At this, Carac Frye tilted his head, as if to better hear a muffled voice from below the floor. I surreptitiously reached for the little pan, my hand sheathed by my apron, for it was made of thick crockery; the handle was hot.
But Carac caught my movement and growled a few words in an unfamiliar tongue, flicking his hand in my direction. I gasped in pain and brought my free hand to my eyes. My vision blurred and I could not see.
Gerinet cried, “What have you done to her?"
If only she would stay silent, and stay back—in a moment he would have her. I could not see my hand in front of my face: the world had become a many-colored blur. But I flung the pan in his direction.
He screamed and the crock shattered on the slate floor.
Over the sound of Carac's moans, I called, “Gerinet, stay back! Don't go near him. Gerinet, are you all right? Don't touch the liquid, do you hear me? Whatever you do, don't let it touch your skin."
"Mother, what have you done to him?” I could hear she was at the far end of the room. “Mother?"
I reached for the wall and edged away from the hearth. I found I was shaking. Carac was still moaning, in a rhythmic, animal way.
The door burst open, and Owit said, “What in blazes is going on here?"
I went straight to the sound of his voice; he held me up by the wrists. It was the only thing keeping me standing, the strength that flowed from my husband to me.
Then came the explanations. The potion was still dangerous, because it was absorbed through the pores, and they must carefully clean the room of every drop, and remove and burn Carac Frye's clothing. The boys must stay in the barn for the time being. All the while, Gerinet's husband crouched on the floor, moaning.
"What are we to do with him?"
"Put him to bed,” I said. “I have a sleeping potion upstairs that will help. Where is Gerinet?"
"I'm here,” said Gerinet's voice by my ear. “But what about your eyes? Are you blind?"
"Blind enough. I can see light and shadow, that's all."
"You must have a recipe—"
"Not for this."
* * * *
While Carac Frye slept fitfully upstairs under Owit's watchful eye, Gerinet searched my trousseau for a spell that restored sight.
"Ointment for the eyes to enable the user to see past illusion,” Gerinet read. “Soup that sharpens the senses. A cream that encourages healing. For seeing in the dark. Mother, none of these are quite right."
"Maybe there is some common ingredient that has to do with sight,” I said. “Combined with the healing cream, we might have something useful."
"Or we might have something harmful,” said Gerinet.
My eyes constantly burned, as if I had a fever. “I'll take that risk,” I said.
* * * *
When Carac Frye woke, he was confused and slow of speech. He knew nothing of himself: not his name, his past, his talents. I could no longer sense magic clinging to him as it had before. He was empty as a spilled kettle.
But he was Gerinet's husband, and our joint responsibility. And since he was like an unformed child, we took it upon ourselves to raise him right. Oh, there were flashes of the old Carac—the lopsided grin, a gesture, a fit of temper when he was frustrated—but, essentially, the wizard was dead. His replacement, this new man in the old body, seemed oddly flat without the memories that make up a man. He had no opinions but those we gave him.
We kept Carac on as a farm hand, and he slowly learned how to split wood, and make hay, and care for the animals. Learning was difficult for him—especially reading or tasks that exercised one's memory. He never could keep the animals’ names straight.
Gerinet bore it all, not patiently, but I give her credit for trying. The man she'd loved and feared was gone. In his place was this hollow fellow who only looked like her husband. For all the world cared or knew, she was still married. She tolerated him, with an absent kindness, but treated him only as a foster-brother, and they slept apart.
In the months that followed, Gerinet set herself to restoring my eyesight: she ransacked my trousseau for the ingredients to sharpen eyesight, and experimented with endless potions, creams, and oils. In the end, my vision mostly healed; although I leave the fine sewing to others now.
One day, some years later, Carac Frye wandered off into a snowstorm after a lost sheep. Owit and the boys searched as best as they could, but the storm developed into the worst blizzard in years, and he was not found for four days. He had frozen to death within a half-mile of the barn. They found him with his arms around the dead sheep, as if he'd been trying to keep it warm, or to warm himself.
"If only he'd not lost his memory, he could have found his way home easy as walking across a room,” said Owit, thawing out by the fire that night.
"At last,” said Gerinet softly. She had slipped past girlhood and settled into the loveliness of a woman, fierce and sad and knowing.
I shivered, but not from the cold. I knew what she'd meant—in truth, I'd felt the same. I'd killed him partway, stealing his memory; now the storm had done the rest.
There was no potion in my trousseau for forgiveness.
[Back to Table of Contents]
People
* * * *
V. Anne Arden has a doctorate in biology and is currently a postdoc (the way-station between student and professor). She has been telling herself stories for as long as she can remember, and is happy that other people would like to read them. She looks at the sun often, and has even seen an eclipse.
* * * *
Sally Bayley has taught writing and literature in the USAand the UK. She currently teaches literature at Balliol College, Oxford. She has published poems in several literary journals and contributes regularly to the Balliol College journal. She is in the process of setting up an international literary and poetry journal. She has no illusions that one day she will be famous.
* * * *
David Blair has poems forthcoming in Fence, Hotel Amerika, and The Greensboro Review. He teaches at the New England Institute of Art.
* * * *
Gwenda Bond blogs with a glass of chardonnay in hand and an easy familiarity with best and worst of the silver screen. (bondgirl.blogspot.com)
* * * *
Richard Butner is a slow-moving, tree-dwelling mammal who hangs upside down from branches and feeds on leaves and fruits. Small Beer have just published a chapbook of his short fiction, Horses Blow Up Dog City &Other Stories. (richardbutner.com)
* * * *
J. Cox has had poetry published in Flesh and Blood, Once Upon a World, Eclipse, and other magazines.
* * * *
L. Timmel Duchamp lives in the Pacific Northwest. Her collection, Love's Body, Dancing in Time, (Aqueduct Press) is on your reading list. (ltimmel.home.mindspring.com)
* * * *
Bret Fetzer writes plays and short stories. His collections of original fairy tales, Tooth & Tongue and Petals & Thorns, are available through www.pistilbooks.net. He wrote the narration for the documentary film Le Petomane: Fin de Siecle Fartiste, directed by Igor Vamos. He is a company member of Annex Theatre in Seattle, WA.
* * * *
Douglas Lain recognizes that he is a member of the entertained public—a public that Guy Debord described in his 1978 film In Girum Imus Nocte et Consumimur Igni as “dying in droves on the freeways, and in each flu epidemic and each heat wave, and with each mistake of those who adulterate their food, and each technical innovation profitable to the numerous entrepreneurs for whose environmental developments they serve as guinea pigs."
Last week Lain drank six Starbuck's coffees and daydreamed about revolution 12.5 times. Douglas Lain lives in Portland, Oregon with his wife, daughter, and two sons. (douglaslain.com)
* * * *
Jay Lake lives in Portland, OR. He is a finalist for the 2004 John W.Campbell Award for Best New Writer, as well as for the 2004 Hugo Award for Best Novelette. His stories have appeared in Asimov's, Leviathan 4, Postscripts, and Realms
of Fantasy. (jlake.com)
* * * *
Matthew Latkiewicz owns and spends a lot of time at The Lady Killigrew, a cafe/pub in Montague, MA. Personal Statistics (partial list): First CDs ever purchased: DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince He's the DJ, I'm the Rapper, and Def Leppard's Hysteria . . . Number of times haircut has been a “buzzcut": one . . . Books read in one sitting (not including young adult): Jim Thompson's A Hell of a Woman; and Nicholas Mosley's Impossible Object.
* * * *
Christoph Meyer lives in a restored mill in Howard, OH with his wife and young son. He publishes a fanzine entitled Twenty-eight Pages Lovingly Bound with Twine. He doesn't hold any degrees and has won no prestigious awards. He doesn't have electronic mail but can reached via the good ol’ USPS at P.O. Box 106 Danville, OH 43014.
* * * *
Devon Monk lives in Oregon's microbrew country. Her short fiction has appeared in such venues as the Year's Best Fantasy 2, Amazing Stories, Realms of Fantasy, Talebones, &c. In addition to short fiction, she is currently writing novels in which the hamster is optional.
* * * *
Susan Mosser once worked in a bakery. She also once worked on a zine, Turbocharged Fortune Cookie. She still lives in Florida. Her story “Bumpship,” from the anthology Trampoline, was reprinted in The Year's Best Science Fiction.
* * * *
David Connerley Nahm, born in Kentucky, now lives in Carrboro, NC, with his wife and cat. He is in the pop band Audubon Park. He has stories forthcoming in Trunk Stories and The Surgery of Modern Warfare.
* * * *
Deborah Roggie has read her stories on the NYC radio program, WBAI's “Hour of the Wolf,” and at the New York Review of Science Fiction Reading Series at Dixon Place. She lives in New Jersey and is currently working on a novel. These days, she's too busy writing to embroider much.
* * * *
James Sallis lives in Phoenix,AZ, and can recommend good restaurants all around the U.S.A. (and a few other countries). He is the author of many good books. (jamessallis.com)
* * * *
David J. Schwartz's eyes hurt. He would like you to know that his fiction has appeared in Talebones, Flashquake.org, On Spec, Paradox and Grasslimb as well as in LCRW 13. He also maintains a reading journal at snurri.blogspot.com and publishes the fiction zine The Dogtown Review. Now, if you'll excuse him, he's going to lie down for a little while. (snurri.blogspot.com)
* * * *
William Smith is a slight, fast-moving urban dweller who shifts between analog and digital with ease. He rides a bike, presently works for a much smaller book-related business than previously, and is the publisher of Trunk Stories. (trunkstories.com)
* * * *
Trent Walters confesses an infamous drug addiction paralleled by none with the possible exception of Thomas DeQuincy. He edits an e-zine, quarto. Works of his have appeared in 3am Magazine, Carleton Arts Review, Mid-America Poetry Review, Minnesota River Review, The Pittsburgh Quarterly, &c. (geocities.com/storeez1/quarto.html)
* * * *
[Back to Table of Contents]
A NOtE AbOUt thE TYpE
DAvId J. ShUUArtz
ThIs vOlUmE Is sEt In HYDO 3, thE mOst rEAdAblE Of thE tYpEfAsEs krEAtEd bY thE EngrAvEr HErnAndO YUsEf DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY. HYDO 3's bOld EmphAsIs On vOUUEls And Its dIstInktIvE dOUblE-U hAvE kAUsEd fAInt-hEArtEd prIntIng hOUsEs tO dIsmIss It As UnfrIEndlY tO thE EYE, bUt It hOlds A pEkUlIAr shArm fOr OUr shAIrmAn, Mr. OtIs R. TEslEnkO III, pArtIkUlArlY sInsE hIs AksIdEnt. If nOt fOr Mr. TEslEnkO's mEntIOn Of HYDO 3 tO thE AUthOr Of GhOst TOUUns of thE AmErIkAn UUEst And thE AUthOr's sUbsEqUEnt EnthUsIAsm fOr UsIng A tYpEfAsE UUIth rOOts In thE sUbjEkt mAttEr Of hIs vOlUmE UUE UUOUld AlmOst sErtAInlY hAvE shOsEn A mOrE EYE-frIEndlY bUt, As Mr. TEslEnkO qUItE rIghtlY pUts It, “lEss shAllEngIng” tYpE.
HErnAndO YUsEf DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY UUAs bOrn In UUhAt UUAs thEn thE UUYOmIng TErrItOrY, And UUOrkEd As A rAnshhAnd And ItInErAnt blAksmIth fOr thE fIrst pArt Of hIs lIfE. HE Is rEpUtEd tO hAvE bEEn IllItErAtE UntIl thE AgE Of thIrtY-tUUO, UUhEn A hOrsE hE UUAs shOEIng kIkkEd hIm In thE hEAd. HE UUAs kOmAtOsE fOr tUUEntY-thrEE dAYs, dUrIng UUhIsh hE klAImEd tO hAvE gOnE tO hEAvEn, UUhErE hE UUAs AskEd bY St. PEtEr tO UUrItE hIs nAmE In thE BOOk Of EtErnItY. As hE UUAs UnAblE tO dO sO, hE UUAs dEnIEd AdmIssIOn tO thE pEArlY gAtEs And kOndEmnEd tO tOIl In thE fIrEs Of HAdEs fOrgIng thE shAklEs Of thE dAmnEd.
UUhEn HErnAndO YUsEf DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY UUOkE frOm hIs kOmA hE UUAs kOnvInsEd thAt hE hAd bEEn gIvEn AnOthEr shAnsE, And hE UUAs dEtErmInEd tO UsE thE tImE grAntEd hIm tO mAstEr thE skIll Of UUrItIng. HOUUEvEr, hE UUAs dEtErmInEd nOt tO pUrsUE lItErAsY thrOUgh thE nOrmAl shAnnEls. It shOUld bE sAId thAt prIOr tO hIs AksIdEnt HErnAndO YUsEf DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY hAd rEgArdEd UUrIttEn lAngUAgE As A thIng Of mAgIk, And It UUAs thIs kOnsEptIOn UUhIsh InfOrmEd hIs qUEst. HE UUAs dEtErmInEd tO pEnEtrAtE tO thE nAkEd rOOts Of UUrItIng, tO sEIzE EAsh lEttEr In thE fUllnEss Of Its mEAnIng.
HEnsE DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY dEpArtEd thE rAnsh UUhErE hE hAd kOnvAlEssEd, lEAvIng In thE dEAd Of nIght sO As tO EskApE thE IndEntUrEd stAtUs hIs mEdIkAl kArE hAd InkUrrEd, And sEt Off tO dIskOvEr thE AlphAbEt. TO thAt End hE mAdE Off UUIth A lEdgEr OUUnEd bY thE rAnshEr UUhO EmplOYEd hIm, IntEndEd fOr thE kEEpIng Of AkkOUnts. InstEAd It sErvEd As A rEkOrd Of DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY's dIskOvErIEs.
It Is A kUrIOUs fAkt thAt DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY kEpt A jOUrnAl frOm thE vErY bEgInnIng Of hIs jOUrnEY—In OthEr UUOrds, hE kEpt It bEfOrE hE hAd AnY mEAns UUIth UUhIsh tO rEkOrd hIs thOUghts And EkspErIEnsEs. ThEsE jOUrnAls, rEsEntlY AkUIrEd bY OUr shAIrmAn At kOnsIdErAblE EkspEnsE, bEgIn (It Is AssUmEd; sInsE DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY hAd nO mEAns Of dAtIng hIs EArlY EntrIEs, thE krOnOlOgY Of thE thIrtY-fOUr vOlUmEs Of hIs jOUrnAls Is UnsErtAIn) UUIth skEtshEs Of thE phAsEs Of thE mOOn And Of UUIldlIfE spEsImEns UUhIsh hE AppArEntlY EnkOUntErEd UUhIlE lIvIng UUIthIn thE BIghOrn MOUntAIns. It Is nOt UntIl nEArlY hAlfUUAY thrOUgh thE fIrst vOlUmE thAt thEsE skEtshEs bEgIn tO tAkE On thE kArAktEr Of skrIpt: A slIthErIng snAkE, fOr InstAnsE, rEsEmblEs An ItAlIsIzEd “S,” UUhIlE A pOrtrAIt Of A lOnghOrn stEEr lOOks, In A sErtAIn lIght, lIkE A hOrnEd “H.” ThEsE krUdE rEprEsEntAtIOns sEEm At fIrst mErElY AksIdEntAl, fOr AlthOUgh thEY rEkUr, thErE Is nO dIsErnIblE pAttErn.
DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY's UUhErEAbOUts And AktIvItIEs dUrIng thEsE fIrst mOnths ArE AlmOst EntIrElY UnknOUUn. OnE pOssIblE sIghtIng Of hIm dUrIng thIs tImE Is A rEpOrt Of A sO-kAllEd “UUIld MAn” UUhO AppEArEd In thE hAmlEt Of BrOkEn JAUU OnE dAY sUffErIng A fEvEr And bEArIng A sErIEs Of dEEp skrAtshEs On hIs tOrsO. AkkOrdIng tO thE nOtEs Of SIlAs AzImUth, thE tOUUn dOktOr, thIs “UUIld MAn” spOkE nO EnglIsh, And thE dOktOr bEIng flUEnt In GErmAn And FrEnsh kOUld rEkOgnIzE nO trAsE Of EIthEr Of thOsE tOngUEs. ThE “UUIld MAn” spOkE OnlY In grUnts And In “vEhEmEnt rEpEtItIOns Of vArIOUs sOUnds, sUsh As hIssIng, And vArIOUs kOnsOnAnts UUhIsh hE mOAns In hIs dElIrIUm As thOUgh AttEmptIng tO mAstEr thEIr UsE.” Dr. AzImUth AlsO nOtEd thAt thE “UUIld MAn” kArrIEd UUIth hIm A UUEAthErEd vOlUmE UUhIsh hE UUOUld nOt AllOUU OUt Of hIs sIght EvEn In hIs dElIrIUm. “MY AssIstAnt sEEIng thAt thE pAtIEnt hAd sEttlEd IntO A lIght bUt rEstfUl slEEp, AttEmptEd A lOOk At thE lEdgEr, bUt thE pAtIEnt rOUsEd frOm hIs rEpOsE In A frEnzY And fOrsEfUllY sEIzEd hIs prOpErtY frOm mY mAn. It UUAs As thOUgh hE UUErE lInkEd tO thE lEdgEr bY sOmE AlkEmIkAl prOsEss, sUsh thAt UUhEn hAnds UUErE lAId UpOn thE lEAthEr hE fElt It As A tOUsh UpOn hIs OUUn skIn. MY mAn sAId AftErUUArds thAt hE fElt strOnglY thAt thE pAtIEnt UUOUld hAvE kIllEd hIm hAd hE nOt rElInqUIshEd thE vOlUmE UUIth AlAkrItY.” On ThE fOUrth dAY Of thE UUIld MAn's stAY In BrOkEn JAUU hIs fEvEr brOkE, And thAt nIght As thE tOUUn slEpt hE stOlE AUUAY UUIth hIs lEdgEr And tUUO Of Dr. AzImUth's AkkOUnt bOOks.
UUAs thIs, In fAkt, DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY? And If sO, UUAs hIs lAk Of lAngUAgE thE rEsUlt Of fOUr And A hAlf mOnths Of lIvIng AlOnE In thE UUIldErnEss? Or UUErE thErE OthEr fOrsEs At UUOrk? It hAs bEEn sUggEstEd bY sErtAIn skOlArs Of qUEstIOnAblE rEpUtAtIOn thAt DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY tOOk hIs sEArsh fOr lAngUAgE tO An InnEr spAsE, thAt hE hAd sOmEhOUU mAnAgEd tO EmptY hImsElf Of All prIOr knOU
UlEdgE Of thE spOkEn UUOrd In thE EkspEktAtIOn Of rEdIskOvErIng It AlOng UUIth thE UUrIttEn. HOUU thIs UUAs pOssIblE, hOUU A pErsOn kOUld In fAkt UnlEArn sOmEthIng UUhIsh sEEms tO bE hArd-UUIrEd IntO thE hUmAn mInd, hAs nEvEr bEEn EksplAInEd bY thEsE thEOrIsts. AmOng thE OthEr skOOls Of thOUght rEgArdIng DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY And hIs qUEst thErE ArE thOsE UUhO bElIEvE thE EntIrE qUEst tO bE thE fAbrIkAtIOn Of An EksEntrIk And dIstUrbEd mInd, kOnkOktEd As An AttEmpt tO krEAtE IntErEst In hIs lAtEr UUrItIngs.
If, hOUUEvEr, OnE Is tO bElIEvE hIs jOUrnAls, DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY mAdE AstOUndIng prOgrEss. ThE prOgrEssIOn frOm skEtshEs tO pIktOgrAphs tO sImplE lInE lEttErIngs, A prOsEss UUhIsh tOOk hUndrEds Of YEArs AmOng thE EldEr sIvIlIzAtIOns, OftEn tOOk DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY OnlY mOnths. HIs “T,” fOr InstAnsE, dEvElOpEd frOm A dElIkAtElY shAdEd skEtsh Of An AspEn, tO A krOss UUIth sImplE Arms jUttIng Up At An AnglE frOm thE IntErsEktIOn, tO Its prEsEnt fOrm In UUhAt AppEArs tO bE ApprOksImAtElY sIks UUEEks.
OthEr lEttErs, hOUUEvEr, AppEAr fUll-flEdgEd In thE jOUrnAls, UUIthOUt prEAmblE. In lAtEr YEArs, DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY In hIs UUrItIngs tOld tAll tAlEs Of thE AqUIsItIOn Of thEsE, Of stEAlIng “R” frOm A hIbErnAtIng grIzzlY, Of fIndIng “B” And “D” sUnnIng thEmsElvEs bEsIdE A mOUntAIn lAkE, Of bArtErIng mEtAlUUOrk tO A sEkrEt trIbE Of IndIAns fOr thEIr EntIrE AlphAbEt, pIEsEmEAl, A lEttEr hErE And A lEttEr thErE UntIl thEY UUErE A fAdEd pEOplE UUhO spOkE tO hIm OnlY UUIth hAnd sIgnAls And fInAllY dIsAppEArEd IntO thE BIghOrn MOUntAIns As If thEY hAd nEvEr EksIstEd.
UUhEthEr Or nOt thEsE stOrIEs ArE trUE, It Is rEAdIlY AppArEnt thAt DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY strUgglEd tO fInd OnE pIEsE Of hIs skrIpt In pArtIkUlAr—thE vOUUEls. ThE IntErmEdIAtE stAgEs Of hIs jOUrnAls ArE fIllEd UUIth UnbrOkEn strIngs Of thE sEvEntEEn kOnsOnAnts (DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY dIsdAInEd thE thIrd And tUUEntY-fOUrth lEttErs Of thE stAndArd EnglIsh AlphAbEt As UnEssEsArY) lOckEd tOgEthEr In sEvErE grIds lIkE sO mAnY hIErOglYphs, UnIntEllIgIblE. ThEsE grIds ArE rEpEAtEd, pAgE AftEr pAgE, thEIr dIsIplInEd, UnshAngIng lInEs sOmEhOUU mAnAgIng tO EksprEss An EskAlAtIng krIsIs Of fAIth. ThErE ArE skAttErEd rEpOrts frOm thIs pErIOd Of A mAn-bEAst UUAndErIng thE SIErrA MAdrEs, tErrIfYIng pEOplE In thE tOUUns nEArbY, InspIrIng A frUItlEss thrEE-UUEEk mAnhUnt. In hIs lAtEr AkkOUnts, DhImItrAkOpOUlUs O'REIllY tOld Of A pErIOd UUhEn hE EksIstEd In A stAtE hAlfUUAY bEtUUEEn A prImAl kOmmUnIkAtIOn UUIth nAtUrE And thE InsUlAr bUt kOmfOrtAblE kOnfInEs Of hUmAn IntErAktIOn. HE UUrOtE Of fEElIng rEjEktEd bY bOth UUOrlds, And klAImEd tO hAvE bEEn sO dIstrAUght thAt hE AttEmptEd sUIsIdE bY hAngIng hImsElf frOm A trEE. AppArEntlY, hOUUEvEr, hIs lIngUIstIk pArAlYsIs EkstEndEd tO thE mAnIpUlAtIOn Of rOpE, And thE UUEAvIng Of A kOntInOUs lInE IntO A sEkUrE knOt prOvIng tOO mUsh fOr hIm, hE hAd tO sEttlE fOr klImbIng A trEE UntIl hE UUAs tOO frIghtEnEd tO dEsEnd. HE sAt On A bOUgh fOr nInE dAYs UUIthOUt fOOd, bAkIng In thE sUn And sOAkIng In thE rAIn, UntIl At lAst hE fEll IntO thE brAmblEs And brUsh bElOUU.
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