The White City

by John Claude Bemis

  With a snarl, Grevol raised the walking stick over his head. “For you … it is over.”

  The knob glowed brighter. All the sinister mechanisms within churned and whirled. But rather than striking, Grevol looked up at the blinding knob with his mouth open.

  The knob shattered with a surprisingly explosive force. Turning his head away, Ray clung to the girder as tiny bits of gears and debris rained down on him.

  Grevol knelt, holding fast to the rising spoke and staring at the broken end of his walking stick. “No!” he roared. “No! It can’t—” His black eyes went to Ray. The wheel turned, and the spoke rose higher so that the angle was such that they could no longer stay on. Half falling, the Gog sprang with his arms outstretched for Ray.

  His fingers encircled Ray’s throat, clawing and squeezing and slamming him back against the beam. The weight of the Gog’s body tore Ray’s grip away.

  They fell together, Grevol clinging to Ray.

  Ray brought his arms out wide, feeling the wind pressing against him and allowing his fingers to become feathers. Grevol’s eyes darkened as Ray transformed into a crow. He tried to hold on to Ray’s feathers, to tighten his grip on Ray’s slick small body. But his gloves slid to one of Ray’s wings, and with a twist Ray was free.

  He whirled out in the air, opening his wings to catch the wind.

  Below, the Gog kicked and screamed as he fell toward the mouth of the engine driving the wheel, where great teeth of gears ground together. The Gog fell upon them. As the gears turned, Grevol thrashed about until he disappeared, crushed and swallowed by the wheel’s enormous engine.

  Light blazed, white and intense and true.

  As Ray banked in the currents of air, sunlight spilled over the city.

  The Darkness was broken.

  Ray flew higher, surveying the battlefield below. Bodies lay about, some dead, some dying. Most were the Gog’s black-suited agents. Buffalo Bill and the Pirate Queen led their troops in driving back the last of the agents toward the far end of the Midway.

  Ray circled until he returned to the wheel. To one side lay Stacker Lee. The little case of brass gears that he’d pulled from his chest lay broken on the cobblestones just inches from his fingers. Ray realized that Buck had been right about him after all.

  A little farther from the wheel’s base, Marisol and Redfeather knelt over Nel’s body. When Ray landed, he transformed and staggered a step. He half expected to collapse in exhaustion, and though he was weary, the effects that had battered him before did not happen this time.

  “Ray!” Marisol said, grabbing him around the shoulders and hugging him.

  As she let go, Ray asked, “Is he dead?”

  Marisol shook her head and knelt with him beside the old Rambler. Nel lay on his back, blood on his lips. His eyes were little more than slivers under the heavy folds of his lids. He was not dead, but Ray could see the old Rambler was near.

  “Ray,” he said weakly. “Why … are you not with Conker?”

  Ray put his hand on Nel’s forehead affectionately. “Si took the spike. She and Conker … they have done it. They destroyed the Machine.”

  Nel winced painfully, and his lips parted in an expression of terrible sorrow. “They have done it,” he choked. “They have saved us all.”

  “The Gog is dead,” Ray said softly.

  He looked at Redfeather and Marisol. They said nothing. Ray knew what they were feeling. Grevol and his Machine were destroyed. But their friends had sacrificed themselves to bring about their destruction.

  Footsteps resounded behind them, and Ray turned. Hobnob ran with Big Jimmie at his heels. “The hall,” he called out and then panted the final steps until he reached them. “The Gog’s hall … you en’t going to believe it! It’s collapsed.”

  “What?” Redfeather gasped.

  “A flood. Water erupted up from the earth, and the hall fell.”

  “A flood,” Ray said as understanding struck him. “The siren spring!”

  Hobnob nodded. “Must be.”

  Jolie. She had found her captive sisters. She had given her life to heal the Wolf Tree. Ray felt his chest ache with the realization. She was gone. Conker and Si were gone. And no matter what he had done or had been willing to do to stop the Gog, his dearest friends had died.

  Redfeather said, “Quickly! We’ve got to get Nel to that water if it’s not already too late.”

  Big Jimmie’s clothes were bloodied in spots and the greasepaint washed away, except for around his eyes and ears and the underside of his jaw. He scooped Nel up and the old Rambler groaned. Ray reached for Nel’s arm. “Hold on, Nel.”

  Redfeather supported Marisol as she limped. Ray had not noticed before, but she had been wounded in the final fight. Blood covered her left leg. They hurried down the boulevard toward the White City awash in morning sunlight.

  Along the way, they passed the fallen. Pirates and warriors from Buffalo Bill’s troupe attended to the injured. Over by the Turkish Village, Gilley and Mister Jasper knelt over Iron Tail. The elder Sioux had been shot but was speaking to them, his eyes clear. Turks from the village had come out, stripping sheets for bandages and helping attend to the injured.

  As they passed, Hobnob called out, “To the waters. Bring the injured to the waters.” Ray looked at Nel. His eyes were swimming, and his body was limp in Big Jimmie’s arms. He looked too far gone, and Ray’s heart hurt, imagining he’d have to watch Nel die. When they reached the end of the Midway, Redfeather gasped as he saw what remained of the Hall of Progress.

  The west wall still stood, but the roof and the other three facades had collapsed, leaving an enormous pile of rubble. The siren spring bubbled up in a great fount from the ruins. As they ran down the steps from the Midway, clear water pooled and rushed through the streets.

  “Get him into the water,” Ray said to Big Jimmie.

  The huge pirate sloshed through the flood a few steps and then knelt to lower Nel into the spring. Hobnob crouched by Nel, cupping water in his hands to help him drink. Marisol sank down and Redfeather pulled open the torn leather of her legging to bathe the wound. Others began to arrive behind them from the Midway.

  Ray stood, staring at the ruins of the Gog’s hall.

  Voices rose up. He turned to see some of the Snapdragon’s crew and Buffalo Bill’s men being driven back by a line of soldiers in dark blue uniforms. These were clearly not Pinkertons. Ray guessed they were militiamen called up to set order to the Expo or part of President Cleveland’s retinue. The soldiers aimed their rifles, attempting to round up the motley band of warriors. The Snapdragon’s crew and Bill’s men were weary and surely out of ammunition, for they gave no fight. But still they clustered together, unwilling to let the militiamen take them easily. A short distance away, other soldiers were leading a line of agents who had their hands up in surrender.

  Then one of the soldiers dropped his rifle and shouted something to the others. One by one they turned their heads and pointed curiously. Ray looked around. Coming from the Hall of Progress, from the crevices in the great slabs of debris and bubbling waters, people emerged. Their clothes dripping and skin ashen, one by one they appeared, coming out into the street like dazed things, wandering and staring about at their sunlit surroundings. The militiamen left the others and approached these people with dumbfounded looks on their faces.

  Ray returned to his friends. Nel lay back in the water with his eyes closed. Big Jimmie supported his head, and Marisol and Redfeather hovered over him. “Is he—?” Ray began.

  Nel’s eyes opened and he smiled. “It would seem,” he said slowly, “the old fox has slipped peril’s snare once more.”

  Marisol laughed, a sob breaking with it as she hugged him. Then Nel took Big Jimmie’s hand and stood, although he was unable to put his weight on his returned leg. “I’m okay,” Nel said as Ray gave him a concerned look. “Thank you, children.”

  “We best get out of here if we can,” Hobnob said after casting a glance at the Pirate Queen and
the last of the Snapdragon’s crew. “The agents are scattered. And these militiamen are distracted for the moment.”

  Ray stared at the people continuing to come out from the rubble.

  Redfeather put an arm around Marisol to support her, but she walked from him, testing her leg, and said, “It’s better already. But these people. Will they be able to survive?”

  “The Gog’s Darkness draws them no more,” Nel said. “They will still suffer its effects, as will all the people of Omphalosa and Chicago, all who have endured the Gog’s Darkness. They will need us to … Ray, where you going?”

  Ray walked forward into the crowd.

  Other militiamen had arrived, along with Buffalo Bill and more of his men. Orders were shouted back and forth as the soldiers tried to sort out what to do with all the people coming from the collapsed hall. Buffalo Bill’s booming voice carried: “That madman Grevol sent his goons to burn down my stadium, and now some invention of his has gone awry bringing down his hall. Lucky it didn’t destroy the whole Expo. And who are all these people he had imprisoned inside? Got to help them …” The militia officers trailing behind him began following his orders as the master organizer took over.

  But Ray did not answer. His eyes were fixed on a final group of people crawling up from the rubble. The morning sunlight shone brightly behind them, and Ray squinted to see young women in strange green gowns. He walked toward them.

  “Ray, what is it?” Hobnob called. But Ray kept going.

  A silver-haired siren stood atop the debris. She knelt and helped another up. Coming out one after the other, sirens emerged before fleeing toward the lake. Ray watched each one—each one of Jolie’s rescued sisters—until they were all gone.

  Marisol called Gigi’s name. And Ray turned to see Gigi and his family scramble down and run to greet Marisol and Redfeather.

  Ray felt frozen. Jolie hadn’t come up with her sisters. Dizziness came over him. Hobnob grabbed him by the arms. Ray thought for a moment the little thief was comforting him or pulling him back to the others, but then Hobnob turned Ray until he faced the ruins of the hall once more. “Look, Ray. Lookit there! En’t that her?”

  A figure stood up from the debris, a mere shadow against the blazing sunlight. Ray took a few steps and then ran toward her. She came down from the rubble and waited for him.

  As Ray reached Jolie, he caught her up in his arms and did not let go. Her wet hair pressed against his face, and he turned to see her so he could be certain it was really her.

  “You live?” she whispered incredulously. “You live.”

  “Jolie,” he gasped. “How …?”

  She looked stunned, overwhelmed by whatever she had been forced to endure. But she stared at Ray and said, “They gave their lives. Ediet and Yvonnie. They brought forth the spring. My sirmoeurs, my sisters, are free.”

  Hobnob ran to them and stopped to stare at Jolie. Redfeather and Marisol and Nel surrounded them a moment later.

  “Jolie,” Nel gasped, coming forward to embrace her and Ray.

  “We best go,” Hobnob said. “Got to leave the city.”

  “Atsila is stabled not far away,” Redfeather said. “There are other horses on the Midway. Their riders are fallen.”

  “Let’s go, then,” Nel said, turning.

  Jolie was gazing across the fallen hall toward the lake.

  Ray came to her side. “Go with them,” he whispered. “You belong with your sisters.”

  She looked at him. “Do you remember the night The Pitch Dark Train exploded?”

  Ray nodded.

  “I had to leave you then to save Conker,” she said.

  Ray listened.

  “And at the foot of the mountains as we chased the steamcoach,” Jolie continued, “you let those agents capture you. I had to leave you to search for Sally. Do you remember?”

  “Of course,” Ray said.

  A smile grew on her face. “I have found that when I leave, you are not easy to find again.” She slid her hand into his. “I will not take that chance this time.”

  Ray shivered, happiness filling him for the first time he could remember in a long while. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  AUTUMN COMES TO THE PRAIRIE. THE GRASSES TURN A golden brown. Crisp blue skies, with not a cloud to fill the expanse, hover overhead. The breeze carries the hint of winter, coming and yet still some time away. An arrow of geese laugh as they pass what might have seemed to them like snow. It would be more likely in the late season. More likely than what they actually encounter on their flight.

  Petals, white and voluminous, drift down in great clouds from the phantom Tree that rises up from the prairie.

  At the roots of the Wolf Tree, a camp was made. Cookfire rings were constructed, and small three-sided huts of woven grasses to shelter them from the sun and break the cool winds that came at night. But even in the chilly starlight, the party was comfortable and warm, gathered around their fire beds and singing songs learned from Mister Everett and eating feasts gathered from the grasslands.

  On that afternoon, Sally sprang over the rise with Hethy at her side. The girls ran with the grasses whipping at their legs and the fallen flowers underfoot. “They’re here!” Sally called.

  Ray stepped out from his shelter and put a hand to his brow to shield his eyes from the bright sun. When Sally and Hethy reached him, they jumped up and down, pulling on his hand. “Redfeather and Marisol are coming. And the others. The medicine man—”

  “Water Spider,” Ray said, spying the horses trotting up over the rise.

  “Come on, Yote,” Hethy said. “Let’s go tell Quorl.”

  “All right,” Sally laughed, and the girls dashed off.

  Jolie came over to Ray and said, “Nel will be glad to see his old friend again.”

  Ray smirked. “He’ll just be glad there’s somebody else to entertain the girls for a change.”

  He looked back at Sally and Hethy surrounding Nel. Quorl sat by his side.

  The rougarou had returned to their true forms. Their long hair was now the color that their fur had been, but otherwise, there was nothing about them to show they had been wolves. The rougarou were tall and regal and otherworldly with a shimmer to their skin. Quorl’s silver-blue hair danced out in the wind as he stood to put an arm around Sally’s shoulder, pointing over to the fire pit and giving the girls some task or another to keep them from underfoot.

  Nel smiled from where he sat in the grass shelter. The fall from the wheel had been great, and although the siren waters had spared him, his leg—the leg that Sally had helped return—no longer held his weight. The limb was lifeless, dead along with the Gog and his Machine.

  “Will Water Spider go with Nel?” Jolie asked.

  Ray nodded. “One last journey, Nel says, for the old Ramblers.”

  The sun set, and the sky grew orange. One by one the stars came out, pushed aside by an enormous yellow moon rising from the east.

  Around the blazing fire, the group ate and talked and watched the night world from the warmth of their camp. The rougarou were there. The former children of the medicine show and Peter Hobnob. Iron Tail along with other elder Sioux and Comanche and old warriors who had lost their land and tribes before joining Buffalo Bill’s Wild West troupe. Nel and Water Spider sat with others from the Indian Territory, men and women who followed the Cherokee medicine man.

  “Then Marisol says, let’s add some of these mushrooms I gathered,” Redfeather laughed. “Just for flavor.”

  Marisol rolled her eyes and ran her hand along Javidos’s back where he was coiled in her lap.

  “Well, you do have to watch out for wild mushrooms,” Ray said, taking a bite from the meal cake on his napkin. “They could be poisonous.”

  Redfeather laughed once more, bellowing and holding up a hand. “These weren’t.”

  “How did you know that?” Hethy asked.

  Before Redfeather could say anything, Marisol said, “They were buffalo chips. I thought they were mushroo
ms. It was dark. They looked like mushrooms.”

  Hethy squealed, and Sally gasped, “Yuck, you ate buffalo chips!”

  “No,” Redfeather said, wiping his eyes. “I didn’t let her put it in the stew. But it was a close call, wasn’t it?” He put his hand on Marisol’s apologetically.

  She scowled but could not help a smile from rising. “Just wait. Next time I come across something dried up on the prairie, it might wind up in your supper.”

  “I’ve been warned,” Redfeather said. He turned to Ray. “We’ve decided we’re going west.”

  Ray blinked with surprise. “Where?”

  “Vancouver Island first,” Marisol said.

  “To my family,” Redfeather added. “We want to tell them of the Wolf Tree. We want them to know that they can cross if they want to. It was Renamex’s idea. To make sure others know.”

  Ray looked across the fire at the leader of the rougarou. The strange shimmering woman with the inky black hair was talking to Iron Tail as they ate.

  Redfeather continued, “She says the path is open to those who want to leave this world. Your father can guide any who wish. They can go to the next world.”

  “We’ll head south after Vancouver,” Marisol said. “To my grandparents’ people. But we’ll meet others along the way. We’ll carry the news to those that still believe in the old ways.”

  “And then?” Jolie asked.

  Redfeather looked at Marisol and shrugged. “We’ll find you. Sometime.”

  “Can I go?” Sally asked Ray. “Can Hethy and I go with them? I want her to see the mountains. And what’s on the other side. We want to see the Pacific! There’s just so much more to see.”

  “I don’t think you two are invited,” Ray said. Sally and Hethy looked pleadingly at Redfeather and Marisol.

  “You need to stay with your brother,” Marisol said. “You need to help him. The victims of the Gog’s Darkness need to be made whole. They depend on your understanding of the Incunabula. They need you, Sally.”