The Liar of Red Valley

by Walter Goodwater

  I’m not making much sense. Sorry, I don’t have a lot of experience with kids. I guess that’s how I should start.

  I’ve lived in Red Valley my whole life. I’ve left a few times, but it never stuck. Gravity always pulled me back here. After my mom was gone and I took over as the Liar, it wasn’t so bad a place, I guess. People hated me because I knew their secrets, but they paid me, and money sure is easier to spend than respect. So I stayed. Never had many friends, never needed them. Never wanted to have kids. Yet here we are.

  Mostly the Liar is asked to tell little Lies that really don’t matter much. The pettiest little shit. You’ll see. But that’s not why the Liar exists, why the King gave us this power. He created us to tell big Lies. His big Lies. You’ll find some in the older ledgers. I’ve left them with Brian. If I’ve done this Lie right, you’ll remember him and know where to find him. He’s mostly useless and mostly harmless.

  But there’s also a big Lie in my ledger. A very stupid Lie.

  My life was mostly unremarkable, or what passes for it in this town. I did what I wanted, when I wanted. I told the Lies Red Valley wanted, and otherwise was left alone. And then my life started to unravel. First, what I thought was just the aches and pains of growing old was diagnosed as lymphoma. Then, one of the King’s Men came to see me. The King wanted an audience. Immediately.

  I knew the King’s secret already. He was dying. The very first Liar did her best to cover it up to keep all the other nasty monsters from coming to settle scores with the King. But in the end, it was just a Lie and a Lie can’t stop what’s coming

  I stood before the King and he told me as much. He told me that he’d been dying for a long time, but now he was out of strength. He felt the end was close. Having recently been given grim news about my own mortality, I empathized, as much as one can with an unknowable monstrous being lurking in a cavern two doors down from Hell itself. But even with his final breaths, his thoughts were about the people of Red Valley. If he died, he feared what would become of the town. All the evil he’d been holding back all these decades would flood over us. Fear of the King was the only thing keeping us safe.

  So he asked me for another big Lie. To keep Red Valley safe, the world had to believe the King still lived. It was the only way. So I wrote the words, and he offered a drop of his own blood. And then he died, right in front of me. And then he was suddenly reborn. He was still weak, still wounded, but he was alive. The thing standing before me wasn’t real, wasn’t really real, but it was real enough. I’d saved the town. That’s what the Liar was for.

  I remember going back home to my empty house, feeling both elated and depressed. I’d done a good thing. But with the King now sustained by the Lie, did Red Valley still need a Liar? And even if the answer was yes, who would that be when I was gone?

  It took me too long to figure out the truth. I pride myself on smelling bullshit when it is piled up at my feet, but maybe it is harder to tell when it’s the King doing the shoveling. Or maybe it was the chemo. Either way, I made a dumb mistake and I trusted what the King told me.

  Shortly after my big Lie, Red Valley started to change. It withered. We’d had drought before, but nothing like this. It was like the light was being drained from the sky. Some people in town didn’t notice it, but some people did. Special people, people with gifts and talents like mine. Some felt their own power slipping away, bit by bit, a little more each day. But where was it all going? And why?

  Then it wasn’t just our powers. People got sick. People died. I know people always get sick, always die, but not like this. Retirement homes started emptying out. We had six people kill themselves in a single week. The whole town was getting drained: drained of power, of life, of the will to live.

  When my chemo-addled brain finally put the pieces together, I demanded another audience with the King. It only took a glance to confirm my suspicions. He was stronger now. More real. Because he was draining life from the very land under our feet. Just like he’d always done. You see, we’re taught that Red Valley is full of magic because the King is here, but that’s bullshit. The King is here because Red Valley is full of magic. He needed it to recover his wounds, and it sustained him for hundreds or maybe thousands of years. But it wasn’t enough, so he pulled more power from the land and made a failsafe: the Liar.

  He was dead. I’d watched him die. But in his place now was a Lie that seemed as real as anything, and once he stole the rest of the power in Red Valley, he’d be real enough. And then maybe he could start settling old scores himself.

  The King needed Red Valley’s power, but it wasn’t all in the land anymore. People are born here, live their whole lives here, die here. A lifetime of exposure to Red Valley changes you, fills you up. So the King needed that too. He didn’t care if it left people as empty husks. He needed it to survive, to revive. So he took it.

  That same day I figured out what was really going on, the doctors gave me a few months to get my affairs in order. I was alone and I was dying.

  I’d like to use that as my excuse. Seems like a pretty good one. Hard to argue with Stage 4. But that wasn’t it. Even if I’d been completely healthy, I still would have done the same thing: nothing.

  Because, Sadie, I’m sad to say, your mom is a fucking coward.

  I did try to think of a way out. I lost a night of sleep to it. But I came up with nothing. Once told, Lies can’t be recalled. So instead I did the one thing I could think of: I got drunk. Real drunk. Stayed that way a while. I never felt good, but at least there were times I didn’t feel anything. But then somewhere in that haze of booze and regret, I had an idea. A really stupid, insane idea.

  I was about to die, just like the King. So why not take a page from his playbook? I didn’t need to create a Lie version of myself. I’d already proven I didn’t know how to stop him. But what if there was someone else who could take a shot? Someone younger, smarter, better. Someone who had everything good about me in her, and hopefully a lot more. A daughter.

  A Lie like that comes at a big price. I know once my blood goes in my ledger, my body ain’t going to last much longer. I’m prepared for that. I’ll write the Lie today, sitting in the chapel at the hospital. When the Liar’s Price is taken, the cancer will have free rein. My time will be over. Yours will just be starting. Someone could probably say something poetic about that, but not me. The only remarkable thing I ever did was to unleash a version of the King desperate to devour everything good in this town.

  And maybe you.

  When I think about you, I picture you as strong. Independent. And stubborn as hell. You’ll know the people in town don’t like you, but it won’t bother you. Much.

  If you’re anything like me, you’re going to piss some people off, but that’s okay. Some people have earned it. There’s only so much I can change with a single Lie, but I’ve thought of some friends for you. I think they might be useful. Maybe you can make some of your own once you’re here. I was never much good at that myself. Maybe if I’d had more people in my life, I wouldn’t be sitting here alone, full of regret. Maybe you’ll have a better shot.

  I used to wonder about how the Lies worked. What are they? Like, are they just really good illusions, or are they real? I don’t wonder about that anymore. Real or not, the Lies work. Doesn’t matter if they’re real, they’re real enough. You just have to look at Red Valley getting sucked dry to see that. So I guess that’s what I’m hoping for you. That you’re real enough to change this.

  If you think this is unfair, then good—that means you’ve been paying attention. I created a monster and then created you to deal with it when I failed. I have no idea what you might be thinking right now. You probably hate me. That seems a reasonable response. You just found out that your whole life isn’t real, and now your lying mom is asking for a favor. I’d tell me to go to hell, and I’d be disappointed if you’re any nicer. So yeah, feel free to hate me, but there’s still a job to do. Red Valley doesn’t have much left to give.

&nbs
p; So, Sadie, what are you going to do about it?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sadie stayed in the park a long time. Families came and went. Birds landed in the blighted trees only to flutter away. The smoky sun rose hot overhead, and her shade gradually vanished. Sweat traced slow lines down her spine.

  She’d come here with her mom. She’d played on the slide and hung from the monkey bars. Her mom had pushed her on the swings, then taught her to swing herself by pumping her legs. They had sat on the grass and eaten popsicles until the melting juice ran down their knuckles.

  These were good memories, happy memories.

  Fake memories.

  She’d never run through the sprinklers or raced along the playground or rolled down that hill with Graciela. Sadie had never actually been to this park. She hadn’t even existed before a few days ago, when Emma Logan, the Liar of Red Valley, had sealed one final Lie in her ledger.

  Sadie looked down at her hands. They looked real. She picked up her mom’s notes. She could hold them in her fake fingers. She remembered asking her mom once about the Lies she told, if they were just illusions. Perception is reality, her mom had said. Only, she hadn’t really, or at least not to Sadie. But maybe it was true. Maybe it didn’t matter what was real, only what seemed real. It certainly didn’t seem to matter to Red Valley that the King was a Lie; the town was bleeding dry either way.

  And so what? What did it matter if Red Valley was drained of all its magic? What did she care? She didn’t know these people; they certainly didn’t know her. Who cared if the King was about to cheat death at the expense of Red Valley?

  But even through the pain and confusion and grief, Sadie knew she could never let that happen. She didn’t have many friends, and the people in this town tolerated her to the extent that she was useful. Yet she was connected to this place, more so even than her mom or grandmother. Red Valley’s magic was in them, though they’d believed it had come from the King. But Sadie was that magic. She was Red Valley. And if the King took that all away, there’d be nothing left of her.

  She left the park and walked along mostly empty streets. Cars drove past from time to time, but she ignored them. She didn’t know where she was going or why, but just let her feet carry her. She turned onto unfamiliar roads, because that was less jarring than recognizing things she now knew she’d never seen before.

  Well, Mom, Sadie thought. If I can call you that. Emma, maybe. I was mad at you for dying without saying goodbye. I guess I should have been mad at you for dying before saying hello. Sadie remembered the blood on her mom’s fingers as she lay in the hospital bed. She hadn’t thought much of it then. Now she knew. She’d sealed her ledger with that blood, and her fate. I’m sorry you were alone, Emma. Before, and at the end. I’m sorry this town used you up. I’m sorry you had to give up the last of yourself to make me. I’m sorry that seemed like the only way.

  Even knowing the truth, Sadie really didn’t feel any different. She still remembered the good times and the bad times. She remembered dozing in her desk in high school history classes and drinking beers with Graciela in her backyard after her parents had gone to sleep. She remembered her mom grounding her, and screaming at her, and teaching her how to ride a bike. Maybe these things happened, maybe not. But they felt real. They felt real.

  She stopped walking. She knew the neighborhood she was in now, knew it very well. Graciela’s house was just two blocks over. But as familiar as it was, it looked very different now, cast in red-black haze. Over the tops of the houses, an endless wall of smoke blotted out the sun and sky. Caution tape had been drawn across the road. Sheriff cars were parked, blocking the way, their cabins empty but their lights flashing. Signs had been posted on the street lights. Sadie pulled one free and read.

  mandatory evacuation notice.

  all residents must leave their homes immediately.

  shelter is available at the red valley community center.

  do not return to your homes.

  it is not safe.

  Even though it wasn’t yet dark, Sadie could see the flames up ahead. While Sadie had been lost in thought and overwhelmed by what she’d read, Red Valley was burning. The final line of her mom’s note came back to her and she turned the words over and over in her thoughts:

  So, Sadie, what are you going to do about it?

  The Red Valley Community Center was packed. Cars overflowed the big parking lot and lined the streets, double parked in places when no more would fit. More cars were arriving all the time. A young sheriff’s deputy in an orange vest directed traffic. There were fire trucks and ambulances, and more than a few sheriff’s department cars. Ash dusted them all. More signs directed evacuees toward the large white building at the heart of the chaos. Sadie had been in a school play that had been held here once. Oh wait. No, no she hadn’t.

  She pushed her way through the crowd. She saw some people crying, some smeared with soot. A little girl kept telling her parents she wanted to go home; the look in the parents’ eyes told Sadie they had no home to go back to. She knew the feeling.

  Inside, the floor was covered in rows of foldable cots. Most were occupied by blank-faced people staring off into nothing. Some held a memento grabbed in haste: a picture frame, a photo book, an old stuffed animal. Something that anchored them to the life they thought they had, before the fire came. Sadie was jealous.

  A television had been wheeled in and was playing Red Valley’s only local news. A reporter stood in front of an inferno. All around him were the blackened remains of homes and cars, some still burning.

  “…say they’ve never seen a fire quite like this one, Jim,” the reporter was saying.

  “Where is the fire now?” asked the anchor back in the studio.

  “It came down from the north, but as you can see on this map, it is now driving straight into town, and nothing seems to be able to slow it down. It really does seem to have a mind of its own.”

  The camera panned over and Sadie’s heart skipped a beat. The building was mostly gone, half of it collapsed inward, the remaining half blackened and smoldering. The tree’s limbs still reached high, but the branches were curled over, twisted, charred. The only thing left was the sign over the scorched front door: Treehouse Diner.

  “Any reports of injuries?”

  “Sadly, yes,” the reporter said. Everything behind him looked like a glimpse into hell. “A number of evacuees and even some firefighters have been admitted to St. Elizabeth’s due to smoke inhalation, and there is a growing count of missing persons. It might be weeks before we know the full scale of the damage here, Jim.”

  “Stay safe out there,” the anchor said as the camera switched back to him. “Cal Fire is calling for reinforcements from all over the state to join the battle, but for those who’ve already lost their homes, it might be too little, too late.”

  Sadie found Graciela and her family tucked in the corner under one of the basketball hoops. Javier was there; he noticed Sadie first, then nudged Graciela, who ran over and lifted Sadie off the ground in a hug.

  “I thought you were dead,” Graciela said. “I knew you were dead.”

  “Still alive,” Sadie said. “For now.”

  Graciela held her out at arm’s length. Tears had reddened her eyes. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. When we saw on the news where the fire had started, and then I couldn’t reach you…”

  “Like you said, my life is a bit shit right now.” Sadie laughed a little, before a sob caught in her throat. She turned her face away as the weight of the last few days threatened to crush her. The memories may not be real, but the pain of what she’d lost was.

  “Oh, chica,” Graciela said.

  “I’m okay,” she said, sniffing, grateful that her friend didn’t call out the obvious lie. Sadie nodded to Graciela’s family nearby. “Everybody get out?”

  “Yeah,” Graciela said. “I don’t think it’s even reached our house yet, but all of sudden we got cops banging on our door, saying everyone h
as to leave. It was crazy.”

  Sadie scanned the nearby cots until she saw Beto. He was sitting up, his back to her. Teresa sat next to him, her head on his tattooed shoulder.

  “Did they tell you how long you were going to be here?” Sadie asked.

  “They didn’t tell us shit,” Graciela said. “Just gave us some water bottles and told us to find somewhere to camp out.”

  “Have you heard from Ashleigh?”

  Graciela went a little stiff. “They got evacuated before us. Haven’t found her yet, though. Maybe they went to a different shelter.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a loud screeching noise from the front of the room. There was a stage there, the one Sadie had apparently not performed The Wizard of Oz on. It had been mostly empty when she’d walked in, but now someone was setting up a microphone and blasting half the town with audio feedback. The technician scurried away from the heat of five hundred glares. A moment later, Undersheriff Hassler walked up to the mic.

  “Hello everyone,” he said. His voice boomed and he backed off the mic a little. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but we have a few announcements and then you can get back to your day.” A few angry murmurs in the crowd reminded everyone that there wasn’t much to get back to. “We’ve gotten word from the Fire Department that the fire is still at zero-percent containment.” More angry words, louder this time. “They are doing all they can to save as many homes as possible, but the fire seems to be moving even faster now that it is in the structures. The mandatory evacuation order remains in effect and we expect the number of homes to be evacuated to grow overnight.”

  Someone in the crowd called out, “Got any good news?”

  The undersheriff ignored it. “And that brings me to my second announcement. We are issuing a sundown to sunup curfew until further notice.”

  Now the crowd started to turn. Murmurs became shouts. The undersheriff stood silently for a few minutes while they vented their anger at him, before demanding silence again with his amplified voice and hard stare.