Lily

by Michael Thomas Ford

  Still, it was becoming tiresome. That they had some magic in them was undeniable. But it was of a drab, everyday type that didn’t interest Baba Yaga terribly much. Although they spoke of gods and devils, their tricks relied on sleight-of-hand and misdirection rather than actual sorcery. True, it took cunning and skill, but it was nothing that any woodcutter couldn’t do with a bit of practice.

  A selfish woodcutter. One with guile.

  They were very good at keeping their audience in a state of belief. The people who came to see them trusted them. That was something. It was easy to gain a crowd’s attention, much more difficult to keep it. Yet not only did they keep it, they left the people wanting more.

  She wondered if the girl had yet come to see that what had been promised to her was a lie, like the unfortunate goatherd who rescued the Grey King’s daughter from the three-headed dwarf and, instead of the chest of gold he’d been promised, was baked into a pie and fed to dogs. Surely she’d realized by now that this god was either dead or uninterested in her affairs. Baba Yaga hoped so, as she had grown uncharacteristically fond of the child, and wanted to see her have, if not a happy life, at least some measure of revenge on those who had done her ill.

  Walking to the edge of the stage, she raised her hands and cried, “Hallelujah!” She held the pose for a moment, imagining the echoing roar of hundreds of voices. She could see why it appealed to the preacher and his boy. Having people worship you was heady stuff. She’d seen it often enough in gods and tsars, playwrights and whores. But it only lasted for a time. Then came the inevitable unseating, beheading, descent into obscurity. There were only so many endings a story could have, and the best ones were seldom happy ones.

  She wondered what kind this one would have. She suspected she would know soon enough. That was fine with her. She missed her forest, and her chicken-footed cottage. Also, she had a nagging feeling that she’d left a candle burning in her bedroom.

  It was time to go home.

  T H I R T Y - O N E

  STAR WAS NOT IN her cage in the green truck. When Lily tried the door and found it unlocked, she hoped for a moment that luck was with her. But when she opened the doors, she saw only the frightened, mumbling monkeys staring back at her. The other cage was empty.

  “You’re not going to find her.”

  Little James stepped out of the shadows. The moonlight silvered his hair and made his white suit shimmer. When he smiled, his teeth glistened.

  “Where is she?” Lily asked.

  Little James licked his lips, though they were already slick with spit. “With her sister,” he told her. “Somewhere else.” He laughed. “At least they’re together.”

  Lily started to run from him, to go in search of Star and Moth.

  “Do you know want to know the truth about Everyman?” Little James called after her.

  Lily stopped. She didn’t want to give the boy the satisfaction of asking him what he meant by his question, but something in the tone of his voice compelled her to turn and look at him. She waited for him to continue.

  “Do you know what he does?” Little James said. “Why he has you read fortunes?”

  “So he can help people find salvation. So I can find salvation by helping them.”

  Little James shook his head. “I don’t think you believe that anymore,” he said. “Do you?”

  Lily didn’t reply. After a moment, the boy continued.

  “Do you know how much they pay him?” He pointed a manicured finger at her. “For what you see? For what he tells them you see?”

  Lily didn’t know what he was talking about, so she continued to look at him in silence.

  “He doesn’t give them salvation,” said Little James. “He sells it. For a high price. And he don’t tell them what you see. Not always, anyway. Not if it’s good. He tells them whatever will make them believe they need his help.”

  Lily found her voice. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You asked me how you could get salvation,” said Little James. “You think Everyman is helping you get it. But he ain’t. He’s taking you farther away from it. But where shall wisdom be found? And where is the place of understanding? Man knoweth not the price thereof; neither is it found in the land of the living. The deep saith, it is not in me; and the sea saith, it is not with me. It cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the price thereof.”

  Lily wanted to tell him that he was lying. But she knew he wasn’t. Her heart told her it was true. Everything she’d been feeling, all of the doubts and questions, pointed to this. Only hope had kept her from accepting it. Now hope was gone.

  “How can I be saved?” she asked.

  Little James shook his head. “You can’t,” he said. “It’s too late for you. You’re already dead.”

  Lily heard in his voice a note of satisfaction, a bit of happiness that he was unable, or unwilling, to disguise. He enjoyed delivering his verdict to her.

  She left him there and ran to her wagon. She found the bag she’d stowed beneath the bed, and put some clothes into it. Then she went back into the night. She was going to find Star and Moth, then leave the Caravan together with them. Where she would go, she didn’t know. But her place was not here.

  As she walked back toward the tents and lights, the bag she carried seem to grow heavier and heavier. She didn’t know where to find Moth and Star, nor what to do once she did. All she knew was that she wanted to be as far from her mother, the Reverend, Little James, and the clowns — from the entire Holy Gospel Caravan — as she could get. Yet she didn’t know how to get away. Her mother had brought her into this unfamiliar world, and now she was trapped in it.

  The morning is wiser than the evening.

  The words came to her, spoken in her father’s voice. He’d said that to her whenever she was worried and couldn’t sleep. And he was right. The things that kept her eyes open while the moon and stars traveled the sky always seemed smaller in the light of the sun. Maybe it would be so now.

  Tomorrow the Caravan would travel. Tonight it would sleep. If she could find somewhere to hide herself, she could face the world in the morning. She considered walking as far as she could. But if they came looking for her, that’s what they would expect. Better, she thought, to secret herself close by.

  She decided on the truck that carried the flowers of salvation. The carnival used thousands of them every week, and they were stored in a truck and shoveled into baskets for the clowns every morning. Lily knew that no one would look in the truck until shortly after dawn, and so she could try to rest there while she waited and formed a plan.

  As expected, there was no one around the truck. Lily opened the door and climbed in. The flowers rustled beneath her as she crawled over the mound of them. She went into one of the far corners and made a kind of nest for herself. It felt like lying in a pile of leaves, and reminded Lily of the times she and her father had gathered up fallen leaves and mounded them, then taken turns running and leaping into them and scattering them again.

  Thinking of her father, she was overwhelmed by sadness. She missed him, and their life together. She felt farther from home than ever. For this she now blamed her mother. It was not, she realized, the fault of the girl who slept inside of her. She had punished that girl for too long. Now she forgave her, and shifted her anger to where it belonged — first on her mother, then on the Reverend. They had promised her salvation and freedom, but they had given her nothing and taken everything.

  She lay there for a long time, holding onto her anger like a blanket. But eventually she grew weary of this, and she fell asleep. And while she slept without dreaming, the girl who lived inside of her awoke and emerged into the world.

  When dawn came, Lily opened her eyes and discovered that the roses in which she slept were now red, and that the girl she had tried to keep buried was free. Rather than being frightened by this, she was joyful. She understood the power of blood, especially one’s own, and she knew that she had loosed a terrible mag
ic.

  “Welcome, sister,” she whispered.

  Sister.

  “I’m sorry I let you sleep so long.”

  No matter. It only made me stronger.

  “This world is not ours. Don’t be afraid.”

  I am not afraid.

  “We have work to do.”

  Let us begin.

  Lily gathered up some of the red roses and made a bouquet of them. Another she tucked behind her ear, breathing in its scent and taking strength from it. Then she took up her bag, opened the door of the truck, and stepped out into the new morning. The girl came with her, walking silently beside her.

  Her first quest was to find Star. She closed her eyes and tried to sense her beloved’s presence. She could feel her heartbeat in the warmth of the sun. She opened up to it and let it fill her until her head throbbed with the sound of it. Then she opened her eyes and walked.

  She ignored everyone she passed by, but noticed that they recoiled from her with expressions of fear. It was only then that she looked down and discovered that her dress and legs were stained with the evidence of her sister’s passage.

  A clown, seeing her, made a face. “Go clean yourself up,” he snarled.

  Lily held out her bouquet of roses. “The flowers of salvation,” she said, and the clown shrank back.

  Lily laughed and continued on her way. Her steps were light but filled with purpose as she wound through the midway. It wasn’t until she was standing outside the familiar green truck that she realized where her heart had brought her. At first she thought it must be mistaken, but when she opened the doors, she saw that Star was indeed in her cage.

  Star, looking up and seeing her, said, “They knew you would come back for me.”

  “As a dog that returneth to his vomit, so is a fool that repeateth his folly,” said the voice of Everyman.

  Lily turned around and saw the preacher standing there with her mother on one side and Little James on the other. A trio of clowns stood behind.

  “I’m afraid that you’re a terrible disappointment,” the Reverend said. “To your mother. To me.” He looked skyward. “To God.”

  “The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it,” said Little James.

  “Let her out of the cage,” Lily said.

  Everyman laughed. “I’m afraid that’s not what I had in mind,” he said. “I was thinking it might be a better idea if you joined her in there.”

  Lily’s strength faltered as she saw the clowns take a step forward.

  Don’t be afraid, sister.

  Lily met her mother’s eyes. “The sickness that takes you has already begun. It’s in your blood. Within a year, you will lose your sight. Then who will care for you?” She looked at Everyman. “Not him. Not anyone. You’ll die blind and alone.”

  Her mother put her hand to her mouth and began to sob.

  “She’s lying,” Everyman snapped. “Don’t fall for her trickery.”

  Lily’s mother shook her head. “That’s how my mother died,” she said, her voice choked and filled with fear. “There’s no way she could have known that. No one did. Not even my husband.”

  Lily stepped toward the Reverend. She held out her hand. “Give me the key.”

  Everyman raised his hand, as if to slap her. But his wrist was caught by someone standing behind him. Someone who had not been there moment before.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, preacher,” said Mr. Scratch.

  Mr. Scratch looked very much as he had the last time Lily had encountered him, only larger. Also, his teeth seemed a little sharper, his fingernails a little longer. In his eyes there was a steely glint that had not been so pronounced before, and it was possible that he carried about him a whiff of something charred, as if he had just walked out of a burning house. There was, on his shirt, a stain that might have been an errant drop of strawberry jam, but wasn’t.

  Everyman, shocked, turned red as he stammered, “Where did you come from?”

  “I’ve come to make a bargain with you,” Mr. Scratch said. He released Everyman’s wrist and came to stand near Lily. Although she was afraid of the man, Lily didn’t move away.

  “A bargain?” said the Reverend.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Scratch. “You know how much I enjoy them.”

  “What are your terms?” Everyman asked him.

  “The girl,” said Mr. Scratch. He turned his head and glanced into the truck. “Both girls.”

  The Reverend fingered the tie at his throat. “And in exchange?” he said.

  Mr. Scratch smiled in a way that caused the clowns to step back. “In exchange, I’ll give you a choice,” he said. “Give me the girls, and I’ll give you more money than you would collect in three summers of services. But if you accept it, you abandon your god and leave all this to the boy.”

  “And if I don’t accept?”

  “Then you still have your god. And the girls.”

  Lily watched the Reverend’s face. She could see him thinking, weighing, wrestling with himself. The force of his struggle registered in his eyes and in the way his mouth twitched. Sweat sprang forth on his brow.

  “The fear of Jehovah is clean, enduring for ever,” said Little James in a loud voice. “The ordinances of Jehovah are true, and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold; sweeter also than honey and the droppings of the honeycomb.”

  Mr. Scratch walked over and crouched, so that he was looking directly into the boy’s face. “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven,” he said.

  “That ain’t scripture,” said Little James.

  “No, it isn’t.” Mr. Scratch stood and cracked his neck. “It’s something more truthful. Well, preacher? What’s your answer?”

  Everyman held out a key. “Take them,” he said.

  Mr. Scratch turned away. “I needed only your answer,” he said as he walked into the truck. “Not your key.” He touched his hand to the lock on Star’s cage and it withered and fell like a rotten apple. He opened the door. “Come, girl,” he said.

  Star got to her feet and came out. Lily reached for her and took her hand. When Mr. Scratch walked by, they followed him. But as they passed by the Reverend, Mr. Scratch paused.

  “One more thing…” He looked at Lily. “Touch him, and tell me how he will die.”

  Everyman shrank away from them. “That wasn’t part of our agreement—”

  “Don’t tell me my own terms,” snapped Mr. Scratch. Then, to Lily, he said, “Go on.”

  Lily reached out and touched the preacher’s hand, which was warm and damp. He struggled to pull it away, but she held it tight. After a moment, she let it go.

  Mr. Scratch leaned down. “What did you see?” he asked.

  Lily whispered into his ear, the same way she had once whispered into the Reverend’s.

  “Ah.” One of Mr. Scratch’s eyebrows rose. “Very fitting, I think.”

  “What did she see?” the Reverend asked.

  “Ask her,” said Mr. Scratch.

  Everyman didn’t look Lily in the face as he said, “Tell me.”

  Lily shook her head. “I’m done telling. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough.”

  She reached for Star’s hand. Star took it, then said, “We’re not going without Moth.”

  Mr. Scratch sighed. “I’m becoming weary of this game. Where is she?” he asked Everyman.

  “I don’t know where she is,” he said. “She ran off last night.”

  He lies, sister.

  The voice of the girl was clear and fierce in Lily’s ear.

  The clowns know.

  “Ask the clowns,” Lily said.

  Mr. Scratch pointed to the three men standing behind the Reverend. “Where is she?”

  None of them answered.

  “Four and twenty blackbirds,” said Mr. Scratch, and one of the clowns fell to the ground, his mouth agape. Th
e head of a small black bird poked out of it, followed by the rest of the creature, which wiggled its way out, shook its wings, and flew away.

  One of the remaining clowns turned and began to run.

  “Ashes, ashes, we all fall down,” said Mr. Scratch, and the clown tripped, stumbled several steps, and then lay still.

  “She’s in the tank,” the final clown screamed. “In the tank!”

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Scratch. “Once I met an old man who wouldn’t say his prayers, so I took him by his left leg and threw him down the stairs.”

  The clown’s leg buckled, and he screamed, clutching at Everyman. The preacher pushed him away, and the man lurched sideways, falling against Lily’s mother. The two of them landed in a heap on the ground, the clown screaming in pain while Lily’s mother tried to push him off of her.

  Mr. Scratch motioned, the fingers of one hand curling, for Lily and Star to follow him. They did, leaving Everman and Little James to watch their retreating backs.

  “Tell me what you saw,” Star whispered to Lily. “About the preacher’s death.”

  “Nothing,” Lily told her. “I saw nothing. I think the curse is gone.”

  I took it with me, sister.

  Lily squeezed Star’s hand. Someday she would explain about the other girl who had live inside of her. Now, though, they had to find Moth.

  They went to the big top. The tank for the baptisms was behind the curtain, waiting to be used that night. It was still covered with a tarp. Star ran to it and pulled the cloth away. She let out a cry.

  Moth was inside it, just as the clown had said. Her body was unclothed, and she was covered in bruises. A dark necklace of them ringed her narrow throat. Her eyes stared up at Star and Lily, seeing nothing.

  Star jumped into the tank and took her sister into her arms. She keened as she rocked back and forth, unable to speak. Lily, familiar with this kind of grief, let her be alone with it. The time for comforting would come later. Right now, Star needed the distraction the pain provided. But then a thought came to Lily.