Firetale

by Dante Graves

  Chapter 18: The Magician & the Hermit

  “Fan the flames with a little lie.”

  Queens of the Stone Age, “Burn The Witch”

  Lazarus, Greg, and their savior sat at an old table in the back of the bar. The room was quite common. Greg had expected a biker bar run by an immortal girlfriend of the cirque de freaks ringmaster would be … unusual. Instead, it was ordinary, littered with the detritus of food and alcohol, piled up chairs, and old tables.

  The woman smiled at Bernardius. “Glad to see you’re still alive, Lazarus. So many years have passed.”

  “Thirty or so,” said Bernardius, his eyes on the floor.

  “Thirty-eight, to be precise.” The woman continued to smile, but her smile became colder.

  “Excuse me,” interjected Greg. “You two met when you were …”

  “We met when I was twenty-four years old, my boy,” the owner of the bar said, interrupting the magician. Greg couldn’t understand how it was possible to look around thirty when you’re sixty-two. In his mind, to look half one’s age was affordable only to Hollywood stars. “I have my secrets,” she said, and winked playfully at Greg when she noticed his look of confusion.

  “Ino is a witch,” said Mr. Bernardius, as if explaining the obvious.

  “Oh, I’m surprised you still remember my name, Lazarus. Let me introduce myself, handsome. I’m Ino, part-time witch, part-time bar owner.”

  Greg was surprised. “A witch? So you’re a demionis, too.”

  “Lazarus, I see you haven’t expatiated upon me.” Her tone was playfully indignant, but for a moment Greg thought the tentmaster and the witch were a little tense. “No, baby, I, like every other witch, am not a mongrel. I’m not immortal like Lazarus, and I can’t turn a hand into a flame whip like you. I’m not a wizard or a werewolf, but I can do a thing or two.”

  “Stop calling me baby or boy. My name is Greg.”

  “Look at you! You have not only fiery arms, but also a fiery temper! I’ll try, but do not forget that I’m old enough to be your mother, baby. Anyway, nice to meet you.” Ino winked again.

  Greg decided to abandon the topic of how to address him.

  “It is strange that Mr. Bernardius never talked about his friends,” said Greg.

  “Well, maybe it’s because we were not just friends,” Ino replied to Greg, but her eyes were fixed on Lazarus. The tentmaster was sitting on an old stool, his shoulders down, and he seemed to be trying to squeeze into a ball like a hedgehog. Anyone looking at him now would not imagine how tall he really was.

  “You and Mr. Bernardius?”

  “So what? I was a young witch, and he was an immortal who communicated with demons. We were made for each other.” With every word from her mouth, it seemed as if a bullet hit Lazarus. Ino’s playful mood was gone.

  “Enough!” Mr. Bernardius said. “Now is not the time to remember it, Ino.”

  “Not the time? When will it be, Lazarus? After another thirty-eight years? Or when I die and you are continuing to enjoy your eternal life?” Ino’s voice rang with fury.

  “Look, it’s none of my business. I can wait outside until you discuss what’s happened to you.” Greg got up from his chair, but Ino was unstoppable.

  “Love happened, my boy. I wanted to be with him, with this asshole, traveling with the circus. But he refused. Then we agreed that we would see each other, at least occasionally. I would find him by the circus posters, and he would find me by secret signs that I would leave as I moved from place to place.”

  “I’m grateful you left them, Ino,” Lazarus said. “We were able to find you.”

  “Only because you suddenly needed something from me! Thirty-eight years! Have you never wanted to see me?”

  “Every fucking day, Ino! Every fucking day!” Lazarus was out of his chair like a straightened spring. Bernardius almost cried, and even Greg leaned back a little, so striking was the change in the always calm and reasonable tentmaster. “But I told you that the circus is not a place for humans. And I cannot be with you.”

  “But why, Lazarus?”

  “Because I’m demionis. If we were together, if we ever had children, I do not know what they would have been, Ino.” Mr. Bernardius’s shoulders drooped again and his eyes sparkled. Greg realized that he had never thought about the children he and Martha might have had. A horrible thought that they might not have a human form made him shudder. Ino turned away for a moment, and there was silence in the room. Music, laughter, and girls’ giggles came from the bar. When Ino turned to Lazarus and Greg, her expression was almost the same as when they had seen her the first time, cheerful and playful.

  “So, what brings you here, boys?” Ino asked.

  “We need your help,” Lazarus said. “Recently, a Judge came to the circus. He said nothing specific, but it looks like he was particularly interested in Greg.”

  “Greg? So this cutie violated the Pactum? And just how serious was your violation, Greg?” The magician exchanged glances with Lazarus.

  “Serious,” said Greg.

  Lazarus sighed and Ino’s playfulness vanished again.

  “I need you to hide him,” said Bernardius.

  “Well, stand up, guys, and then slide the table,” the witch said. Lazarus and Greg did as she asked. In the floor was a small hatch. Ino opened it with a jerk and started down the dark stairs, gesturing for her guests to follow.

  The descent was longer than Greg expected. The underground tunnel led down almost twenty feet. Its round arches, reinforced with wooden beams, were dimly lit with lamps. The trio came to a square room, which had a ceiling supported by columns made of sanded tree trunks. Lamps hung from the ceiling, making the room brighter than the tunnel, though the illumination was still poor.

  On the walls of the room hung bunches of flowers and roots, the bones of some small animals, and whole skeletons. At the opposite wall from the entrance stood a rack on whose shelves rested jars with colored liquids and ointments, bags of powder, and bundles of grass. On the ground near the entrance were piles of books, old and new, but with no names or illustrations on their covers. In one corner stood a huge barrel containing a thick, dark liquid. In another corner, a fire pit had been dug into the ground. In the center of the room were two broad tables with witches’ tools. There were sickles of different shapes, made of metal or bone, knives and needles, some as long as a man’s forearm, bottles and skeins of yarn and leather strips, mortar and scales, and some notes and drawings.

  “Welcome to my workroom,” Ino said proudly.

  “Nice,” Lazarus said.

  “And what do you do here? I don’t see any ovens for roasting children,” Greg said, aiming for a joke.

  “I cook potions, prepare ointments,” Ino said.

  “For whom?”

  “For the guys from the bar.”

  “The bikers? Why would they need it?”

  “Someone has to stay awake at night on the road and feel fresh. Someone needs a cure for a hangover. Someone gets old and becomes weak in the eyes or the legs, so it’s more difficult to ride a bike. I provide them with whatever solves their problems,” Ino said.

  Greg shrugged. “But why them?”

  “They do not ask questions. They do not care how or what I’m doing. If it works—and it does—that’s all they want to know.”

  “And can you make something, well, stronger than herbal potions for sore muscles?”

  “Of course. I can make it so that your penis will be no larger than an earthworm.” Ino held a finger right under Greg’s nose. “Relax, sweetie. With you I will not do this. But I could. It’s an excellent tool to hasten payment from guys who like to drink on credit and forget to pay their bills on time.” Ino laughed. “But if the customer pays, I can make an ointment that will allow him to fuck a dozen girls in a row.”

  “So, the bar is just a cover?” Lazarus asked.

  “Not really. Mostly a spot to gather my clientele. Well, it also brings profit.”

 
“How long you have you been doing this?” Lazarus asked, with a hint of condemnation.

  “This is my ninth bar.”

  “Ninth?”

  “I have to move constantly. I tried to work at home, opening bars by the road or in the city. But not everyone likes a strange girl who sells strange substances to strange guys. When too much attention comes, you have to make a change,” Ino explained with a shrug.

  “Interesting. But I don’t understand how all these things of yours can help me,” Greg said.

  “Ino can hide you from the Judges,” said Lazarus.

  “Hide? I’ll drink one of her potions and become an invisible man?”

  “No, Greg, all Judges are able to feel demionis,” explained Lazarus. “But some, the most gifted, can be tuned to specific mongrels, like a receiver tuned to a radio station. Ino can make a potion that jams the station’s signal. Your signal. So, in a sense, yes, you will be invisible to Judges.”

  “It sounds fantastic,” Greg said. “If Ino had prepared such potions for our circus, no Judge could have found us. Isn’t that right, Mr. Bernardius?”

  “Ino is not demionis,” Lazarus reminded him.

  “Yeah, okay. But wouldn’t the Devil stand up for the woman who helps his children?”

  “My boy, witches do not serve the Devil, despite what you might have heard about them,” Ino explained calmly. “Nor do we serve God. There is nothing magical about our knowledge. Well, maybe a little bit. And so we are not loved the same in Heaven and in Hell. Even if a witch carries on with the Devil, his protection is not guaranteed.”

  Greg laughed. “Oh, well, of course. So, I’ll get an exclusive potion. What do you need from me?”

  “Undress,” said Ino.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Take off your clothes, baby. We will wash you,” Ino said, waving toward the corner that had the barrels filled with a strange dark liquid. “And you, too,” she said, nodding to Lazarus.

  Bernardius looked confused. “Me? Why?”

  “I want you to help me deliver the boy to a secluded place, and I don’t want a Judge to be able to track you.”

  Lazarus nodded reluctantly, and both men, embarrassed, began to undress. Greg felt guilty, realizing that a woman besides Martha would see him naked. Lazarus obviously did not want his feelings for Ino to betray him. After undressing, both flopped into barrels. They stooped down so that the liquid reached Greg’s neck and Lazarus’s shoulders. With a cheeky smile, the witch watched the men’s faces redden with embarrassment. She decided to wash Greg first. She took a rough washcloth and went to the magician’s barrel.

  Greg turned pale. “Excuse me, ma’am, I mean Ino, are you going to wash me yourself?”

  “And you expected what?”

  “I don’t know, it’s just a bit …”

  “Embarrassing? Don’t worry. Imagine you are at the doctor’s office. That’s my job, and I am a professional.” Ino plunged a washcloth into the liquid. To the magician’s surprise , the witch did not start at his shoulders or back, but immediately went south, which made Greg nearly jump out of the tight barrel. But the witch’s gaze was not directed at him. She was looking at Lazarus, on whose face mingled anger, confusion, frustration, and a bit of envy. To defuse the situation, Greg decided to speak with Ino.

  “And what is the liquid in the barrel?”

  “A decoction of various herbs. I need to scrub you good so your skin particles can mix with it. Then I’ll make a potion that will hide you from the Judges.”

  Greg looked horrified. “We’ll have to drink it?”

  “I will add some berries to make it taste sweet,” Ino said. “And something more.”

  “What?”

  “You know, some of what they say about witches is true. All of these powders from the wings of bats and soil from fresh graves, ceremonies at midnight at the crossroads—we use something of this in our work.”

  “What will go into the potion?” Greg asked.

  “Your blood, boys.” Ino pressed a rough washcloth hard against Greg’s shoulder.

  “That hurts!”

  “Some magnetic dust, my blood, extract of owl eye, and a couple of my secret ingredients,” Ino said, ignoring Greg’s cry.

  “Secret ingredients?”

  “I can’t reveal them to you! Each witch has her own; it’s like the unique style of an artist. And though we share knowledge with each other, a potion that can hide a mongrel from Judges is rare. No more than two or three of us, as far as I know, can do it. So do not expect me to reveal their secrets to you.” Ino continued to scour Greg’s back. When the magician had come to terms with the fact that the torture in the cramped barrel had made his feet and arms numb and would last forever, Ino stopped.

  “You can go,” she said and then went to Lazarus’s barrel.

  “Where to?”

  “Upstairs. Don’t worry, the guys will not touch you. You can pour yourself something. I’m buying. You’re a big boy, you can go up to the bar unsupervised.”

  “And you?”

  “I still have to wash Lazarus, have you forgotten?”

  “Ah, yes. Right.” Greg began hurriedly dressing, turning his back to Ino. To his surprise, Mr. Bernardius did not protest when the witch asked Greg to leave. After pulling his dirty clothes onto his wet body, Greg walked to the stairs. He glanced back once and saw that Ino was silently washing a beetle-browed Lazarus. Seeing the ringmaster without his hat and with his beard half in the water was pretty funny, but Ino looked slightly angry. But as soon as Greg stepped into the tunnel leading up to the back room of the bar, he heard a loud splash and a woman’s giggle.