EPISODE SIX:
DEAD FAIR
The sky looked as if it were melting; the hanging dreary black clouds dripped pendulously over small gatherings of figures as they toiled about a dense cluster of circus tents, kiosks, and concession vendors. All around, there was a vast stretch of barren, empty wasteland; nothing grew and nothing lived amid the boggy expanse. Croppings of gnarled trees and jagged peaks of strangely shaped hills loomed in the background. From a short distance, the two figures headed in the direction of the fanfare could hear an odd mix of sickly garbled carnival music, taunting shouts of boisterous barkers, and the excited murmurings of a crowd. The tallest of the approaching pair looked up to the heavens and pointed to the swatches of swirling purples and dull grays of the night. The other nodded.
Moments later, they had come to the front gate of the fair. One was the Ankou. Tonight he was dressed uncharacteristically in a Hawaiian shirt and baggy emerald green pants. His dead, mottled gray skin clung taut to his skeletal frame in a way that made the shirt look more voluminous that it actually was. The lights from the booths and tents illuminated his gaunt facial features like demented dancing pixies.
His companion, Famine, had come attired in far different clothing than he normally wore. Instead of his usual shroud, he had donned a dark blue tank top and khaki shorts. Just like the Ankou, the clothes looked comically odd on the youth. The shirt hung loosely on his pale torso and the shorts were cinched tightly with a length of frayed rope. He tugged at the rope and pulled up the waist.
“When I said to be casual, I didn’t know you’d take it this far,” he said indicating his uncle’s wildly flowered shirt.
Ankou looked down at his garb and smiled. “I’ve had this for years and have never had the chance to wear it. I think it’s nice. It says something. It says ‘Here’s a real fun guy.’”
“No, it says, ‘That man’s fashion sense is as dead as the corpses he collects.’ I’d expect better from you, Uncle.”
Ankou shrugged and threw up his hands. “Expectations are like the people you finally meet in person after you’ve met them online. Sometimes they’re just not who you thought they were.”
The duo approached the ticket booth. Behind the glass sat a tall but hunchbacked witch with a forest green complexion. She put down her magazine, sat up, and acknowledged her customers. She had one of those grating warbled voices that Ankou hated.
“Welcome to the Dead Fair, honey, where everything is foul. What kind and how many tickets?”
“Just two standard, miss,” answered Ankou taking out a burlap change purse from his emerald green pants.
“That’ll be sixteen and half Spirit Wisps, please.”
Ankou reached in, pulled out a handful of white cloud-like material and handed them to the witch. Every now and then, a face would appear and then disappear back into the mass. They cried and bellowed in misery as they were exchanged between the two night creatures. The witch deposited them into an open metal box behind her and gave Ankou a couple of decaying black paper tickets. “Those’ll get ya into all the exhibits and most of the rides,” The Witch said flatly as she picked her magazine back up and began to read again.
Ankou nodded, gave Famine a ticket, and started toward the tollbooth where an anxious looking purple goblin in a silver vest waited. He could smell the burned popcorn, rancid hot dogs, and sweet soul-nectar from the many vendors inside the fairgrounds. This had been the first time he had gone to the Dead Fair in ages. It used to be loads of fun to come and see the procession of skeletons and spirits during the mini parades, toss balls at the zombies in the dunking booths, and eat some human flesh flavored cotton candy. If he had come at the right time he would dress up in the skins of fresh corpses and take part in a grotesque Shakespearean tragedy. It took him away from the stress of collecting and often offered him the only chance to get away with his brother, the Grim Reaper, to just goof off for a while.
The Reaper had been called away to a train wreck and couldn’t come tonight. In the time he had the boy with him, Ankou had grown to see his existence as more than mere existing. He had learned to look at things in a slightly more relaxed manner while still keeping a level head. Tonight the chance to bond with his nephew at the Dead Fair was something he couldn’t refuse.
“Just so you know, you’re not getting my ass on any of those rides. The last thing I need is bits of my face flying off into the air. I look old enough as it is.”
Famine laughed and pulled his hair back out of his eyes. “That’s alright, Uncle. I’m not crazy about those things, either. I’m more in the mood for just taking in the sights and sounds.”
“And people call me the old one!” Ankou replied with a raspy laugh.
The pair handed their tickets to the goblin. It snatched them away, tore them in half with its plump claws, and roughly handed the remaining bits back. It mumbled something about having fun, then continued to look annoyed.
As Ankou and Famine stepped onto the main thoroughfare, they saw that the Dead Fair had a lot to offer. There were many kiosks lining either side. Some offered food, others entertainment. Near them was an axe throwing game. A man in a plain white mask handed the weapons to waiting patrons who then threw them at the screaming humans at the other end of the booth. A muscle bound werewolf had just hit a man square in the head. Blood and chunks of brain rose into the air like a geyser before splattering to the ground below. When the werewolf was offered a toy for his victory he refused and pointed to the dead man. The masked vender nodded and brought down the corpse. The beast took a huge bite from its shoulder, smiled, and walked off into the crowd. Ankou saw a smiling female ghost in a large straw hat, flowery shirt, and lei handing out the rotting hot dogs they had gotten a whiff of earlier. A couple of small wispy gray figures received them with excitement. The sign on her creaky wooden booth read Helen’s Rot Dogs: Guaranteed to be Putrid Every Time! He was surprised Helen was still serving the festering food after so many years. She was one of the few ghosts he liked. It was good to see that some things never changed.
There were tents of every size and color intermingled with the other stands. Some were large striped numbers with tall spiky spires while others were tiny monochrome enclosures with hand painted signs of canvas on their sides. They were all in a state of decay, some more than others. The material sported jagged tooth-like holes, patches of moldering black spoilage, and a very thin crust of grayish-green mildew. The vendors kept to the same theme: their cubicles were in various stages of deterioration and ruin.
The variety of the visitors to the Dead Fair was mixed. In addition to the ghosts and specters walking about, Ankou saw a multitude of multicolored witches, werewolves of every size and fur color, very many voluptuous vampires, a few gangly ghouls, and an occasional demented-looking demon or two. He hated seeing so many monsters. While he appreciated the fact they were spending their money there. Their presence somehow diminished the unusual flair that once dominated the place. There had been a time when the Dead Fair was beings of Death not every two-bit thing that was dead or monstrous.
He had started to call to Famine to ask where he wanted to go first. The boy was looking at a tall, pale dark-haired young male vampire getting a blood soda. He wasn’t dressed the way the usual vamps did this day and age did; instead of chic Goth or highbrow aristocratic garb, he wore a well-tailored blue suit with a black striped tie and crimson carnation in the lapel. Ankou knew the look Famine was giving this alluring stranger. He thought it better not to ask. Famine would tell him anything if and when he got ready. While he wished the kid would be eyeing another Death Omen, Ankou wanted Famine to know that he had his full support. But that time wasn’t now. With a clearing of his throat, the soul collector spoke as if he hadn’t seen anything.
“Ahem. What do you think we should do first?”
Famine turned his attention to him with a slightly startled manner. “What’s that, then?”
“I asked where you wanted to g
o first, child. I’m not in any particular mood to go anywhere specific. Just where ever you want.”
Famine thought for a second. He thrust his hands in his shorts pockets and started walking towards the middle of the fairgrounds, hoping Ankou didn’t notice his inattention. The fair was supposed to serve a purpose other than entertainment, however, he just didn’t want the old man to know that at the moment. “Let’s just walk for a bit and see what they have.”
Ankou followed his nephew, arms behind his back. The ground beneath their feet was squishy and rank. The tall leather boot-like shoes both of them wore offered protection against the stinging mud. Yes, they looked weird with the clothes they wore, but being practical didn’t always mean looking like you just stepped off the fashion runway, as Llorona often said.
They walked slowly, taking in the sights of the carnival. It was pretty much the same as it had been at the beginning. It was interesting to see all the different attractions and offerings, though. There were booths where you could smash he skulls of humans whose heads were poking through a garishly colored box full of holes, partake of such food as Ectoplasmic Ices and Decayed Flesh Cakes, and see the various shows put on by any one of many of the side show performers.
Famine was staring off to his right. He took a deep breath and turned to Ankou. Getting the words straight in his head was easy but speaking them was another problem. Just do it kid, he thought to himself. “You know I enjoy our hunts together, right, Uncle Ankou?”
“Sure, child, I do. I have as much fun as you do.”
“Yeah, we’ve had some damn good times together, haven’t we?”
“That we have,” Ankou agreed.
They both chuckled. Famine didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Speaking just those few words had taken a lot out of him. Ankou noticed this, and suddenly got a strange feeling in his gut. It was as if he had just eaten something that was good for him. He thought it best to come out and ask why the boy had brought this up. “What’s going on, child? Are you tired of our trips?”
Famine answered quickly. This wasn’t the impression he was going for. “No! Not at all!”
“Then why do I get the feeling you’re dumping me like leftover guts?”
“I’m not doing that. Not at all.” Famine said. He bit his bottom lip and continued. “You remember Morrigan, right? Well, she’s asked me to go out haunting with her. You know, just hang out and scare people for the hell of it. Nothing fancy. Just on the moors or maybe in a castle.”
Ankou suddenly felt the gnawing in his stomach stop. Was that it? Just being out with his friend? The boy was acting as if there were dire problems that would prevent the nightly hunts from continuing. He wanted to make sure, though. “So you just want to hang about with your best mate?”
“That’s about it. I’m just not sure how often I’d be going out with you.”
Famine cast his stare downwards at his feet sinking in and out of the boggy mire. It seemed like it was taking Ankou an eternity to say something back. He could hear the ichors flowing loudly through his ears, it was almost deafening. Hopefully, he sounded convincing enough. Coming right out saying that the “how often” would probably be “almost never” wasn’t something he wanted to say. His uncle’s reply was almost lost in the noise.
“Hell, child, why did you scare me like that? I don’t care. You need mates your own age to be with. We can’t expect you to hang around with us geezers all the time.”
The answer took away the roaring in his head. Famine’s head snapped up, his eyes lighting up with a glowing yellow. It looked like he was convincing. “Really? You’re not upset? I mean, we’re still going hunting together.”
“Of course we are! We still haven’t gone out collecting during the day yet.”
“I’m looking forward to that.”
Ankou chuckled again, looking off into the distance. A topless young pale yellow witch with a shock of black hair ran by screaming, “Throw me something, mister!” She had obviously taken too many sips from the cauldron by the looks of it. Famine couldn’t figure out why someone would want to purposely alter their cognitive functioning. He enjoyed being in control of himself at all times. Being like that witch just wasn’t something he wanted to do. To his right, a slender reptilian being with fierce yellow eyes and a thick long tail was trying to get people into his tent to see what he purported to be the enticing and exotic females of his species. He was dressed in a cheap-looking gray tuxedo that had seen better days; much of it was stained and torn. Famine wondered why he was there. No one here wanted to see things that were alive. He was wasting his time. Ankou leaned and whispered into his ear.
“They’re dead, you know. There are some folks who like zombie lizard women. Takes all kinds, I guess.”
Odd how the old man sometimes knew what he was thinking. Could the soul taker have the same psychic tie to him as The Reaper? That was something he’d have to figure out later.
“That ‘s what I’ve been looking for!” Ankou said enthusiastically pointing towards a booth serving iced scream cones. The vendor was a tall skeletal figure decked out in a flowing blue robe that had more frills and lace than Ankou had ever seen on one garment. Only one spectral being in The Deadlands wore such things, his friend Charon. Normally he patrolled the river Styx but when it came time for the fair, he got his cousin to take over for a few days. Getting away from the grind of ferrying always seemed to put him back into the right frame of mind. He saw Ankou approaching and hurried serving a spherical green ghost with a single glowing red eye and tentacles.
“Ankou! How have you been?” he asked wiping his hands on a dingy white rag.
“Pretty good, Charon, pretty good. Thanks for asking. What about you?”
“Good, too. Glad to be away from the other job.”
Ankou was reading the choices of flavors from a menu posted on the front of the booth. Charon didn’t have Raw Flesh or Necrotic Tissue this time. Pity, those were his favorites. Famine was studying the list, too. Nothing really stuck out at him.
“Well, it’s only once a year you get away. I can only imagine that it feels good,” Ankou said.
“I have my neighbor’s kid running the place this time. That good for nothing bum I usually use is away in the Paris catacombs. Says he’s visiting some relatives. I don’t buy that. He’s probably just sitting on his ass at home.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He suddenly remembered Famine standing there and motioned towards the boy with his hand. “This is my nephew, Famine. He’s just joined me in the hunting games.”
Charon reached out and shook his hand. “Glad to meet you. I knew the Reaper had a kid, just didn’t know how old he was.”
“I’m two hundred fifty…give or take a few years. It’s been a long time since I was mortal. It makes time go by in a strange way.”
“You’re better for it, kid. Being alive isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. There’s too much stuff to worry about. Being dead is a lot easier if you ask me.”
Famine liked this guy. He was easygoing and friendly. Not all the denizens of the supernatural world were so nice. There had been that nasty Rusalka that had given him a lot of trouble recently. The entire experience had been a bit traumatic. It ate at his quest for freedom and expression. His thoughts vanished when his uncle spoke.
“You don’t have what I like.”
“Yeah, the warehouse was out of a lot of stuff this time. The Graveyard Dirt flavor is good. So is the Putrefied Slime.”
Ankou pursed his lips and nodded. “I’ll try the Slime. What will you have, child?”He really didn’t give it much thought. Iced scream was too cold, rich, and creamy for his liking. If he was to have soul sweetened, he preferred it candied. Still, he was with his uncle and wanted to humor him. “I think I’ll take Festering Corpse.”
Charon slammed his fist on the booth counter with relish and smiled as best a skeleton could smile. “Coming up!”
While he was preparing the treats, A
nkou turned around to see the sights around him. Opposite the iced soul booth was a large black triangular tent with gray stripes. The weather-beaten banner on the outside read The Great M. Morte. That name seemed strangely familiar. He had heard it someplace before, he just couldn’t remember where. Famine saw the concern.
“What’s wrong, Uncle?”
“I have this odd feeling. There’s something about that tent...”
Famine looked over. Nothing struck him as odd. “It’s just another carnival sideshow. Probably some weirdo in a feathered turban.”
Ankou said nothing. He lingered on the sign for a few more seconds then turned back to Charon, who now had the iced scream cones. The duo took them and began to lick the heaping scoops of frozen milk and life force before they melted. The faces of agonized souls trapped within the frozen treat were already beginning to distort in the heat of the night. The Slime was pretty good. It had just the right amount of rancidness to it. This might just take the place of Gangrene Tissue as a second favorite. Famine seemed to be enjoying his as well. “How is it, child?”
Famine gave the thumbs up and winked. Ankou got out his change purse and set it on the counter.
“How much do I owe you?”
Charon waved dismissively. “Not a damned thing. If I can’t share with friends then I’m not any good. As long as you guys like everything I’m fine.”
“At least take something for mine…”
“Keep your money in that little woman purse of yours, Ankou. I insist.”
Ankou nodded. “Thank you very much, Charon.
“Yeah, thanks mister,” agreed Famine as he ate his treat.
“Think nothing of it…and please call me Charon. That mister stuff is too uptight.”
Ankou beamed with excitement. He waved a pointed finger towards the sky. “Ha! That’s just what I say!”
The three had a nice laugh. Ankou and Charon made small talk while Famine finished his treat. The murmuring of the crowd and the smell of decay, oil, and ozone put him in a comforting place. Then and there, all worries had faded. The events of the last week seemed long ago, but still haunted him. He just couldn’t get rid of it.
“Say,” Ankou asked as he finished his last bite of cone, “who works in that tent over there?”
Charon peered across the way. “Oh, that’s Monsieur Morte. He’s some sort of fortuneteller or seer. Keeps to himself a lot.”
“What is he?”
“I can’t tell. He might be a zombie. He might be a ghost. Hell, he might even be a vampire. It’s just hard to place him.”
Ankou’s interest was piqued. “Oh really? Does he seem a bit…uhm…scholarly? Use big words when there’s no need? A bit pompous?”
“Yeah! He’s really uptight, too. I guess that’s why he seems so weird. Not exactly behavior becoming one of us.”
“Thanks again for the treat, my friend. I think I’m going to pay this man a visit. I just need to confirm something.”
“Don’t fall for any of his bullshit.”
“No, no. It’s just a social call. Famine you can come with me or walk around on your own.”
Famine wasn’t in the mood to be wandering the place alone. As comforting as the ambiance was, it was still alien. “Coming with you.”
Ankou shook Charon’s hand. His face was lined with delight as he bid his friend goodbye. “Take care, buddy. I’ll have to come by and see you soon.”
“Please do. It will be nice to have a companion on the boat.”
Ankou gave his friend a last nod then motioned for Famine to follow him. The boy waved at Charon and followed his uncle to the tent’s entrance. There was no one there to greet them. He couldn’t hear any sounds coming from within the darkness within. It appeared there was no one home.“He might be out getting something to eat?” asked Famine.
Ankou ignored him and walked inside without a word. The interior was dimly lit and quite somber. Three tall candelabras stood at strategic points so that their light converged on a single silk draped table in the center of the room. A large crystal ball sat in the middle and an array of dried flowers lay scattered across its surface. The scent of incense filled Famine’s nostrils with a pungent odor. There was a closed flap on the wall directly behind the table. Famine assumed that the Great Monsieur Morte was somewhere beyond that point doing whatever undead seers did in their spare time.
“Oi! Is there anyone here?” Ankou shouted out. “You’ve customers out here, mate!”
Leave it to Ankou to make an entrance like that. He had once barged in on a village celebration unannounced and quite inebriated. The intention was to ask for directions but he ended up taking them all away in his cart. There was some rule about having to take away any soul that he met while on duty. Unfortunately for those people, he had been on duty. The Reaper was very angry with that. All Famine remembered was a lot of swearing between the two.
There was no reply to Ankou’s shouting, so he tried again. “Customers! Out! Here! Oi!”
“No one’s here, Uncle. Let’s just get the hell out.”
“Bah! The wanker’s just hiding.”
“Or in the loo.”
Ankou let out his characteristic raspy laugh. “Don’t be daft, child, non functional bodies don’t need the toilet!”
A new voice came from somewhere in the room. To Famine, it was as his uncle described it: somewhat high and arrogant. “Just where would a tent have such facilities, anyway, child?”
The flap opened and a figure came into the room. It was a lean, towering man with a narrow bony face, light blue skin, thin black lips, and a mane of snow-white hair. His yellow eyes burned from beneath a large sequined turban. He wore an equally sequined turquoise robe and a pair of navy blue gloves. Ankou’s face lit up as best a dead face could. “They’ll let anyone open one of these things, won’t they?” he asked indicating the tent around him.
The man pulled off his gloves and threw them on the table. “Ankou, you are dressed like a damned fool. What the hell are you wearing?”
Ankou looked down at his tropical-inspired attire and snickered. He pointed towards his friend’s robe. “I wouldn’t talk. Looks like you should have a show in Vegas.”
“Your humor is still as rotten as the grave I see. Some people never alter their personal trajectory.”
Ankou smiled and warmly shook the man’s hand. He turned to Famine. “This is Pytho…or Monsieur Morte as he likes to be called. He’s an old friend of mine. We go back a long way, don’t we?”
Pytho sat at the table, pushed the crystal ball aside, and took off his turban. He sat it in one of the high backed wooden chairs and motioned to his guests. “Please have a seat.” Ankou and Famine sat directly opposite Pytho, who had now unbuttoned his robe. Beneath it he wore a simple black long sleeved shirt and pants. “What brings you and your nephew out tonight?”
Famine wondered how this man knew who he was. It was creepy how much strangers knew about him at times. Famine just assumed for now that his name had been mentioned to the seer at some point in the past. Any questions would have to wait, though. It looked as if his uncle and Pytho were having a good time catching up. It was times like these that he hated being so young. He didn’t quite fit into the world of the so-called adults, and yet he was no longer a child. The bond of long time friendship wasn’t something he was familiar with. Morrigan was very new to him and they hadn’t had time to form that sort of partnership. His mind was lost in a mire of thought when a voice cut through the muck.
“What troubles you, son?” Pytho asked.
Famine didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t expecting the question. “What? Nothing’s wrong.”
It was an honest answer. Well, as honest as he was willing to be in front of a stranger. He could feel Ankou’s eyes on him. A quick glance revealed slight worry on the cart driver’s face. Guilt suddenly came on him like a vulture to rank carrion. Did his earlier admission really not fool him? There was more to say but he didn’t want to get in
to now. The place and time was wrong. He hated being put on the spot like this. If Pytho weren’t his uncle’s friend, a quick spray of obscenities would be in order. He couldn’t do that. “Really, I’m fine. I’m not sure why you’re even asking.”
“I sense a cloud of worry about you,” Pytho said.
Famine wanted to put the man off as quickly and tactfully was he could. “I’m supposed to be worried, right? I’m a two hundred fifty year old teenager. We’re that way.”
Pytho narrowed his eyes and nodded. “I’ll take that as an honest reply.”
Famine was relieved. It had worked. Ankou still looked a little concerned. That bridge would have to be crossed when the time was right. Pytho rose, picked up his gloves and turban, and did a slight bow to the both of them.
“If you’ll pardon me, I’ll extricate myself for a few moments to put these items into repose.” With that he went out of the room closing the flap behind him.
Ankou turned to Famine. There were a thousand questions coming, he just knew it. “Ok, child, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’ve already told you that.”
“That’s bollocks. Pytho is a bit of a telepath. He can’t read your mind right out, but he gets vibrations from people. He got some from you or he wouldn’t have said anything.”
Great. First people were after his energies. Now they were looking into his head. Staying in the last week would’ve been better. If he didn’t answer, Ankou would keep talking. If that didn’t work, then he’d have to deal with the Reaper or Llorona. His uncle was better. There was a bit of levity that could be had with the man and that helped. This is as good time as any to tell him everything. It would also help the guilt of not being truthful.
“Fine, I’ll tell you. All that stuff about going out with Morrigan was a lie. I just don’t want to go hunting anymore. I was going to go away by myself. Eventually I’d tell you I was too busy to go out with you anymore. ”
“I see. When were you going to tell me the truth? How long were you going to keep me strung along? I thought you were more grown up than that, child.”
Ankou’s voice was sullen. His sadness looked pitiful against his garish dress. Famine had to say something. The sight of his uncle in this state made him very guilty.
“Please, Uncle, don’t be that way. You know me better than that now. I am grown up.”
“Why? At least tell me why. I think I deserve to know that much.”
Famine turned to face his uncle. This was hard. Still, he had come this far. Why not take it the rest of the way? He felt voice shake and quiver with fear, sadness, and excitement all at the same time.
“Because I’m scared. I don’t know what to think anymore. I thought getting out and having some freedom would be fun. I thought I’d get the chance to be myself. It just exposed me to a bunch of crazy bastards. Being out there isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Things were easier when I was just hanging around the cemetery. All I had to worry about was when to be in for dinner. Now, I have to watch my ass every time I go out. That’s no way to be free.”
Ankou waited. Was he expecting more? Did he think Famine would talk for an hour before shutting up? He spoke at last, his voice matter-of-fact.
“You’re going to give up? Being a quitter isn’t very Reaper-like.”
Famine went from having mixed emotions to just being angry. “Quitter! How can you say that? That’s just mean!”
Ankou stayed stoic. Damn the man. What happened to the fun-loving guy that came with me, thought Famine. There’s just some tight-ass here now. A very mean tight-ass.
“You bitch and moan about not being treated like an adult and being held down. We let you go and do what you wanted and now you sit there and say it’s not what you’d though it’d be. It’s too scary you say. That’s pretty much wimp talk.”
Famine’s anger grew white hot inside him. He could barely keep himself in control.
“In case you didn’t know, I had some crazy bitch try and kidnap me! Pardon me if that makes me a quitter! I don’t like being threatened! Morrigan almost died for death’s sake! That’s cause for fear! It’s just too much! I don’t want to go out and be scared anymore! I’d rather be safe and chained rather than free and afraid!”
Ankou waited for Famine to calm down. The boy’s eyes seemed less fierce and he sat back a little more in his chair. He looked at the teen for several seconds with emotionless eyes before speaking. Thus time his voice was animated and tinged with enthusiasm.
“Famine, our realms are full of bad things. That’s the way of things. You have to have bad to counteract the good. Keeps everything in harmony. At least that’s what they say in books I’ve seen…and in fortune cookies. I know it’s scary, but you need to keep headstrong. The Reaper chose you for a reason. He wouldn’t have picked any ordinary asshole to be his son. I would say all this is part of growing up, but you’ve been dead a while. Since there is no real growing up to do, I’ll just say that it’s all part of gaining wisdom through experience. Does any of this make any sense or is it all just a load of old shit?”
Famine stared ahead into space. He let Ankou’s words sink in. After a few seconds of thought he turned to his uncle. The old bastard was right. “It makes sense. I just didn’t expect it. I thought you would have said something.”
“If I warned you of all the dangers out there, when would you see and experience them for yourself? You wouldn’t. You’d just have the words of an old man, and that won’t get you very far. You’d be free in body but captive in mind. That’s not what I want you to be like, child. I want you to be as strong as death itself.”
“But it’s hard. It’s frightening and I don’t know if I can do it anymore.”
“At least try! You can’t be a pussy! You’ll never make it!”
“So you want me to go out there and be a tough guy?”
Ankou’s face contorted with confusion. A hint of a smile crept across his face. While he trusted the words of The Reaper and his friend, those same words coming from the man with whom he had spent the last month riding sounded louder. They weren’t laced with the ambiguity. Ankou was straightforward if anything. That meant a great deal. Famine shifted in his chair then turned to face the tent wall.
“In a sense I do. But be a tough guy in both a physical and metaphysical way. Fear will always hold you down. You have to beat it overcome it. You think I’m immune to fear, child? Hell, there have been plenty of times I was scared. It happens to us all. We just have to kick fear square in the area.”
The area! Famine let out a quick laugh. He had to give Ankou credit for trying as hard as he was. “Area, huh uncle? You said pussy just a second ago. Now it’s area? Be consistent. Anyway I know you’re right. It’s just not easy to do.”
“No one can ever say they’ve been where you’ve been or do what you’re doing, child. It’s all new territory out there and you’re the first explorer. That’s never an easy thing. Keep your eye on the trail you’re blazing and amazing things can come. Get out there and hunt like no one’s ever hunted and make yourself proud.”
All the anger and fear had gone. His quest for freedom and self expression was renewed. Coming to the fair had proven to be both an excursion of fun and one of realization. He wished Pytho would get back soon. Ankou would keep talking. “I’ll still go with you, Uncle Ankou. Just let me kick the ass of whomever threatens me next time. I’ll keep a pair of steel-toed boots in the cart for the occasion.”
Ankou laughed and slapped his knees. “That’s the way I like to hear you talk. You can kick my ass if I forget.”
Famine smiled. The light had come back into his uncle’s face again. Pytho walked through the door flap. He had put on a long brown shroud and combed his hair back. “I ascertain you worked over your internal strife?” he asked.
Ankou looked at Famine and winked. “I think we got things settled, thanks.”
Pytho sat. His face was grave. Famine had thought him serious before he left, but no
w he was even more serious. He looked from Ankou to Famine then brought the crystal ball up to his face.
“Now that these matters of yours have properly managed, I need to get onto more dour and urgent business. “
“You’re not going to tell our fortunes are you?” asked Ankou.
“I need to give you warning of imminent calamity. It came to me as I left the room. I speak this in all seriousness. So I implore you to give my words your utmost attention.”
Ankou’s face darkened. He pulled his chair closer to the table and leaned in. Famine knew this look in his uncle’s face. He had seen it when they met The Hunter.
“What is it, Pytho? What do you see?”
The seer put the crystal ball in Ankou’s face. It began to turn colors. First it was red, then blue, then green. The pattern repeated as fine wisps of smoke floated within the sphere.
“There’s a storm coming, Ankou. I see great turmoil and upheaval ahead. Young Famine will face danger. You must be prepared. You must be ready to protect everything you know and care for. Things are not always what they seem. You have to remember that.”
The dancing light played odd patterns on Ankou’s face. Famine also leaned in to watch the globe. He saw nothing but vague swirling mist, and he knew it meant something, even if he couldn’t figure it out.
“The clouds have begun to gather. Stay on your watch and trust those are distrustful, ” Pytho finished. He put the crystal ball down. It had stopped its strange swirling actions. Famine looked up at Ankou, who was now sitting back in his chair.
“What’s this all mean, Uncle?”
Ankou shrugged. His face was full of uncertainty and worry. “I don’t know, child. But if Pytho thinks enough to warn us then we need to watch ourselves.”
Famine turned to Pytho, who was now leaning against the table on his arms. “When’s this shit going to happen, man?”
Pytho looked offended by Famine’s choice of words. He spoke with a forced tone.
“I can’t be sure. I see visions of things not as actual events but as vague shapes and meanings. You may think that daft, but that’s how I prophesize.”
Ankou got up from the table and reached over to shake Pytho’s hand. He glanced down at Famine with urgency. That was all he needed to get up himself.“Pytho, old man, it’s been jolly good to see you. I hate to rush out like this, but I want to show the boy some more sights of the fair. I’m sure you understand.”
Pytho nodded and shook Ankou’s hand. He didn’t rise as his guests moved towards the door. Famine didn’t say anything to the seer. He thought he should have, but the way Ankou was rushing them out made him nervous. It was best just to get out and ask questions when they were outside. As they were leaving, Pytho spoke one last time.
“Enjoy the fair.”
Famine wasn’t sure how that should be taken. Was it some sort of warning or was it jus a polite comment? As he and Ankou were out on the midway again, the sights and sounds of the carnival engulfed them in a dizzying sensory cascade. It was better out here than in that tent. The boy now knew why there were no customers in there: it was just too depressing…even for dead things. You came here to have fun, not to listen to someone predicting dire futures. That was just a downer.
There was a tumult of movement coming towards them. The fair-goers were noisily forming lines on either side of the midway. Famine could hear the sounds of brass instruments blaring jazz music coming from that direction, too.
“Ah, the parade is coming,” Ankou said enthusiastically rubbing his hands together. His eyes glinted with excitement and wonder.
“Parade?’
“Yes, the Dead Beat Parade. All the best and most unusual dead things take part in it. It’s always fun. Shows that Deadlings are good for something.”
The events in Pytho’s tent were still heavy in Famine’s mind. He wanted to ask Ankou what was going to happen, but he was moving towards a clear spot up from where they were standing. Famine sighed and hurried after him. “Stop going so fast!”
Ankou chuckled. Kids these days were supposed to be untiring and energetic. “Can’t keep up with an old man, child?”
They stopped a few feet from Charon’s stand. He was still handing out iced scream to a crowd of ghostly children. Ankou peered down the midway towards the approaching parade with squinted eyes. His voice was distant.
“So when are you coming to work with me again? I wanted to take you out to the waters.”
“Whenever. The sooner I get back out the better I’ll feel.”
“That’s the kid I know!”
With that, Ankou turned back to the midway as the parade was now passing them. The leaders were a dancing trio of skeletal figures in various states of decay. One of them had a face that reminded Famine of the mummies he had seen in books The Reaper kept in his library: an oddly shaped nose (which suggested that where his brain had been pulled out with a hook), a bizarre lipless grimace, gray flaky skin, and dark hollow orbits. They were all dressed in elaborate gauzy hooded robes and shiny golden rings and pendants. The audience applauded and cheered as the dancers did fancy flourishes to call attention to the bizarre creatures walking and doing their own little jigs behind them.
There was a line of oozing and putrefied zombies decked out in fancy black suits and hats playing Dixieland Jazz on a variety of brass musical instruments. That’s where the music was coming from Famine thought. Alongside them danced a few other garishly attired undead things twirling parasols and umbrellas embroidered with beads and garland. Their garments of purple, gold, and green looked strange against the rotting blackness of their skin and bones. One wore a bright silver theatrical-style mask. Ankou thought about Greek tragedies being performed in open arenas when he saw it.
Behind them came the living dead animals: bears, lions, horses, and an elephant all came lumbering along on festering limbs and paws. A couple of nearly transparent female ghosts came next pulling a large rectangular cage that contained an undead chimera. Its body was ragged spoilage but it still snarled and roared at the audience as it went by them. The snake-headed tail poked out from between the bars to add further dramatic flair. A group of phantom clowns frolicked behind the cage. Their painted angry faces glowed greenish blue to match the light of their outlandishly frilled and loopy costumes. There was no use for polka dots here. Famine saw that skulls and tombstones were the choice decoration for these jesters. A fat one carrying a bucket marched up to the audience on the opposite side and threw gooey ectoplasmic entrails on them. That got Famine in the gut; he laughed and pointed with delight at the sight.
Ankou turned around and smiled. A motley crew of wraiths, specters, and other zombies passed them doing a variety of amusing tricks. Some did somersaults, others juggled meaty skulls, and the remaining did a hodgepodge of gruesome, almost anatomically impossible twirls. The highlight was a car carrying The Raging Draculs, a vampire punk band that was very popular in The Deadlands. Famine had their posters on his walls in the family mausoleum. He fancied the lead singer, Nosferatu Jackson, handsome British guy with short yellow hair and a set of piercing blue eyes. Minutes later, as the parade was winding down, Ankou stepped back to join his nephew. He was wiping his brow with a lacy red handkerchief and nodding towards the entrance of the fair.
“Call me old, but I’m getting tired. Are you about ready to head back? Your father is supposed to be cooking some fancy ass dinner. As much as I hate that hoity toity stuff, anything he’d make would be good now. I’m famished.”
Famine was tired, too. It seemed like it had been hours since they had arrived at the fair. He was ready to get home, eat, and crawl into his coffin. He’d talk to Morrigan soon enough. She was off on some society gathering with the Banshee and Azazel anyway. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants and began to walk towards where Ankou had pointed. “Yeah, let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
“You and me both, child.”
The parade f
inished behind them. Some of the marchers were talking to and intermingling with the fair-goers. The Jazz Zombies were a crowd favorite, smiling graciously as their pictures were taken. The silver-masked dancer made his way stealthily among the throng, stopping only momentarily to nod “hello” or to shake a hand. His eyes were following Ankou and Famine.
By now the duo had made their way half to the exit. “So, are you coming out next time? I just want to know what to plan.”
Famine thought about it for a second. “Sure. I’ll try to get Morrigan along, too.”
The masked figure had now broken away from his admirers and was walking a few feet behind his quarry. He made sure he kept enough distance to avoid detection while still hearing what the two were saying. They were still on about future plans.
“It’ll have to be in a couple of nights, though. The Reaper’s having his card game tomorrow. Going to have to get someone to cover our shifts. I’ll call those demons at the temp agency. They do good work,” Ankou said thoughtfully.
Famine’s voice became laced with excitement when he heard that. In all his years with The Reaper, he had never been allowed to be part of the big game night. Since things had changed so much over the last few weeks, he thought he’d test the waters with a question to his uncle. “You’d think I could be in the game?”
Ankou came to a standstill and stared off into the night sky. Famine had no idea what the old man was doing. Had he suddenly gone completely dead in the head? The stalker quickly walked to a nearby tent and pressed himself against the fabric fold of a wall to avoid being seen. “I’ll put in a good word for you. You’re a working guy now so I don’t see why he wouldn’t let you in,” Ankou said at last, “I think he’d be happy you’d want to be there.”
He started walking again. This caught Famine off guard and he quickly caught up. Ankou’s momentary lapse was forgotten in the answer he had given.
“You think so?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
“This is great!”
Famine’s face lit up with excitement. He picked up his pace a little to match the feeling of exhilaration he felt on the inside. Ankou tittered and caught up with his nephew. The masked stalker detached himself from the tent and began to walk away into the quickly thinning crowd.
Keeping Up with the Deadlanders Page 8
