by Dante Graves
Chapter 21: The Magician & the Star
“Swallow me whole, I will live in your soul.”
Eleven, “Flow Like A River”
When Judge Caius and little Zaches, bynamed Zinnober, noticed from their different positions how a car, its headlights off, left the circus encampment at high speed, wobbling from side to side, they did not doubt for a second that Martha was at the wheel. At the same time, though in different places, they got into their own cars and followed her. The thrill of the hunt gripped Caius, and he had to hold back so as not to put his foot to the floor and catch Martha. She would lead him to his goal, he told himself. He must not frighten her away.
Martha did not care about her pursuers. The pain turned into a thread of light that would lead her to Greg, and she focused on it. She was driving almost unconsciously, without paying attention to the road or road signs. She hadn’t remembered to turn on the car’s headlights, and did so only when another car suddenly appeared as she rounded a curve. The driver in the oncoming car had to wrench the wheel to avoid a collision, but managed to maintain control after a long skid. Martha drove on, led by the thread of pain.
Zaches was horrified. His task was to follow the circus, and he liked doing it. He saw Martha every day, even though she had no idea he was there. Caius paid no attention to him. But this headlong rush to nowhere, for hours, was too much for him. His palms were sweating so much they often slipped off the wheel. He was afraid of speed, had fear of the unknown and fear of Caius, who was driving between him and Martha. Martha. For her, he suppressed his fear.
Martha was trying not to lose the thread leading to Greg. It strove to escape, like a snake from the hands of a fakir, and sometimes broke off for a few moments. But invariably Martha would find it again, even though every time she was afraid that her luck had run out. What frightened her most was that she did not know how far away Greg was. Ten miles? A couple of hundred miles? Would she get to him that night? These thoughts were like blood-sucking mosquitoes, they dug into her, and it was impossible to drive them away. Cracks in the asphalt looked like mocking grins in the beam of the headlights. The very road was making fun of her. Several times the car jumped dangerously on the asphalt, forcing an occasional oncoming driver to veer away suddenly. The road was difficult and endless. The night was dark and starless. And that night, three different cars followed each other to their common destination. Destiny is a part of destination. Destination is where your destiny leads you.
Martha lost track of time. It seemed to her that the night stretched forever, and when she was ready to give in to her despair, the pain thread linking her with Greg eluded her again. It was weak, but there was no need to look for it. Something had changed. Something was reaching for Martha. She saw the dawn behind the treetops, but the sun didn’t rise. She realized that the light was not coming from the sun, but from the glare of a fire somewhere in the woods. She turned onto a bumpy road that led into the trees.
Caius followed Martha, and after a few minutes he saw the dying fire. Martha’s car was near, with the driver door open, but the girl was not there. The Judge took the harpoon and slowly walked in an arc around the yard in front of the house. In the backyard, in the light of the fire, he noticed a trail of blood leading to a thin strip of wood and stripes on the ground, as if someone had crawled there to escape the fire. Raising his harpoon to his shoulder, Caius went down the trail. Fire reflections barely penetrated through the branches and leaves, but almost immediately he saw two silhouettes on the ground. Martha and Greg.
The mage was lying on his side, the back of his T-shirt was soaked with blood, but his chest was still moving. Next to him was Martha. Her face was turned to the sky. She lay motionless, as if asleep, her chest heaving easily and quietly, and her fingers were sunk into the ground, as if before losing consciousness, she had struggled against it. Greg groaned, and his body shook as if he had been hit with a defibrillator. The Judge lifted the harpoon, but Greg twitched again and then was still. His limbs went limp, and his head jerked in a last fight with death and then quietly sank down onto the grass. During his years of service, Caius had learned what death looked like, but he still went to check Greg’s pulse. There was no pulse. The Judge had been waiting for something different. A battle, a hunt. And now the two most unusual mongrels of his career lay before him, one dead, the other seemingly sleeping. The man obviously had received fatal injuries in a fight, and, judging by his position on the ground, had tried to crawl away from the fire, but had not lasted long. But what had happened to the girl? Who could have knocked her out? Caius felt no one near except Zaches. And the Judge could not imagine that Martha, reaching the one she had been looking for all night, had simply fallen unconscious.
Martha was in a dark tunnel, narrow and low. The walls were covered with something black and gray. She touched them, and they left a liquid ooze on her fingers. Behind her, the tunnel ended at the boundless darkness, where there was nothing, no bottom, no walls, no ceiling, no light, no boundaries. Ahead was a twist. The path was obvious. Martha went ahead. The farther she went, the steeper and narrower the tunnel became. A few minutes later she had to get down on all fours to continue down the path. Martha’s arms and legs slid through mud. She had to push her back into the arch of the tunnel to avoid slipping down it. Then the tunnel became so narrow that Martha had to use all her strength to move forward a few inches. She felt something sharp under the mud, and when she pulled herself up, her arms, shoulders, and knees were covered with deep scratches, and her skin was red with blood, which dripped and was absorbed by the dirt of the tunnel.
She felt trapped, but after drinking her blood, the tunnel seemed to change direction. It expanded, its incline decreased, and more rocks and less dirt covered its walls. Feeling a firm surface underfoot, Martha stood. The light was still gray, but more vivid, as on a cloudy day. Martha pressed ahead, the tunnel rapidly expanding with every step. Its walls were covered with large, strange flowers growing in the cracks in the stone. Their fleshy succulent petals looked like a flower blooming inside itself, as if the bud was going to burst inside itself. Martha touched one of the flowers. At first it tried to hide in the crack, but then it reached for her and clung to her hand, like a puppy going to its owner. After hesitating a moment, as if trying something for the first time, the flower petals opened slowly toward Martha’s palm. Inside, they were bright as butterfly wings, and she froze for a moment, struck with their design and beauty. Silky flower petals gently touched her fingers, soaking up the blood on them and becoming brighter. The girl reminded herself why she was here and went forward again, and the flowers on the walls turned their heads after her.
Martha was in a cave with strange patterns and markings on the walls. Looking closer, she realized that the black markings were traces of fire, and the patterns were raw bas-reliefs of human faces. The patterns moved, as if trying to say something. On the stone faces was discontent, pleading, anger, despair. Martha thought they were silently arguing with each other, using stony rustling instead of words. The sound was something sinister, denying life itself.
“They will not harm you.” The faint voice had come from behind. She turned. Greg stood there. She recognized him, although here he looked different. His skin was a sickly pale, and lumps of gray mud filled his eye sockets instead of eyes. It was the same mud as in the tunnel through which Martha had just crept.
“I know. They are just ghosts, Greg.”
“You know me?” With every movement of his jaw, dirt poured from Greg’s mouth. It ran down his chin onto his chest, and then to the floor, before crawling away like a huge worm.
“I’m Martha. Don’t you remember me?” she asked.
“Martha? I remember her. But you are not her.” Greg’s voice was full of confidence. “I feel something in you, but you’re not her.”
“Maybe because of the blood?” She began to wipe the blood off her face. Her hands were covered with deep bleeding scratches, which made it hard, but she continue
d to wipe away blood.
“Yes,” said Greg.” Now I see you are not Martha.”
Martha was confused. There was no time left, and she had not expected Greg to reject her.
“Listen to me. It doesn’t matter if you recognize me or not. I need you to go with me,” she said.
“Go where? I belong here.”
“Go back. I want you to live again.”
“I live here,” he said.
“No, Greg. This is not life. This is its last stir, which will soon disappear. This is not the world of the living. That world is outside. You’ve just crossed the border, but you’re not far from it. You still have a chance.”
“Chance? Live?”
“Greg. You were mortally wounded, and I … I went into you, to bring you back. I am in you, Greg. If you do not agree to go back, I will die, too.”
“You’re not Martha,” insisted Greg and mud dripped from his mouth. “I do not care.”
Martha took a step forward, and the faces on the walls rustled.
“What is it?” the girl asked.
“You’re lying to me,” Greg said, and he sprang back away from her. “You’re lying. The faces warn me.”
“They are lying to you, Greg. These are the faces of those you’ve killed. They want to keep you here, they want you to die and stay here. They want to get back at you.” Martha took one step further, and the faces murmured. The stony rustles became a rumble, and the walls of the cave shook.
“Come with me, before it’s too late.” Martha’s voice had risen to a shriek.
“I’m staying here,” Greg said, but his voice now seemed uncertain.
“Maybe I’m not Martha, but you will never meet her here.” Martha continued to go forward. Greg retreated, but hesitantly. The stone faces now portrayed anger. Their stone mouths and eyes, nostrils and eyebrows moved, causing the cave walls to shudder and crack. Stones began to fall from the ceiling, quickly increasing in intensity. Soon the girl and the fire mage were in the middle of a storm of stones. Fleeing from it, Greg fell to his knees and covered his head with his hands.
“Stop it!” he shouted. “You’re killing us!”
“You’re already dead, Greg!” Martha shouted above the noise of the collapsing cave. “And I’m your only chance to go back and see Martha. If these faces wanted to save you, would they make all this?”
Greg hesitated for a moment, as if the truth had finally struck him, and Martha rushed to him. She kneeled before him and grabbed his shoulders. She shook him, forcing Greg to look at her with his eye sockets full of mud. Greg was afraid of her, she could see this.
“You’re not Martha,” he muttered.
“Now I know who I am,” she said.
Her bloodied lips pressed his mud-covered lips. As in the tunnel, dirt absorbed Martha’s blood. Her blood flowed into Greg. He choked and tried to pull away, but she held him and forced him to take a little more of her blood. Greg obeyed, and a moment later, he and Martha joined in a kiss.
The walls continued to crumble, but could not harm Greg and Martha. The stones fell more and more, and then the rumbling ceased. Greg’s eyes clouded over, and then a whiteout enveloped him. The last thing he saw before his resurrection was a perfect face.
And then the world of the living fell on him.
Zaches immediately realized what had happened. Astaroth had assigned him to spy on Lazarus Bernardius’s circus, and some other mongrels in the country were ordered to find the fire mage’s refuge. The demon had several pawns at hand, which he had hidden from Lucifer and Bernardius to use them whenever he liked. Most of them were capable only of unquestioningly following orders but were too stupid to do their tasks properly. Obviously, one of these mongrels had found the magician’s refuge, but had been overzealous.
Zinnober went some distance away from the Judge, hiding behind the trees. He knew that the Judge did not have to see him to sense his presence, but his fear made the dwarf choose the shadiest shelter even in a dark forest at night. Zinno was confused and frightened. He held his knife to his chest, but he knew that if it came to a battle with Caius, he had no chance. He followed the Judge, subtly looming ahead among the trees, and was frantically thinking about what to do. But soon a wave of burning rage swept away all the thoughts in his head.
The Judge had found them. Martha and Greg lay on the ground, as if asleep. The Judge checked Greg’s pulse and grinned triumphantly. And then he leaned over Martha. Caius put away his heavy harpoon and took off his gloves. Then he had a knife in his hand. He played with the blade for a few seconds, as if it were a harmless toy, and then slowly ripped Martha’s dress with it. In the silent forest, the crackle of fabric sounded like a broken bone crunching and easily drowned out the crackling of the burning house. Zinnober wanted to jump up and rush Caius, but he knew the Judge would kill him easily, so he remained under the shelter of the branches.
The Judge touched Martha’s body. Then he stuck the knife into the ground so that both hands were free. His hands eagerly wandered around the pale skin of her body, which stood out in the dark. The Judge let out a groan full of frustration and anger, audible even in Zinno’s shelter. Tears rolled down the dwarf’s face. He hated himself for his cowardice and fear of death. He covered his mouth with his hand so the Judge wouldn’t hear his sobbing. The lump in his throat made it difficult to breath. Zaches gasped. His tears made the world blurred and twisted. So when the Judge raised his hand over Martha, the dwarf didn’t see the knife in it. And when he realized what had happened, an eerie cry burst from his lungs. Wild with anger, he jumped out of his hiding and ran, holding his knife in front of him. The Judge paid no attention to him.
Greg was obviously dead. But Caius wanted the last hit to be his. He turned the fire mage over on his back, and with the same knife he had used to stab Martha, he hit the magician’s chest. The blade snapped, and Caius lost his balance and fell forward. A wave of flame hit him, throwing him up to the treetops. As he flew, the Judge wondered why the world to the right had suddenly disappeared and the world on his left had turned into a sickening kaleidoscope. Then darkness engulfed him.
Zaches ran, tripped over a root, and fell. An explosive wave, the epicenter of which was Greg, passed over Zinno and left him unharmed. Not realizing how lucky he was, the dwarf jumped up and ran on. He needed to get to Martha. The girl lay on the ground. Blood flowed from a wound in her side and had already formed a puddle. Greg lay nearby and did not move, but, much to Zaches’s surprise, he was alive though unconscious. But the dwarf had no interest in the magician. Zinno pulled off his jacket and tried to cover Martha’s wound and her torn dress with it. He must tell Astaroth he had found Greg, but just then he had better things to do. First he needed to help Martha. He gently lifted her into his arms. His stooped back and his short, crooked arms and legs strained with the effort. With every step, his weak body burned with pain. Still, he walked toward his car. Stumbling and quietly weeping, Zaches walked through the forest.
He would take her to the hospital, thought little Zinnober. The doctor would ask for his papers, but he would come up with a story. They would believe him. Beautiful people are always easier to believe. When he got out, he would say something plausible to Astaroth, explain his disobedience. The main thing was that Martha would live. Adrenalin and dreams gave him strength. He would save her.
Once in the car, however, he realized he did not know which way the nearest hospital was. Overcoming a sense of panic, he decided to just drive and hope for the best. He put the girl on the back seat and kissed her on the forehead, feeling her feeble breath. For some reason, Zaches took the coming of dawn for a good sign.
When Greg came to life after his resurrection, the car was miles away from the forest.
Zaches stopped along the side of the highway and sobbed. His had lost his race with death. the girl’s last breath had left her body hours before. The dwarf wept bitterly, plagued by grievance and anger. He was mad at the Judge, Greg, himself, and the damned dawn, w
hich had given him false hope. And now, as if nothing had happened, it had turned into a beautiful sunny day.
