by M. Woodruff
“I’ll need to know where it’s at, Langard, so I can plan a route. Can you at least give me a general idea—”
“Nope.”
“Well, then how—”
“I know where it’s at. Don’t need you to plan a route.” Langard began puffing on his pipe—Nels noticed it was carved in the shape of a squirrel’s head, at least he hoped it was a carving—in earnest, now. Thick clouds were billowing so the man’s face looked like it was floating in muddy water. He actually began to feel he might really get sick. He had to get out of here.
“Fine, then. Meet me here tomorrow morning—”
“Nope. I’ll find you when you’re ready.”
“Exactly, and when I’m ready tomorrow morning I’ll be out front of here. Usually, at the break—well, sometime in the morning. You got it?”
“I got it.” Langard shrugged. “Take your gold and lock it in your house. Don’t want you to spend it all in one place, hear.”
Nels grabbed the bag of gold and left the common room without another word, but all the while he was sure he could hear Langard’s rusty laughter blending in with a thousand squirrels’ cackles.
Nels had always felt the best way to secret away coin was to not hide it all in one spot. So he spent the rest of the afternoon hiding one gold coin after another in every place imaginable—under cushions, in jars in the larder, even in Mistress Whiten’s scented powder ceramic. He knew eventually she would be the one to find most of the coins and that was just how he wanted it. Of course, the whole process would have gone a lot faster if he hadn’t had to spend most of the time avoiding Mistress Whiten. If she spotted Nels hiding any coin she would have immediately put a stop to it, and refuse to take any she did find. Now though, who’s to say where the gold came from. It would just be possible that Mistress Whiten herself had hidden a coin in a sack of potatoes and forgotten about it.
Pleased with a good day’s work and full from a bowl of beef stew, Nels began to feel restless. He decided a walk through town wouldn’t hurt. Avoiding Mistress Whiten, who was knitting by the fire in the living room, Nels sneaked out through the kitchen door. He knew if she saw him leave she would warn him about the dangers of going out tonight with the Illusionist in town, but he didn’t need to hear it. He wasn’t going anywhere near the Illusion show.
The town was abuzz with excitement as the evening darkness was deepening. The streetlamps had been lit and somehow there seemed to be even more ribbons fluttering in the breeze. Everyone was now dressed in their finest—all in varying shades of night, augmented with silver and red to match the festivities. Everyone knew those were Illusionists’ favorite colors.
As Nels made his way to the town square, he saw that here the streetlamps had not been lit. The townsfolk carried lanterns they would extinguish when it was time for the show to start, so any light needed would be provided by the Illusionist, thus casting the show deep into mystery. Nels figured the guy probably needed all the help he could get, and if people couldn’t see what he was doing that was sure to be in the charlatan’s favor.
“Hey Nels! Come to see the show, eh?” Derek, the butcher, asked as he sidled up to Nels in the dark.
“No. I’m just out getting some fresh air and a little exercise. You don’t actually believe this stuff, do you, Derek?” Nels asked, a little chidingly. He liked Derek all right, but they had never actually been friends. The man looked too much like a rat for Nels’ visual sensibilities.
“Phssshh! Of course not! The wife and kids—they like it, so I just said I’d come along. Oh, don’t get me wrong, an Illusionist fooled me once when I was a kid, mind. But I hear they got some kind of training they have to go to. Teach ‘em how to trick gullible people and all that. Nah, one won’t fool me again. I told my wife not to be buying any souvenirs and she better not be dropping any coin in the hat neither. That reminds me Nels, I better go find her. She was lingering a little too long by the butter crock tonight for my liking.”
Derek disappeared into the dark just as a great light appeared at the far end of the cobblestoned square. Nels had expected to see the run-of-the-mill Illusionist’s wagon, painted black with fancy script lacquered in silver or gold on the side, with some kind of mysterious looking eye or other strange symbol etched into the wood. What he did see, however, had him walking forward without a thought to avoiding the show anymore.
The bright light revealed a sleek white wagon covered in delicately painted woodcarvings of flowers that reminded him of icing on a cake. The words “The Illusionist Zircano” weren’t just painted on the side of the wagon, but instead were somehow glowing blue from within.
Mistress Whiten had said the Illusionist was handsome, but Nels was unprepared to have his breath taken away by the fellow who stepped out onto the platform. His wavy blond hair, blue eyes, and dazzling white teeth all seemed to sparkle in spite of the shadows of the night. There was something about him, though. Even though Nels was looking right at his beaming face, it was hard to tell how old he was. He looked young, but he felt older than the world itself.
Nels’ eyes finally were able to tear away from the Illusionist’s face to realize the man wasn’t wearing the typical garb of the profession either. Instead of black, he was decked out in white leather. It was such a smooth, supple leather Nels wondered where he had gotten it from—maybe he could ask him after the show. Those looked to be the kind of leathers a man could really be comfortable in.
“Greetings to one and all!” Zircano suddenly intoned with a sweeping bow, doffing his white top hat. “May I present my appreciation to all of the beautiful ladies I see with us on this glorious night.” The Illusionist made an encompassing gesture with his arm and flowers began to rain down from the night sky.
The crowd oohed and aahed as the ladies and men began grabbing the flowers out of the air. Even Nels was surprised to find he was holding three pink roses before he dropped them, quickly looking around. But he needn’t have worried—everyone was too preoccupied procuring the flowers. Nels, though, began to notice something odd—the men weren’t gathering the flowers to give to the ladies as Nels would have expected, instead they were snatching them out of the ladies’ hands. In fact, now that he really looked, everyone was scrambling around grabbing as many flowers as they could, heedless to whoever had possession of them to begin with. Lady attacking lady; child hitting child; man punching man. And it was being done in complete silence. Not a word of protest was being uttered, even as clothing was being ripped and skin was being bruised. The flowers kept on falling, yet no one seemed interested in those anymore, only the ones already held by someone else.
Nels looked to the Illusionist for some calming word—surely the man saw things were out of control. But Zircano had his back to the crowd and was staring up at the sky with his arms outstretched as if beseeching some unknown force for more flowers, his cape blowing in the wind.
His cape!
Nels eyed the white leather cape with a growing sense of horror as memories from his youth came flooding back to land with a sick thud in his gut.
On the back of the smooth white leather there were pale blue, pink, yellow, and black designs embroidered into a pattern that could only be described as a nightmare by Nels. He felt his chest tighten and wondered if his legs would continue to support the weight of his dark realization: It was time to pay the price of the bargain he had struck years ago.
As if he had spoken the words out loud, Zircano turned around—glowing yellow eyes burning straight into Nels’ soul.
“Yes, Nels,” he hissed. His voice seeming to slide serpentine right into Nels’ ears. “It’s time for you to go home. I’ll be there—waiting for you. We can pick up right where we left off thirty-five years ago. Do you remember, Nels? Do you remember exactly how we left things, Nels?—I do.”
The townsfolk suddenly stopped in the midst of their fisticuffs, and turned as one towards Nels.
Go home! The chant began: Go home! Go home!
Nels watched in h
orror as they began to slowly amble towards him, their faces slack, sightless eyes glowing yellow, stiff arms outstretched offering him the flowers they had fought to gather. People he’d lived with for years suddenly seemed as strangers to him—a parody of humans he had known and loved.
Go home, Nels! Go home!
“You better do as they say, Nels. You don’t want to be responsible for any more deaths? Or, do you?” Zircano giggled. “Maybe you think you can make an even better bargain now that you’re all grown up. Is that it, Nels? You think you can get the better end of the deal this time?” The Illusionist burst into a twisted mockery of laughter. “Well, maybe you can. Maybe you can, Nels Black. You want to try me?”
Nels took one more look at his friends, the blood pounding in his ears. He couldn’t…He should just kill Zircano right here and now…but…he couldn’t. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew—whatever this Illusionist was—he wasn’t human, no matter what he looked liked tonight—he couldn’t be killed, now. Maybe, not ever.
Nels did the only sensible thing under the circumstances: He ran.
He didn’t even bother going by Mistress Whiten’s to gather any supplies, he just ran straight into the Deadwood forest cursing himself for a coward, patting himself on the back for saving the townsfolk, and looking over his shoulder hoping against hope that Zircano wasn’t following him. He wasn’t. Over his labored breathing, Nels heard oohs and aahs emanating from the town square as fireworks lit the night sky. Apparently, Zircano wasn’t one to disappoint an audience by running out on a show.
Nels would have cursed his haste if he hadn’t been so familiar with the Deadwood. Now that night had well and truly fallen, it was pitch black under the heavy canopy of trees, and he didn’t have any flame. But Nels knew where he had entered the woods, so he knew approximately how far he needed to walk to find the perfect copse of trees to spend the night in. Luckily, it would be a warm night, and as much as he enjoyed a soft mattress to bed down on, the loamy ground suited him just as well.
As he got closer to the spot he was looking for, Nels caught a faint whiff of smoke. “That’s passing strange,” he mumbled. No one should be out here that he was aware of—and it was his business to be aware of every single person who passed through his part of the Deadwood. He continued walking, and in direct proportion the smell of smoke continued getting stronger until he saw a small fire burning right in the middle of his perfect copse of trees.
Outraged, Nels threw caution to the wind, and strode right up to the campfire. “You!” He bellowed at the squat figure perched in the orange glow.
“Aye, Nels. It’s me,” said Langard Turkand.
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be asleep at The Rickety Inn, not tending campfires in the middle of my forest without me!”
“I told you I’d meet you when you were ready. And here I am, so that obviously means you’re ready,” Langard answered placidly. “Sit down…sit down. Don’t be so obtuse. This really is a lovely spot I’ve found for a peaceful night’s sleep. We’ll get started in the morning. No need to rush, now is there?”
Nels ground his teeth, but he sat. He was too tired to argue. The man was still wearing his squirrel-skin coat and hat, even though it was warm out and he was sitting in front of a fire. Nels didn’t see how he could stand it. But, he had more important things to think about than the old man’s body temperature.
“All right. We’ll camp here tonight. But no talking. I don’t care about your life back in The King’s City or how smart you are about hunting bears. And don’t ask me any questions, either. Your coin starts tomorrow.”
“Sounds fair,” Langard said, smiling to reveal only two teeth.
Suppressing a shudder, Nels stalked over to a large tree with an adequate sleeping crook. So much for sleeping on the ground. He guessed he’d have to get used to sleeping in trees. He didn’t want to be sleeping on the same plane with that old man, no matter how far apart they bedded.
Sleep came easier than Nels had expected. Chiefly, because he was exhausted after his frightful run, but also because he knew he had done the right thing back in town. He was unprepared to face a nightmare come to life. He would guide Langard through the Deadwood and see whatever it was the old man wanted to show him, all while getting the chance to think about what to do next. He wasn’t going back to Black’s Hand that was for sure. But, he also couldn’t bear the thought of possibly putting sweet Mistress Whiten in danger if he decided to stay in Parker’s Town. It might be time for him to move elsewhere. Maybe he could ask Langard about his life in The King’s City, after all. It was a little late in life to be starting over, but surely he could find some kind of trade suited to his talents—whatever they happened to be, besides showing others around. Maybe he could guide little old ladies around The King’s City. Spinsters and widows might pay to have a charming companion such as himself escort them around town to their various social functions. He was the right age—younger than the ladies, but not obscenely so—to provide the proper sort of companion for genteel older women. He’d need to sneak back to Mistress Whiten’s to retrieve some of those gold coins, so he could buy leathers and gloves appropriate for the city. Now, if only he knew where Zircano had gotten his…
Nels woke to something pulling on his foot. His first thought was: Why am I in a tree? His second: Why is a squirrel trying to mate with my boot?
“Come on. Time to get moving, sleeping beauty,” Langard called out from underneath his dangling foot.
Nels grunted as he tried to extricate his body from the tree with minimal pain. Maybe he would have to sleep on the ground from here on out, even with Langard around. Trees were not suitable beds for him anymore, he lamented.
“I already ate my breakfast and packed it away, so you’re out of luck, unless you’ve got something in your pockets.” The old man raised an eyebrow and looked inquiringly at Nels.
“No, I don’t have anything in my pockets,” Nels snapped. “I don’t have any supplies and it’s your part of the contract to provide my meals. Your coin starts now, so you can just unpack me some breakfast.”
Langard nodded and smiled showing his lack of teeth. “You’re right, Nels. I forgot.”
“No, wait. Never mind. I’m not so hungry, after all. I’ll just eat more for lunch.” Nels returned his own sickly smile.
“Suit yourself.” Langard shrugged. “We don’t have far to go as it is.”
“Good. Lead the way,” Nels said, motioning Langard on ahead while he tried to move his painful joints surreptitiously.
They hadn’t traveled more than half a league when Langard called a halt. He seemed to sniff the air and then began rooting around on the ground under the layers of fallen leaves.
“Are you looking for something?” Nels asked politely after this had gone on far too long for his patience.
“Aye. Aye,” Langard replied with his nose to the ground. “Oi! Nope, not looking for nothing,” he finished, quickly placing what looked to Nels suspiciously like black stones in the skins of his coat.
“What’d you find?” Nels asked.
“Nothing.”
Nels gave him a flat stare.
“Nothing of importance. Just some old rocks I like to collect.” He gave Nels an innocent grin.
Nels pursed his lips into a thin line trying to decide whether to press the matter or not. He was wary of any kind of black rocks after yesterday, but probably the only way he’d get the old man to give them up would be to accost him bodily. Nels decided that unpleasantness wouldn’t be worth the effort. If the old man brought them out again, though, well…
“All right, all right. So you say. Let’s keep going. Is it much farther?”
“Oh, no. Not much farther now,” Langard said with a chuckle then muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?” Nels asked sharply.
“I said anytime. We should be there anytime now.”
Nels hmph’d as Langard began leading the
way again through an open part of the forest where the trees were large, but widely spaced apart.
Eventually they came to an area that looked no different from the rest, but Langard stopped and began sniffing the air again.
“You smell some more old rocks?” Nels asked.
“No. Better. Much better. We’re here,” Langard said, spinning around slowly with his arms outstretched.
“What? I don’t see anything.”
“That’s because you’re not looking. Look closely, Nels Hunter.” Langard pointed straight ahead at nothing that Nels could see. “Need more help, eh? Just as I suspected. Good thing I found these.” The old man pulled out the black rocks from his skins and threw them several paces ahead.
Suddenly, the forest changed.
In its place was a huge black maw of… nothingness. He was still in the forest—there were woods all around him, and Langard was still standing beside him.
“Do you see it now, Nels Hunter?” the old man asked with a cackle.
Nels’ legs carried him towards the circle of blackness. Like a predatory beast to a tar pit, he felt the lure of the helpless trapped within—he was so hungry, suddenly. He could look down and see where the earth had been ripped away, roots hanging loose, ancient rocks uncovered, but no forest floor to break his fall. To each side were white marble abutments some ten yards in length, wide enough he could have easily walked on one. At the end, there were two golden cones, a little taller than man height. Up above, somehow out of the canopy of the trees the same marble lengths and cones, upside down, were hanging unsupported.
He wasn’t tempted to walk out to the cones, with age came some wisdom, no matter how much his body was pulled into the dark expanse, his mind was still his own. He was just about to turn around to question Langard when all of a sudden he felt a push—or was it a kick—that sent him careening headfirst into a freefall straight into the bottomless depths of the abyss.
