The White City

by John Claude Bemis

  He had only moments. He dove for the sage leaf and snapped it in his beak just before it touched the earth. Holding it tightly, Ray beat his wings to rise back up to Jolie. As he reached her perch in the cleft of the trunk, he transformed back.

  He had to grab the trunk tightly as a swell of dizziness struck him. “Take the leaf,” he gasped, holding it out to Jolie.

  “I cannot light it,” she said.

  Like before when he had taken crow form, he felt nauseous and exhausted and could barely lift his head from where it rested against the rough bark. “Hand me the saltpeter,” he murmured.

  Leaning heavily against the tree, Ray shook a sprinkle of the saltpeter into his palm and blew on it to ignite the flame. Jolie shoved the leaf into the flame and, seeing fire brighten the edge of the sage, she dropped it into the jar. A moment later, smoke was drifting from the mouth of the jar, surrounding them and slowly settling along the aspen trunk toward the ground.

  Ray held to the trunk, his eyelids threatening to close. The Hound was standing at the roots of their tree, sniffing. It backed away a few steps. Then slowly the Hound lifted its gaze until the mechanical eyes stopped at the cleft in the tree where Ray and Jolie sat.

  Time seemed frozen. Ray realized it might be the aftereffects of taking crow form, but there was something else to the moment. Jolie was at his back, one arm wrapped around him to keep him from falling from the tree, the other holding the jar, where thin wisps of smoke surrounded them. Below, the Hoarhound stared at them. Ray could read nothing from the mechanical monster’s expression to know whether they were about to be attacked.

  Then it sniffed, its eyes slowly moving from Ray and Jolie, scanning to the uppermost branches and then down, past the two of them and back to the ground.

  The Hound circled around and then disappeared into the forest, jogging toward the gully.

  “Is it gone?” Jolie asked.

  “We’d better wait,” Ray said.

  Jolie smiled with amazement. “You did it, Ray! You flew. You were a crow!”

  “It tires me,” he said.

  “You do not look as bad as last time,” Jolie said. “Remember how long you slept?”

  Ray realized he was feeling steadier already. He thought he might be able to climb down the tree in a few moments. He realized also how near Jolie was to him.

  “You can … uh, let go of me now,” he said.

  “Oh,” Jolie murmured, backing away from him and grabbing the trunk on the other side of the cleft. She looked around at the forest below. “Can you tell if the Hound is gone?”

  Glad to turn his attention elsewhere, Ray lifted his hand. “I feel it less. It’s leaving.”

  “Good,” Jolie breathed.

  “No,” Ray said. “That’s not good. The Hound is ahead of us now.”

  Jolie’s eyes widened as she realized what this meant. “Sally,” she said.

  SALLY LIMPED THROUGH THE DARK FOREST BACK TO THE waterfall. She had called Quorl’s name so many times her voice was hoarse. Kneeling down at the edge of the pool below the falls, she drank the cold, clear water until it filled her stomach enough to drive away the knots of hunger.

  She sat on a boulder and took out the rabbit’s foot. It pulled toward the fall, and her eyes traced the tower of mist and thundering water to the cliff high above. It was as if she had almost reached the top of the world. Staring at the cliff, she knew she would never be able to climb up there even if she hadn’t injured herself. Besides, what good would it do? She had no way to reach her father now. Quorl was gone and all of her journey, all she had done and endured to get here, had come to nothing.

  She jerked the laces from her boot and pulled the tattered thing off. Her foot was swollen and splotched purple-black. A soft whimper escaped as she massaged the tender skin.

  “I’ve got to reach Father,” she mumbled. “I’ve just got to. There must be a way.”

  Opening her rucksack, she took out The Incunabula of Wandering and began leafing desperately through the pages. Somewhere there had to be a passage she had missed. Some spell to help her cross into the Gloaming. She simply had to look harder.

  She turned page after page, seeing passages and poems along with the side notes in her father’s hand, all that she had read dozens of times over. She knew the Incunabula forward and backward. She had not missed anything. The answer was not there.

  With an angry shout, she heaved the book, pages fluttering, so that it landed on the stones near the pool. Grasping her rucksack by the straps, she flung it also, sending the bag tumbling over and over, spilling out some empty wrappers of waxed paper and pairs of dirty socks into the water.

  “No!” she shouted. “No, no, no …”

  Her vision was blurry with tears, but she thought she saw the rabbit’s foot glowing as it lay in her lap. Sally wiped the corners of her eyes to rid the tears. As she looked down in her lap, she saw the rabbit’s foot, golden yellow and gleaming in the sunlight.

  But as she watched, the color began to lighten, the yellow becoming a bright, burning white until she had to squint against the glare. She grabbed the foot and found it surprisingly warm. She blinked hard. What was happening? She had thought it was glowing when she and Qurol were just coming up into the mountains days and days ago. But she had decided then that it was simply a bit of sunlight playing off the surface.

  But the foot had also glowed before then. Back when she was leaving the Great Tree. Back when she heard gunfire and saw that strange locomotive coming over the dark plains.

  And Ray had told her of other times. The rabbit’s foot glowed when the Gog’s mechanical Hound was near.

  The rabbit’s foot grew brighter. The warmth increased until it was nearly too hot to hold.

  Sally turned to look back at the trees behind her. Heavy crunching steps were coming from the shadowy forest. Feeling a rush of panic, she looked around. She was wearing only one boot. The Incunabula and her belongings were strewn all over the ground.

  She leaped up to rescue her father’s book. Immediately her ankle gave way and she fell to her hands and knees, banging them hard on the stones. The rabbit’s foot flew from her hand, bouncing toward the pool. She crawled forward, ignoring the pain. She was only halfway to the foot when she saw ice growing at the edge of the pool, encasing her floating belongings. A low growl began behind her.

  She looked back over her shoulder. The monster stood at the tree line. Its white coat was mostly tufted into spikes of frost-hardened fur, but in places the hide had been torn, and oily machinery writhed beneath. The Hoarhound’s gleaming eyes locked on Sally and then on the glowing rabbit’s foot several yards away. The Hound growled once more and lowered its head. Tendrils of icy mist seeped from its jagged jaws.

  Sally felt unable to move. But when the Hound began racing toward her with its steel claws tearing away hunks of earth, she found herself scrambling and kicking to escape. If she could reach the foot, she might have a chance of holding the Hound at bay. Ahead the cracking ice spread as the rest of the pool froze over into a solid sheet. She lunged for the foot, but even as she grabbed it, she knew she would never be able to use the rabbit’s foot to stop the Hound, as Ray had. Fleeing onto the ice in desperation, she felt her hands slide out from under her, and she splayed out onto the slick surface.

  Then something heavy landed with a crack on the ice behind her. It was little more than a blur at the corner of her vision, and then jaws locked onto her shoulder. The teeth did not pierce her skin. They held her firmly, without hurting her. She was flung out of the Hoarhound’s path and sent sliding across the frozen pool, nearly into the spot where the waterfall’s spray was freezing into a mound of splintered frost.

  As she came to a stop, she rolled over to see Quorl stepping off the frozen pool and growling at the Hoarhound. The Hound locked his steely gaze on the rougarou. Slowly Quorl took a few steps to the side, drawing the Hound’s attention away from Sally.

  She knew her friend was far too small to be able to ho
ld off the enormous Hound, and she nearly cried out to tell him to get away. Before she could find her voice, the Hound lunged for Quorl.

  With a deft maneuver, Quorl flattened himself and rolled to one side. The Hound missed him, its front paws digging into the frozen pool. But as the Hound landed, the slick surface sent the creature sliding across the pool away from Sally and Quorl.

  The Hoarhound slipped and scrambled and tried to rise while Quorl hurried to Sally. His blue eyes were wide and bright. “Get on my back!” he shouted.

  Sally had no time to wonder at his transformation. She threw her arms around his neck, and he dashed toward the waterfall.

  As he began to ascend a series of boulders to one side of the waterfall’s frozen base, Sally cried out, “Where are we going?”

  She looked back to see that the Hound was on its feet, digging its steel claws into the ice and racing after them.

  “In here,” Quorl said, and leaped from a rock into the spray of the waterfall.

  For an instant, Sally lost her breath as the hammer of cold water struck her. But then they were through the waterfall and in a cave hidden behind. It was a tall but shallow space, little more than an alcove hollowed out by eons of tumbling water. Sally looked back at the sheet of water and said, “We’re trapped! The Hound will be here in a moment.”

  Quorl faced the smooth rock at the back of the cave. “Yes, but we won’t be.”

  A shadow grew in the bright sheet of water cascading down. Sally watched the waterfall begin to harden, its fall slowing as the water froze. A roar burst into the cave and she knew the Hound had nearly reached them.

  “Hold on tightly to my neck,” Quorl ordered.

  “What—?” Sally began as he leaped at the cave wall. Bright blue light flashed and the rock disappeared, the cave disappeared, the roars of the Hound vanished. Quorl ran a few more paces and then stopped. Although it was nearly complete darkness, Sally could see the vague form of a bridge under Quorl’s feet. Or was it a bridge? The ground was rounded, dropping off on either side into a swirling, howling darkness.

  “Where are we?” Sally found herself shouting over the winds.

  “On the Great Tree,” Quorl said. “Little Coyote, I am so sorry. So sorry for all that you have had to endure, but mostly sorry that I abandoned you. I could not … help myself. I felt the presence of an opening to the Great Tree. I found the cave and crossed. But listen.” He paused. “Can you hear it? The Great Tree is weak here. I must concentrate if I am to get us through.”

  Quorl walked slowly, with Sally clinging to his back. Under the screaming wind, Sally could hear the faint groans and whines of wood cracking. After a short distance, he said, “Here it is.”

  Quorl leaped forward, and there was another flash. Once again they were in a cave of rock, but not the one behind the waterfall. The wild wind was gone. Sally saw a dim light ahead and heard a faint, rhythmic tink-tink-tink.

  “Just a little farther,” Quorl said.

  He brought her to the edge of a precipice, where they looked down at the floor of a vast cavern. Tangy smoke hung in the air. Drops of water falling from the shadows of the high ceiling caught the light and filled the space with a firefly shimmer. Stalagmites rose from the floor, and a dark lake crept out from the shadows at the far end of the cavern. Sally could not tell the source of the light, as it was coming from behind a large slab of rock, but it flickered like lantern light. There was a breathtaking quality to the place—the way the colors seemed richer, the way the edges of dark and light seemed to shimmer—that made her feel as if she’d entered a dream.

  “Quorl,” Sally whispered. Even her voice sounded strange and slightly melodic. “Where are we?”

  “We’re in the Gloaming,” he answered.

  Sally felt her heart jolt. She slid from Quorl’s back. “Is he here?” she asked.

  “Wait, Coyote! I need to explain first,” Quorl said.

  But Sally saw him. A man stepped out from behind the big rock slab. He had stringy gray-yellow hair, and his beard hung to his chest. His tattered clothes were bleached the same color as his hair. He walked over to what seemed to be an oven of red glowing coals set in a nook in the wall. With a pair of tongs, he drew out some glowing hot object from the oven and set it on a boulder to examine.

  Sally leaped to a slope of rubble that led to the cavern’s floor. “Father!” she shouted.

  “Wait!” Quorl called from behind her.

  As Sally raced down the slope of broken rocks, she realized her ankle no longer hurt. The hunger that had pained her stomach for the past few days was gone. But she had no time to wonder. She had to reach her father.

  He picked up a small hammer and began striking the object on the anvil of rock, sending clanks of metal on metal echoing around the chamber.

  “Father!” Sally cried again. Reaching the floor, she wound through the maze of stalagmites until she was only a few steps away from the man.

  He looked wild and disheveled, like a castaway on a deserted island. His boots were split open to his bare toes beneath, and the left cuff of his britches had been torn away below the knee. There was an odd color, not only to his clothing but to his skin and hair as well. Unlike the otherworldly colors that shimmered around her in the cavern, her father’s color had been bleached away. In his right hand, he held the hammer. The left hand was missing.

  “Father,” Sally breathed.

  He did not respond to her or even take notice. Setting down the hammer, he picked up the tongs and lifted the little piece of metal he had been shaping. He went over to stick the object back into the mound of burning coal. Once the metal grew red, he took it out and returned it to the boulder.

  As he brought the hammer up to strike, Sally called out, “Father!”

  He hesitated for a moment but did not turn his gaze. He banged with the hammer, casting sparks and turning the hot metal with the tongs.

  Quorl reached Sally’s side. “Listen, Coyote. Let me explain.”

  “Isn’t this my father, Quorl?” she asked.

  “Yes it is, but—”

  Sally rounded the makeshift anvil to place herself before Li’l Bill’s line of sight. “Father?” She waved her hand at him. “Can’t you see me?”

  His eyes lifted just a moment to look at Sally and then over at Quorl. But then he resumed his work.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Sally asked. “Does he not know we’re here? Are we separated from him somehow?”

  “No,” Quorl answered. “We are with him. In the Gloaming. There is no reason he should not see us. That’s what I wanted to tell you. There’s something wrong.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sally said.

  “Nor do I,” Quorl answered. “When I came through before, I tried to speak with your father, but he won’t acknowledge me. And his color … he has grown into a phantom, thin and fading. I do not know why, Coyote.”

  Sally looked up into her father’s face. His mouth was working noiselessly, as if uttering some spell. “Can you hear me, Father? It’s Sally. Sally Cobb. I’m your daughter.”

  Li’l Bill turned to place the tongs in the fire. Bringing them back out, his gaze flickered to her momentarily. “Father?” she said again, hoping to seize the opportunity. She ran to him and caught his arms before he resumed his work, but Li’l Bill gently pushed past her and picked up the hammer.

  “Li’l Bill,” Quorl said. “I am Quorl. We met once, long ago. I am one of the stewards of the Tree. The rougarou. Do you not remember?”

  Li’l Bill brought the hammer down with a clank, and then another, hammering the metal until Sally thought her eardrums would burst. Stinging tears welled in her eyes.

  “You came to the Great Tree,” Quorl continued.

  Li’l Bill’s eyes blinked as the hammer reared up. His head cocked.

  “You came seeking the counsel of the rougarou. You traveled with a companion, John Henry.”

  Li’l Bill lowered the hammer slowly, setting it beside the tongs. �
��John?”

  “Yes, John,” Quorl said.

  “John,” he repeated, his eyes half closing. “Where’s John?”

  “He’s dead, Father,” Sally said. “You were there. Remember?”

  Li’l Bill turned at last to look at Sally. She was surprised to see that even the darkest portions of his pupils were grayed and ghostly. “Father?” he whispered. “Why are you calling me that?”

  “Because I am your daughter. I’m Sally.”

  The chin beneath Li’l Bill’s tangled beard trembled. “I don’t recollect you, child. Why don’t I know you?”

  “You’ve never met me,” Sally said. “You left before Mother knew she was having me.”

  “What is this trickery?” he murmured, as if to himself. He slowly reached out a hand and touched Sally’s shoulder. “You’re real.”

  “Of course I am,” Sally said.

  “You are my daughter?”

  “Yes,” Sally whispered.

  Li’l Bill looked warily at Quorl and then back at Sally. “You … you aren’t who I called for?” He picked his hammer back up and raised it above his head, but after a moment he lowered it slowly. He turned back to Sally, his faded spectral face glowering. “Why are you here? Why have you come?”

  Sally felt dizzy with confusion. She looked down at her father’s missing hand, the scarred stub of his wrist protruding from his tattered sleeve. “I came here to help you.”

  His expression softened, and he said sadly, “But you cannot help me.” Then he turned and walked away to other side of his forge, where he began to rummage through a pile of stones and debris.

  “What’s wrong with him, Quorl?” Sally whispered. “Has he gone mad?”

  “It’s possible. He’s been here alone for a long time.”

  Sally looked around at her father’s corner of the cavern. There were no furnishings other than the lantern and the two tools he had been using to fashion the little piece of metal. “How has he survived? There’s nothing to eat.”

  “This is the Gloaming,” Quorl said. “The sustenance of our world is not needed here.”