by Merl Fluin
The sounds ceased. She crept back to the cavemouth.
Nine women lay curved around one another, a wheel of flesh with the Directrix at the hub. A moment’s silence was broken only by the noise of the fire. Then the women began to chant:
“Durée durée durée d’or
Stink of ink on the gunsmith’s breath
Open wound on the coyote’s thigh
Incest bites when the fowl sticks howl
Bind him like an antelope
Bind him like an antidote
String him from your yellow hair
Make the bastard dance on air.”
The Directrix’s head swivelled to face Cantos. Its jaws snapped open and it screeched:
“Who is this man and why have you brought him, Theta?”
The nine replied:
“He was the prisoner of the Eleven Twenty-Threes. You can use him to destroy them.”
“He is in a coffin.”
“He must have betrayed their secrets.”
“Eleven Twenty-Threes have no secrets worth knowing.”
One of the nine rose from her place and spoke alone: “They fear him, Directrix. That makes him something we can use.”
The Directrix was silent. The woman who had spoken lay back down among her peers.
Eventually the Directrix spoke again:
“Shall we dance?”
17.
At dawn the Eleven Twenty-Threes came for TJ.
She was sitting up inside the bedroll with her back against the rise, gazing into the sky. A large black bird on the ground beside her flapped away as the group drew near. She rose to her feet and allowed them to dress her, first in a green undergarment, then in a long red flowing robe, then a red and blue cape done up at the throat with a golden pin set with a green stone. They painted a cross on the back of her bare left hand and another on the back of her gloved right hand, and they fastened her pigtails with red hair clips. They painted her beard blue with stuff that smelled like ozone. Finally they placed a domed red and yellow hat on her head so that it rested just above her brows.
“I have transformed a pack of ravenous wolves into a flock of swallows,” TJ said.
She led them in a procession along the bird-lined path to the corral in the hamlet of Neutrino. Lulu and another woman walked one step behind her on either side. Lulu’s wide-brimmed yellow hat hung down over her back; the other woman carried a cup and ball. The rest of the gang went two abreast behind them.
The procession stopped at the corral fence. Four other groups had paraded at the same time from four other directions, each with a single person at their head. Some were dressed in dirty tunics and Phrygian caps; their gladiator bore a flaming torch in one hand and a knife in the other. Others were in long white flaring skirts and pantaloons, or in wild and woolly cowboy gear.
Ignoring them all, TJ rested her arms on the corral fence and stared at the group opposite. Mounted on a grey Shire at their head was the Directrix. It sat straight in the saddle, turning its head from side to side to rake the crowd with its big rolling eyes. Cantos stood beside the Shire, his six-fingered hand hanging limply over the fence. His hair draped his tattooed torso. He stared back at TJ with empty eyes.
The little boy from the day before waited at the centre of the corral while everyone arrived. He bowed towards each gladiator in turn with an impish grin. Eventually the perimeter was lined with people. They shuffled their feet, jostled for position, and then fell silent.
The boy span on the spot, whirling faster and faster until he fell to the ground. His head pointed towards the group in skirts and pantaloons. TJ glanced at Lulu, who nodded and smiled, whispering in her ear: “Companions of the Rosy Hours. Too easy.”
To applause, whoops and whistles from her side of the corral, the Companions’ gladiator ducked through the fence and helped the boy to his feet. She was dressed like the rest of her tribe, her eyes rimmed with kohl. Her dark hair fluttered behind her, giving off the scent of jasmine and contrasting sharply with her white robes. At her belt she wore a sword with an ornately carved ivory pommel that yielded to her grip like a fungus.
Standing in the middle of the corral, she held the sword high for a moment, then threw back her head and yelled:
“Fire from the peak! Fire from the mine! Fire from the mountain!”
The Companions kissed the pommels of their swords and let out a high-pitched sigh in unison.
The gladiator took up a wide-legged stance and danced with the sword. She swung it to and fro in a wild tango, first leading it across the ground, then being led by it. She arched her back voluptuously as the gleaming sword leaned over her and pressed its pommel to her lips. She cradled it tenderly in her arms and rocked it, murmuring to it like a lover. She whirled it in a polka, her quick feet skipping this way and that. She traced pointed geometrical shapes in the dust. She threw the sword high in the air and caught it as it flashed towards her head. She swooped it low between her legs and twirled the blade so that it flickered.
The flickering intensified as she danced. Light flicked across the faces and eyes of the audience, who grew quiet and languid as she became faster and more frenzied. TJ’s head drooped and her mouth fell open. She leaned lightly and then heavily against the fence.
“Ceasefire!” It was the voice of the Directrix.
The Companion was on the ground, sprawled and immobile. Her fallen sword lay at her side. Two of the Companions slipped through the fence and half-led, half-carried her to the gate.
Seated on his camel, the Companions’ leader shouted incomprehensibly at the Directrix. One of the nine who were clustered most closely around the Directrix’s horse called across to him.
“This is artificial dreaming. You know the rules. You have forfeit your gladiator’s place with this chicanery.”
The tooth-hatted Companion spat on the ground but made no reply.
The boy span and fell. He landed with the crown of his head towards the Eleven Twenty-Threes.
TJ’s eyes flicked in Cantos’s direction. Then she pulled up the corners of her mouth and vaulted over the fence into the ring.
The boy span again and selected her opponent: Soldier Boys.
“Choose your weapons!” cried the boy when the Soldiers’ cheers had faded.
“Horn,” said the Soldier Boy.
“Horse,” said TJ. The Soldiers laughed.
Women with elongated skulls appeared. They carried baskets woven from reeds and eel fins, which they presented to TJ and the Soldier. TJ accepted her basket and handed it over the fence to one of the Eleven Twenty-Threes. On the far side of the corral, the Soldier exchanged his basket for a pair of bull’s horns.
Lulu led the black mare into the ring and handed TJ the reins. The boy left the corral. TJ mounted; the Soldier took position, his legs braced. They faced each other.
The black mare trotted around the perimeter with high elegant steps. The Soldier revolved on his heel, watching TJ as she made her circuit.
TJ leapt to stand with both feet on the mare’s haunches. She hopped from one foot to the other, then dropped into the saddle. Urging the mare to a canter, she grabbed the pommel and levered her body back and upwards. Her legs formed a triangle in the air.
The Soldier threw back his shoulders and made a wide gesture with his arms. His comrades set off a volley of barks and whistles. TJ swung round and landed on the mare’s withers in front of the saddle, facing the mare’s behind.
As the mare cantered past the Star gang, TJ kicked out at Cantos.
Shouts from the Eleven Twenty-Threes: “Stay focused, TJ! He’ll get his later!”
Shouts and cries from the Star gang, the clack of wooden jaws.
TJ came round again and kicked again.
Cantos climbed up and straddled the top of the fence, leaning into the corral and waving his arms. One of the Star gang grabbed onto his belt and pulled him, but he shook her loose. He perched on the top rail, both feet inside the fence, and steadied himself with one
hand on the fence post, gesturing wildly with the other.
TJ came round a third time. Cantos launched himself at her.
He landed awkwardly, with one leg barely over the empty saddle. His hands clutched for TJ’s body. She grappled with his arms and shoulders as he reached for the pommel and clung on. His feet flailed at the stirrups.
The mare cantered faster. The crowd screeched and cheered, jeered and bawled obscenities. The Soldier Boys’ gladiator stepped into the mare’s path and raised both bull’s horns above his head.
TJ pulled a gun from her boot, aimed and fired. A stream of wasps shot from the barrel and flew straight into the Soldier’s eyes.
Lulu was on top of the fence. “TJ! TJ!”
The Soldier Boy collapsed onto the hard-packed earth. He unclipped his heart-shaped brain from his skull and held it up high. Blood poured from it into his mouth.
A sky-blue mare separated from the black like a splitting twin. Its bridle and saddle gleamed silver.
TJ vaulted from the black mare to the blue, pulling Cantos with her. He almost fell, but he caught a silver stirrup with his foot and wrapped his body across the saddle.
TJ clung to him with one hand, still firing with the other.
The sky-blue mare leapt over the corral fence, scattering the Soldier Boys in every direction. It galloped away into the trees, fast as a wasp.
18.
“You’re a pretty good stunt rider,” said TJ.
“You’re a pretty good con artist,” said Cantos.
They lay on their backs and hooted. The sky was full of birds.
The blue mare had melted into the earth at the top of a mesa, floating them down to the ground where they now lay. The air hung in sweet, sharp folds around the mesa’s high slopes.
TJ removed her cape and improvised a shelter between a couple of tall thorny bushes. She lay down again with her head close to his.
“How did you find me?” he asked.
“Don’t you remember seeing me when the Star gang attacked the Eleven Twenty-Threes?”
“No. Everything was a jumble while I was in that coffin. It seems you have learned some fine tricks since we were parted at the field of petroglyphs. You’ve been running with the Eleven Twenty-Threes?”
“First I helped them get away, then I told them I had nothing left to lose. I’m not sure it was much of a lie. They told me a lot of stuff about what a bad man you are.”
“You believe any of it?”
“Yeah. I did.” She propped herself on her elbows and looked down at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you used to be an Eleven Twenty-Three?”
He sighed and closed his eyes. “That is a very long story.”
“They thought you were going to buy your freedom by spilling their secrets to the Star gang.”
“Makes sense. But I didn’t.”
She pulled the derringer and the roll of cash from her boot, and held the money out to him.
He sat upright. “It is I who am in your debt, not the other way around. You saved my skin.” He closed his hand over hers. “I take it you’re still looking for Cowhead?”
“It’s all I care about. Leastways –” TJ picked at the ground with her fingers. “Do you – What do you care about, Cantos?”
He exhaled. “I’ve been struggling alone since the numbers kicked me out, and I’ve seen desperation in the eyes of every farmer and fighter in the west. The world is going to hell and it will all be over soon unless the Eleven Twenty-Threes win the day. So what I care about is the Eleven Twenty-Threes’ secret knowledge, their way of life. These days I probably care about that more than they do themselves. They’ve forgotten how fucked up the outside world is, and they take their way of life for granted. I don’t. Not any more.”
Birds clustered in the air above him. He sang:
“I’ll sing you One song, green grow the rushes-o.
What is your One song.
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.
“I’ll sing you one song, green grow the rushes-o.
What is your one song.
One is sameness, reason, heaven and apex of declension.
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.
“I’ll sing you two songs, green grow the rushes-o.
What are your two songs.
Two, two indefinite other, of quantity she is the mother.
One is sameness, reason, heaven and apex of declension.
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.
“I’ll sing you three songs, green grow the rushes-o.
What are your three songs.
Three, three, the element of fire.
Two, two indefinite other, of quantity she is the mother.
One is sameness, reason, heaven and apex of declension.
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.
“I’ll sing you four songs, green grow the rushes-o.
What are your four songs.
Four for the keys of nature.
Three, three, the element of fire.
Two, two indefinite other, of quantity she is the mother.
One is sameness, reason, heaven and apex of declension.
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.
“I’ll sing you five songs, green grow the rushes-o.
What are your five songs.
Five for the human ether.
Four for the keys of nature.
Three, three, the element of fire.
Two, two indefinite other, of quantity she is the mother.
One is sameness, reason, heaven and apex of declension.
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.
“I’ll sing you six songs, green grow the rushes-o.
What are your six songs.
Six for the soft erotics.
Five for the human ether.
Four for the keys of nature.
Three, three, the element of fire.
Two, two indefinite other, of quantity she is the mother.
One is sameness, reason, heaven and apex of declension.
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.
“I’ll sing you seven songs, green grow the rushes-o.
What are your seven songs.
Seven for the music of the spheres.
Six for the soft erotics.
Five for the human ether.
Four for the keys of nature.
Three, three, the element of fire.
Two, two indefinite other, of quantity she is the mother.
One is sameness, reason, heaven and apex of declension.
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.
“I’ll sing you eight songs, green grow the rushes-o.
What are your eight songs.
Eight for the breath of cycles.
Seven for the music of the spheres.
Six for the soft erotics.
Five for the human ether.
Four for the keys of nature.
Three, three, the element of fire.
Two, two indefinite other, of quantity she is the mother.
One is sameness, reason, heaven and apex of declension.
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.
“I’ll sing you nine songs, green grow the rushes-o.
What are your nine songs.
Nine for the wet horizon.
Eight for the breath of cycles.
Seven for the music of the spheres.
Six for the soft erotics.
Five for the human ether.
Four for the keys of nature.
Three, three, the element of fire.
Two, two indefinite other, of quantity she is the mother.
One is sameness, reason, heaven and apex of declension.
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.
“I’ll sing you ten songs, green grow the rushes-o.
What are your ten songs.
Ten for the microcosm, ten for the macrocosm.
Nine for the wet horizon.
Eight for the breath of cycles.
Seven for the music of the spheres.
Six for the soft erotics.
Five for the human ether.
Four for the keys of nature.
Three, three, the element of fire.
Two, two indefinite other, of quantity she is the mother.
One is sameness, reason, heaven and apex of declension.
One is One and all alone and ever more shall be so.”
“It’s all Greek to me,” said TJ.
Cantos guffawed. “They say a little learning is a dangerous thing, little huck, and I’ll be damned if you ain’t the proof.”
Still chuckling, he spilled a pile of bullets from his pocket onto the rocky ground. “Want to live dangerously?” he asked with a glint in his eye.
“Seems like I already am.” She leaned towards him.
He arranged ten bullets into four rows to form a triangle: four bullets on the bottom row, three in the row above, then two, and one at the tip. “This here’s the Tetractys. It’s the same from every angle, and it’s the sum of the first four numbers: one plus two plus three plus four. It’s the unity of the four elements summed up in the fifth, it’s the representation of perfection and creation, and it’s a very secret symbol. If the Eleven Twenty-Threes find out that you know about it, they’ll have you in one of those coffins quicker than you make my heart beat.”
