. She resisted the urge to ask Hope to help her track her animal guides; she understood that she must do that much herself. But she did want help with something. “If you get a feeling, a vision that can warn me . . .”

  “You know I’ll tell you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  LAST CHANCES

  The G. B. Bacchanal Carnival crept along Route 66 on its way toward Oklahoma City. The skeletons of abandoned trucks and cars littered the roadside, along with stuffed animals missing an eye or leg; tattered, moth-ridden blankets; shattered soda bottles. A farmhouse sat miles back from the main road, leaning ever so slightly. One front window was blown out, the other mysteriously intact, as if the house were winking at the passing caravan.

  There was an uneasy hush among the carnies, as if they were passing through a cemetery, paying homage to homes and cars and people long dead. It was sobering.

  After Oklahoma City, it would be on to Tulsa. Jamey would be expecting an answer to his proposal, and given what had happened with Ishe, she was waffling on what that answer would be. And Ago had told Liza that she’d find something lost. She’d puzzled over that in her mind a dozen times since, and being a woman with few possessions, all accounted for, only one thing was left. She dared not hope. Her family had spent time there and in nearby Taft—she’d steal away and poke around.

  Not many homes were left untouched by economic hardships, but even the poor welcomed a little distraction, something to take their minds off their troubles. Wives preferred something they could do as a family, rather than seeing their husbands go off and spend their pennies on liquor or whores.

  The Choctaw Indians had named the land Okla, meaning people, and humma, their word for red. Oklahoma was the home to the more than thirty tribes that had ended up here following the Trail of Tears. Her family had often traded with the tribes during their travels.

  Liza sat with her back against her pillow on her bunk. The last traces of any pain from her trip to the mountain were gone. She flipped through the latest Argosy Weekly, barely seeing the words. What would she do if she did find her family? What was it that she wanted from them? Raven had helped her understand that she needed to let go of her judgment, give them time to explain why they’d done what they did. But the answer was already there.

  All she needed to do was to stand up on her knees and peer through the trailer window at the carnage outside. Hers was not the first family to have given up a child they could no longer care for. But there was still the question of how they’d made their decision. Maybe it had been easier to single out the one prone to killing the few precious animals they had for food.

  As they came closer to the city, the sound of cars increased. Apparently, the exodus hadn’t taken everybody to California. The ride became bumpy and uneven, signaling they’d pulled off the main road, headed for the location Clay and Jamey had scouted out for the carnival to stop over days before.

  The carnival caravan came to a rolling, languorous halt, and Liza could almost hear the collective exhale from the group. Carnies were essentially outdoor people and couldn’t wait to emerge from the dens of their trailers, stretch their legs, and inhale a breath of dusty, but fresher, air.

  “Looks like we’re here,” Autumn said from her own bunk. She’d been so worked up about getting to Tulsa and a meeting with someone who could help her get a shot at a part in an honest-to-goodness moving picture, only one stop away now. She lay with her elbows propped on her colorful assortment of pillows. She wiped a hand over her bunk and looked at it as though it held a foreign material. “I thought they said the dust bowl storms have passed.”

  Liza could only shake her head. White people had no idea how to coexist with the earth. They ravaged it, used and abused it, and wondered why it sometimes bit them back. “Gonna take more than a year or two for things to get back to normal with the earth,” she said, standing and stretching. “But it will heal.” After a moment, she added, “If they leave it alone long enough.”

  Autumn stared at Liza. “You would sooner see things stay the way they were before Columbus showed up? You wouldn’t have that science fiction crap you always have your nose buried in. Hell, and you’re a woman, doubt you could even work anywhere, let alone earn your own money and travel with a carnival.” Autumn donned an unneeded shawl and squeezed past Liza to the door. “No thank you, sister. I’ll take progress, lavender soaps, and moving pictures any day.”

  Liza had a comb in her hand, and she considered throwing it at Autumn’s back but thought better of it. She turned and kneeled at the foot of her bunk and lifted the pouch her father had given her and peeked in. There it sat, the picture of her family. She stuffed the pouch beneath the mattress, repeated the mantra that Ago had seared into her brain, and stepped out into the midday Oklahoma haze.

  Ahiku hovered outside the entrance to the Skirvin Hotel in downtown Oklahoma City, at the corner
of Park and Broadway. Fourteen luxurious brick stories and a triplet of majestic towers that appeared to have miniature parapets atop each.

  She wore her normal bewitching attire: rows of bracelets on both arms, colorful patchwork skirt, and head wrap. She delighted in the deliciously wicked knowledge that the people hurrying on their way had no idea what stood in their midst. She scanned the horde of laborers and highbrows and wanderers, blank faced but blindly determined as red ants doing their queen’s bidding.

  She wandered a few steps, passing a missing-child poster plastered to the wall to her right. The child had been one of hers, the one with the poor farmer parents. Clay had assured her the child’s disappearance would be a blessing, a moral kindness to the parents. He had been wrong.

  There.

  Ahiku chose a smartly dressed man, round spectacles perched high on a neat, full nose, and trawled through him, leaving her taint on his insides. It began as an itch deep within his bowels that he couldn’t scratch before spreading like jam on white bread, carrying the uncontrollable itch to every organ, his skin, his eyes. The man walked a few more steps before he stopped, screamed, and tore at his clothes. They lay in a shredded pile on the ground, long after he’d scratched himself raw and was dragged away naked as the day he was born by the police. Ahiku let out a syrupy snicker.

  She figured the other demons were already assembled inside the hotel restaurant, wearing the various masks they’d acquired over the centuries. She would enter soon; they needed to wait. Though she relished this gathering, appearing anxious or overeager could put her at further disadvantage.

  A girl of probably six or seven strolled by, her hand in that of a striking man. The child was precious, silvery air bouncing off her in waves, and Ahiku felt the familiar stirrings. It would be time to feed soon, but now, she would go inside and attend the yearly rendezvous. With one last, greedy look at the retreating child, Ahiku sailed up the steps, navigated the forest of wood-paneled columns, and entered the dining room. She headed to the table where her demon horde sat, pulled out a chair, and dissolved into the facade of a progressive Negro woman.