by Kirsty Logan
THIS EVENING WE WILL SHOW YOU GOD’S LOVE, continued the preacher, his voice intimate now, AND WE WILL TEACH YOU, AS WE HOPE YOU WILL TEACH us, and whatever that was supposed to mean, Callanish didn’t know. The preacher was dressed in the same blue as all the revivalists, but the fabric of his suit seemed richer and denser than the usual rough cotton—and was that a fresh flower in his buttonhole? No, it couldn’t be. Callanish scrunched up her eyes to see better. She had not seen a fresh flower since she left her island. Except, now that she thought about it, hadn’t she seen one…where? In someone’s hair, thick and treacle-dark hair, and there was some bad feeling attached to that—the memory loomed up, the pregnant woman from the circus, with her imperious face and scent of pollen, but even as the memory solidified it began to fade away again to be replaced with something else, something good. The bear. The bear-girl. The beat of a heart.
AND SO OUR TALE BEGINS, said the preacher, his voice returned to its boom, WITH THE SORRIEST OF GOD’S CHILDREN IN THE SORRIEST OF SITUATIONS, AND PERHAPS—his voice dropped again, bedroom-soft—PERHAPS YOU WILL SEE A LITTLE OF YOURSELF IN THE STORY.
Lost in thought, Callanish had missed the setup, but she soon found her place: the preacher was bemoaning the fate of the forsaken sinner, who was represented by a woman in glittery scraps and painted red lips, balanced on a perch so high she could almost touch the ceiling.
OBSERVE THE FRAGILITY OF THE SINNER’S FOUNDATIONS, said the preacher with a dramatic gesture at the sinner’s perch, FOR WITHOUT GOD’S LOVE SHE IS UNSTEADY WHEREVER SHE STANDS.
Throughout these proclamations the preacher was pacing the stage, raising his hands skyward, and ALAS! he proclaimed, PITY THE POOR SINNER, and to Callanish’s surprise the crowd all bewailed “Alas!” and—most surprising of all—Flitch joined in with them. She turned, eyebrows raised, to find him winking back at her while crowing “Alas! Oh, alas!” and shaking his fists gleefully at the ceiling. Callanish suppressed a smile, not wanting the crowd to think she was mocking them.
When the crowd had reached sufficient volume, all the lights fell to black, leaving only a spotlight trained on the preacher. He pointed his finger and swept it around the room, his voice booming over the crowd’s wailing, YOU WILL SEE, MY CHILDREN, THAT A BEDROCK OF SIN IS NO BEDROCK AT ALL.
On his last word the spotlight swooped up to the forsaken sinner, in time to show the crowd how she twisted, turned, and slipped off her perch—dropped down, down, down—and as the crowd readied themselves for the crack of bone, the bright reveal of blood, the sinner straightened her arms, letting the ropes looped around her wrists catch her and she jolted to a halt—her muscles juddering, her body suspended at head height above the hard wooden stage.
THIS IS GOD’S LOVE, announced the preacher, his tones honeyed once more, FOR GOD’S LOVE WILL ALWAYS CATCH us BEFORE WE FALL. The sinner—now presumably saved—unlooped her arms from the rope and landed neatly before the preacher.
BUT WE MUST ALWAYS, continued the preacher, and Callanish wasn’t listening because there was something familiar about that sinner. She leaned across Flitch the better to see the stage, but she must have been blocking his view for he pushed her back. She turned, frowning, trying to explain, and he must not have been able to hear her now that the preacher was rhapsodizing WE MUST ALWAYS HOLD ON TO OUR FAITH AS WE WOULD HOLD ON TO A ROPE, and Callanish was trying to tell Flitch that she knew the sinner, she knew her from somewhere but she didn’t know where. He wasn’t listening, too distracted by the now-saved sinner who, despite having oddly large arms and shoulders for a woman, was still dressed in a sinner’s glittery scraps, which Flitch would surely think was more important than anything Callanish had to say.
BUT WE MUST NEVER—and here the preacher’s voice took on a forbidding edge—WE MUST NEVER CLING TO UNHOLY THINGS, and he took hold of the sinner’s dress and, in one swift movement, tore it off.
The crowd gasped, shrieked, couldn’t decide whether to cover their eyes or lean forward for a better view. But underneath the glittery scraps the sinner was clothed in a flesh-colored bodysuit, and it seemed to Callanish that she might as well be naked, except that technically no skin was on show, and she had an enormous flaming heart painted on her chest, from her collarbone right down to her breasts. Callanish wasn’t sure what the heart meant, but the crowd seemed to know, as they all leapt to their feet and clapped and cheered. The sinner swooned into the preacher’s arms, making the tears painted on her cheeks sparkle.
As he held her, the preacher was saying THE KNOTS OF OUR LOVE FOR GOD WILL HOLD FAST THROUGH ANY STORM, and Callanish shouted into Flitch’s ear: “I know her.”
“Who?” he mouthed back.
“The sinner. But she’s not a sinner, she’s an acrobat in a circus.”
She could hardly hear herself over the burr of the preacher and the praise-shrieking of the crowd, but Flitch must have heard. He tipped back his head and laughed right up at the ceiling.
“Clever, clever, little fish!” He leaned in close and shouted into Callanish’s ear, intimate despite the crowd. “But don’t let the revivalists hear you call it a circus. They won’t take kindly to that.”
Callanish shook her head, mouthing, “No, I didn’t mean—” It didn’t matter. The show had reached its climax and the crowd had rushed the stage, frantic to touch the saved sinner, to be blessed by the preacher. Callanish hunched over in her seat, trying not to let any of the passing limbs hit her.
For the revivalists, the show had been a success. By the next morning, their crew would be even larger—but soon Callanish would not be a part of it.
—
Callanish spent the rest of her time on the revival boat—fifty-nine window-washings, twenty-one deck-scrubbings, ninety-two sheet-rinsings—trying to be alone with the acrobat. At first she’d hoped that the acrobat’s presence meant that the whole circus was on board, but she soon realized that was impossible. If the revivalists had a bear, the revival show would have a bear.
Her task was not easy. Even at night Callanish was surrounded by revivalists; as she and Flitch weren’t married, the crew manager had forbidden them to share a cabin, eliciting a barely suppressed snigger from Flitch and a not-at-all-suppressed grimace from Callanish. Instead she was assigned to a narrow bunk among many rows of identical bunks, each occupied by a blue-robed revivalist, their eyes glassy with bliss and their conversation breathy and excited. This suited Callanish, as she was not interested in eye contact or deep discussion.
She attended the revival show each night, but watching the acrobat tumble and swoon did not bring them any closer. During the day, she’d catch glimpses of her reflected in the passageways’ polished floors as she trailed after the preacher, but Callanish clung to her mop and stayed silent. The acrobat had clearly confessed her past on the circus boat, or the preacher would not have known to cast her as the tumbling sinner—but still, Callanish did not want to mention it in front of anyone else. She dug through her memory, trying to retrieve the acrobat’s name, but North and the bear loomed so large in her mind that they blotted out all the other circus folk.
With each passing day, the air grew colder and the sky paler. The boat was edging further north, and Callanish knew they would soon arrive at her home archipelago. She needed to ask the acrobat about the bear-girl before that happened. Rather than wait for an opportunity that might never come, she resolved to make one.
The next night, she slipped into the revival show as late as she dared, to get the perfect seat: at the back, on the edge. She moved slowly and kept her head bowed so that her neighbor wouldn’t notice her. She waited until the crowd’s wails of ALAS for the poor sinner reached a crescendo, and she slipped away—not through the door she’d entered by, but through the back. This passageway was windowless and gleaming like all the others, though Callanish was sure it was not one she’d polished.
She waited.
She heard the shrieks, the wails of joy, the staggered silences that meant the acrobat’s fall, her u
nrobing, her swoon.
Still she waited.
The door opened, making the last of the applause blare into the passageway, and the acrobat appeared.
“Hello, my sister,” she said.
“Hello—sister.” Callanish’s tongue tripped over the word. The acrobat smiled and turned to walk away. “Wait. Please. I want to ask you—to tell you—I know you.”
“That is good, my sister. We are all friends here.” The acrobat rested a hand on Callanish’s wrist—to soothe, Callanish thought, but then realized it was in defense—she had grabbed the acrobat’s muscled shoulder. She eased her grip.
“I mean I know you, the real you. Not this you.”
The acrobat frowned.
“Sorry,” mumbled Callanish. “I—sorry. I’m not making sense. Do you recognize me? We’ve met before. You visited me to—you came after your…I’m a gracekeeper. You were at my graceyard. Do you remember?”
A flicker passed over the acrobat’s face—pain, panic—though it was quickly smoothed out. “It does not matter what came before,” she said. “It only matters that we repent and live our lives cleanly and correctly. That is the only way that we will reach heaven, where our loved ones await.”
The acrobat peeled Callanish’s hand off her shoulder—a little harder than necessary, Callanish thought, though to be fair she was probably coming across like a madwoman—and turned to go.
“I won’t ask anything else of you,” Callanish said. “I’m leaving the ship soon and I may never see you again, so I have to ask now. I need to know how to find the circus. I mean, I might want—I might need to find it again. Do you know where the circus is now?”
The acrobat tightened her jaw. “Once the devil has touched you, you’ll always carry the scar. You can never get rid of him, not completely. He’ll take everything from you.”
“So you know how I can find them?” asked Callanish.
“Sister, trust me when I say that you don’t want them. That circus, it’s cursed. You can’t make that many sparks and not expect one of them to catch. That whole sinning lot is going to burn, you’ll see.”
Callanish forced her face into a smile. “I’ll stay safe. My business with the circus is minor. I will return to the revival ship afterward, of course, to do my true duty. And I may not need the circus at all. But first I must cleanse myself. There are threads in my life as yet untied, and I must atone.”
The acrobat’s expression softened. “I understand. I know all about purgatory. And we all have to cleanse ourselves.”
The noise behind the door had lessened; soon the preacher would extricate himself from his ecstatic children and sweep the acrobat under his arm once more. It was a risk, but Callanish took it: she grasped the acrobat’s hands in her own and squeezed. Tears prickled, and that was one thing she did not have to fake.
“Please,” she said. “You’re the only one who can help me.”
After a moment, the acrobat squeezed back. “I’d say you’re in luck, sister, but there’s no luck to be had at that circus. They’ve been behind us this whole time, lurking on the horizon. I fear they want to steal me back. They have not taken enough from me, and now they want the rest.”
Callanish thought it more likely that the ships were simply following the same sailing route, but she didn’t point that out. “The same way the revivalists stole you?” she asked.
“They did not steal me, sister. They saved me. But I am not afraid, for the circus sinners will not come close enough for thieving. They are kept at bay by the glory and power of Our Lady.”
Callanish thought it more likely that the circus folk wanted to avoid performing on the same island on the same night as the revivalists, but she didn’t point that out either. “So tomorrow,” she said, “when we go ashore at North-West 22, if I wait there then they’ll come, and—”
“But we won’t go ashore there.”
“What? Why?”
“They’re pagans, my sister. Tree-worshippers. The preacher says that we have gained family from every island, in every archipelago, but never that one. They are irredeemable sinners. It would be a waste and a danger.”
The passageway was windowless, white-scrubbed, lined with door after door after door, but Callanish saw none of it: all she could see was the expanse of ocean between herself and her island.
“So all I have to do,” she murmured, more to herself than to the acrobat, “is get from the ship to the island.” She began to wander away down the passageway, then rushed back to grip the acrobat’s hands in thanks. “From here to there!” she said. “That’s all I need. And then I’ll know. And if I need to, I’ll wait. For the circus, and the bear, and my—I’ll wait.” She released the acrobat before wandering away in the other direction, head bowed.
“I hope someone saves you, my sister,” called the acrobat after her. “Even if they have to steal you first.”
But Callanish barely heard. In her mind, she was already home.
—
The next morning Callanish woke before dawn. The room was restless with the sounds of sleep, but that was not why she woke. She could smell oak leaves. She inhaled so deeply she felt the muted clicking of her vertebrae. Eyes bleary, she slid from her bed. Through the door, down the passageways, up on to the deck, and still she could not breathe in deeply enough, and still she could be dreaming. Out of habit she checked her hands; she felt the silk gloves, and knew she was awake. In dreams her hands were always bare. In dreams she slipped into the sea and felt it soothe her tired, air-parched skin.
The night’s cold hit her with a slap. She crossed her arms over her chest, hunching so that her blue nightgown covered her knees. From the deck of the boat, she saw her home island: the answer to her question. The scent of oak trees enveloped her.
She wanted to turn the ship around and sail to her empty graceyard without looking back. She sat cross-legged on the deck, back pressed hard against the wall, and watched her distant island.
Clouds thickened overhead. Through the gaps, the blackness smudged to gray, to pale blue, to the first pinkish wisps of dawn, and the oak-tree scent was as soft and comforting as a feather bed, and the air grew heavy around her, and perhaps she dozed off, because she snapped awake to the warm weight of an arm around her shoulders.
“Good morning, little fish. I see you’ve made it home.”
She shrugged off Flitch’s arm and stood, feeling her joints crack. The first heavy raindrop plipped on to the deck.
“Not yet, Flitch. I won’t really be there until my feet touch the land.”
“Don’t be a silly fishy! You’re so close. Can’t you smell the trees? Can’t you smell your mother?”
Callanish clenched her jaw and breathed hard before she could speak. “You said you’d bring me home, and you did, and I am grateful. Thank you, Flitch. But I have to go now.”
Flitch smiled and turned his palms to the sky. “In this terrible weather? We can’t take the cutter out in this. We’ll have to wait for the rain to stop. But whatever can we do to entertain ourselves until—” A raindrop hit his upturned palm and he frowned at it, rubbing his hand on his leg as if it had hurt. “Until the rain stops? Speaking of which, we haven’t agreed on a payment for my services.”
“I only have a few coins,” said Callanish. “Nothing to trade. But you can have the coins, all of them. I’ll get them right now.”
“Oh little fish, we always have something worth trading. You paid me before, didn’t you? I’m sure there are plenty of coins left in that soft little purse of yours.” He leaned closer to her, rain heavy on his eyelashes. “How about you make a partial payment now, hmm? Then when we rescue my cutter, maybe we can renegotiate terms.”
The rain grew heavier, thudding on Callanish’s shoulders, and she saw it was not water now but ice, breaking apart as it ricocheted off her and smacked the deck.
“Seven coins is all I have, hidden in my pillow, and you can help yourself to every single one of them. But I’m not your little fish, Fl
itch.” She put her hand along his jaw. She felt his teeth clench, and resisted the urge to pull her hand away and punch him instead. His cheek was rough with stubble, his skin cool and damp from the hail. “I don’t want you. I want my mother, and I want the bear, and I want—”
A sudden thud, a shock of pain, and they stared as an acornsized hailstone skidded across the deck. Blood trickled from Flitch’s head on to Callanish’s hand, warm on her fingers even through the gloves. Disgust leapt in her and she took a step back. Flitch raised both hands to his head, his fingers coming away bloody.
“What did…?” he murmured. “What hit me?”
Callanish pulled off her gloves and pressed them to the cut on his head, linking his hands together over the compress before letting go. She walked away from him, toward the edge. He could see her webbed fingers now. For all it mattered, the whole of the revival boat could see them. They could curse her and damn her and throw her into the sea, and it would not matter at all, because that had always been where she would end up. Below her, waves sucked at the boat, hungry for her. She had traveled halfway around the world and ended up exactly where she started.
The hail drummed on the deck, scudding messily, turning the polished metal white. The noise of it blocked all thought. Callanish concentrated on staying still, her feet slippery on the ice. She put her hands on the guardrail, Flitch’s gaze weighing heavy on her back.
“Are you going to swim home, little fish? Those landlockers won’t rescue you if you drown.”
One step, two steps. Her silk slippers were sodden and she slid out of them. She flexed her feet, stretching the webbing between her toes, feeling the chill of the guardrail against her bare soles.
“You can’t swim that far! No one can!” Panic grated in Flitch’s voice. “Come back, Callanish. I need you. I won’t call you little fish. I’ll take you ashore, and I’ll wait for you, and then I’ll take you wherever else you want to go. You don’t have to pay me anything. Just stay with me.”
