Circus of the Grand Design

by Robert Freeman Wexler

  Lewis sat up in the saddle and tugged the reins. The horse kept moving at a slow trot, but on the level ground he expected its pace to increase. Better, he thought, to drop off here than this hurtling through the dark. If he fell, the horse would stop. It needed a rider to move. Releasing one hand from the reins, he reached behind for the clip holding his pack to the saddle. It resisted his groping fingers; he turned to look and found the clip. While occupied with the strap, he felt the horse leap. He let go of the pack and grabbed for the reins, but the horse landed before he could secure his grip. He sprawled face down in the branches of a dying shrub.

  The thump of the mechanical horse's hoofs continued without pause, fading as the distance separating them increased. By the time he sat up to look, the horse had vanished.

  His pack had caught on another shrub. The bag of extra food and water remained attached to the saddle. He reached into the pack for his flashlight, slung the pack onto his shoulders, and started in the direction the horse had taken. The terrain ahead appeared to be level enough to travel using the light. His cheeks stung, scraped by the shrub, and his left hip hurt. After about twenty yards he stopped—no point chasing a horse he couldn't catch. He had never seen it move without a rider. Something must have affected its mechanism, the heat maybe. No, not something. He pulled a packet of dried fish from his pack. Everything had been too easy: he accesses the horse, takes it out, and lets it choose the direction. She had planned all, programmed the horse to take him, either to her or far from the train, where no one could find him, his punishment for daring to leave her.

  Nothing he could do until daylight. He removed his boots and armor; lying on his back, he looked up at the fingernail moon and emerging stars. Come morning, he would return to the train. Too bad he hadn't thought to check his compass when he left the train, but no matter, the river, would be simple enough to follow it back. He closed his eyes.

  When he opened them, stars filled the clear sky. Like the night at the acrobats' hut, he had never seen stars so distinct. The size of the sky awed him. He found Orion, followed the line of its belt to Pegasus, and used his compass to fix its position. He would have to mark its movement as the night passed. In the morning he would know his direction.

  ~

  The landscape undulated, flowing in gentle peaks and valleys of varying heights and depths. A bristly tree carpet covered everything, like the stiff fur of some immense animal. The panorama excited him. He had an urge to leap the distances, feeling he could soar over the gulf that separated him from the hills below. The trees still held patches of green but probably wouldn't for long. Though the sunlight was diffuse, its power wasn't. It had been daylight a short time, but Lewis already felt drained from exposure to the red heat.

  His position gave him a clear view in all directions. He would need to find a way down, most likely somewhere back along the way he had come. He hated going backward, even a short way—the line he had charted pulled him, but descending here would be too risky.

  Sunlight reflected off something ahead. It had to be the mechanical horse. Forgetting caution, he scrambled down the steep hillside. By now the horse would have reached her...hurry then...couldn't be abandoned so easily, she would see. His foot caught on a root, flipping him over. Not now, not this, catch something—he flailed his arms, trying to grab anything that might slow his tumbling slide. He slammed into something that bent forward with the impact but held, and he lay for a time, afraid to move. A spear of branch pushed against his stomach; the armor had kept it from penetrating. Brown needles covered him, shaken loose by his collision with a clump of evergreens. The strap holding his helmet had parted, and it had flown off, somewhere, during his tumble.

  He resumed his descent, reaching the bottom without falling again. The river was near, beyond a wall of still-living ferns. Unsheathing his sword, he hacked a path to the water, which flowed shin-high over a stone bed. He undressed and lay immersed, his head pointed upstream. The current tickled his hair, calmed and cooled him, but the sun was a worry. It had reached a point directly overhead. He sat up. The ferns would provide some protection. He tugged his underpants and shirt over his wet body and moved into the shade.

  Heat and shadowy half-dreams disturbed his rest. He concentrated on the cold at Are No's house, hoping memories would cool him, and though he tried to summon a dream of the twins, all that came were misshapen images, and the effort of trying to identify them would wake him. After an hour or so of that he sat up. His armor lay piled beside the pack; he would leave it, everything but the sword.

  Once across the river, he stopped to pull on his boots and fill his canteen. For protection from the sun, he spread a film of mud over the exposed skin of his face and arms and tied a tee shirt over his head as a bandanna. As he walked up the low bank, he took out the last of his dried fish.

  The hills on the this side were lower, eventually leveling into a mossy plain, springy beneath his feet. With no cover, the afternoon sun numbed him. Wouldn't it be comforting to be back on the train, lost in the coolness of the white room? He tried to conjure it around him, shelter in its blank spaces. Breathe, allow the inhale to command the exhale and back again, until breath and steps diverged, each independent. The breath focused him and the steps carried him forward. Dillon had said—Lewis spoke aloud: "We travel on elastic paths of ever-increasing complexity."

  He took the cap off his canteen and sipped. If he didn't reach the horse soon he would have to find something edible. Nothing looked promising, all he could see were acres of mossy carpet. He would eat grubs if he could find them, but he had seen nothing but plant life since leaving the train. The sun dipped behind a row of hills; its disappearance cheered him, though a red glow still infested the hilltops. The hills curved around toward the direction he walked. Walking among the hills, that would make a nice change. He had planned to rest when the sun went down and continue later, but the sunset energized him. Into the night he walked.

  This once-green place held them, but they could have remained in peace, fishing, exploring, if the climactic change hadn't happened. His fault, his rejection of Cybele. As punishment she had removed the land's fertility, leaving a desolate landscape ruled by an unfriendly sun. If he returned to her, she would set things right. If he could find her...if not...couldn't last much longer out in the sun. This night then, this night. He breathed and walked, movement so steady he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. What need had he for food? The breathing and the walking, nothing else mattered.

  The ground sloped upward to meet the hills. Ahead of him, something clattered. He stopped and pulled out his flashlight. Metal reflected in its beam.

  "Hey girl, remember me?" He spoke aloud as he would to a horse of flesh. "You've led me along a merry way, haven't you?" The food bag still hung from its strap, but before he could get within a yard of it, the horse shied. "Come on you, I just need my bag." He stepped toward it, but the horse backed away. Stupid, talking to a mechanical horse. Words won't calm it. He didn't want to mount it again. Food, though—he needed something to hook the bag. He reached over his shoulder for the pommel of his sword and leapt forward, swinging the blade out and down. The blade clanged on the horse and caught the strap holding the bag to the saddle. The horse reacted to the sword as though formed from flesh instead of metal. It reared and emitted its harsh, wind-over-an-open-bottle neigh. He stayed close, sliding the sword up inside the strap, and when the horse pulled to his right, the strap parted. The horse moved toward a low ridge and stood near a dark patch of rock.

  Lewis retrieved the bag. Tired now, he would wait and eat in the morning. Looking at the night sky, hazy, with no stars visible, he wondered what his companions were doing back at the train. He hoped his actions here, out in the wastes, could help them.

  Chapter 35: The Cave

  The rising sun woke him. He sat up and looked for the horse, which remained near the darker patch of rock. His sleep had been fitful, laden with imagined sounds, and worries that the h
orse would trample his prone body. His throat felt as though he had swallowed gravel; he drank from the extra canteen. He had left dried fish and fruit soaking in a plastic dish, and now he ate it, not minding that the fruit had absorbed the fish taste. There was some flatbread too, stale, but he ate it despite his dry throat. He would need the energy today, whatever happened. He laughed, remembering his thoughts of yesterday evening, disdaining food.

  Not far ahead, the mossy plain ended at the shrub-covered ridge. Past it rose more hills and beyond, an even higher range. Travel that way would become increasingly difficult. The dark rock behind the horse intrigued him; as he stared at it he realized it was the entrance to a cave. Why not stay in there today and continue after the sun went down? When he finished eating he got up and walked toward the opening, expecting the horse to move away. Instead, it turned to face him, and when he moved to his right, the horse moved as well, keeping its back legs centered with the cave entrance as it turned, blocking him. As though...

  She had to be inside.

  Fearful of the horse, he had slept in his clothes and boots, so all he needed was to pull on his pack and draw the sword. He waved the blade in a wide circle as he advanced. The horse remained motionless. Closer now, he swung down on the horse's neck; it jerked its head away, but the blade struck near the mane. The horse screamed. Startled, he struck again, clanging metal against metal. He couldn't see any damage, but the sword appeared to cause pain, and when he raised it again the horse charged him.

  He fell but kept the sword up and thrust at the horse's belly as it tried to trample him. The blade caught the base of a leg. Something parted in the joint, and the horse flopped onto its side, still screaming. Lewis flung himself out of range of the metal hoofs, but one connected with his chest. He fell, dazed and panting. The horse's flailing legs moved slower and slower, and its cries faded. What had he done? His mount...partner in performance...such a magnificent...How he had longed to get close to it all those times when Desmonica was the rider. Then Dillon made him the rider. Tears formed and seeped down his grit-covered cheeks. The horse's legs stopped moving. There was nothing he could do now but enter the cave and ask Cybele to forgive him.

  The opening was about shoulder high, narrow at the top and maybe a body length wide at the bottom. He pulled out his flashlight. The ceiling gradually lowered, and despite the pain of his bruised ribs, he continued, crawling, dragging the sword and pack. His light showed a hole he didn't think wide enough to squeeze through, but beyond it the cave appeared to open up. He thrust the pack into the hole and pushed forward on his stomach with his arms outstretched. He had to angle his shoulders to fit the shape of the crack and push himself along with his feet. Progress was slow, and the pressure against his shoulders scared him. He breathed, letting the breath guide his body.

  Once through, he sat and rested, turning off the light to conserve batteries. At least now he would be able to walk upright, for a time anyway. He would see what lay beyond when he got there.

  He sipped from his canteen, then rose to continue. The room was about fifteen feet wide. Through a crack in the floor, he could hear the flow of water. He walked along the crack to the far side of the room, where it split into a crawlway to his left and a walking passage on the right.

  "Not in the mood to crawl again," he said.

  In the right-hand passage, the crack and stream below continued. The walls here were rounded as though from the flow of water, which must have seeped through the rock to form a new path below. In places, the crack widened, and he had to slide his feet along the edges. The passage curved downward to his right, leaving the water. He kept going, walking as he had in the hills and on the plain, and soon the passage opened into a vast space with a high, domed ceiling. On reaching the middle of the room, he stopped, too exhausted to continue. The air in the cavern was moist and warm. He lay on the spongy reddish floor and turned off his light to conserve the batteries. From far below came a deep noise, like a giant's heartbeat, and it calmed him, a metronome tuned to his body's rhythms.

  He closed his eyes and saw Leonora giving birth and heard the commotion as Dillon, assisted by the redhead, performed the delivery on a table in the dining car. Gold held the infant aloft for everyone to see.

  "That's so sweet that you're naming him after Lewis," Dawn said. "He was such a good friend to all of us."

  Lewis again felt tears forming. Then he became aware of Cybele's presence. The walls emitted soft, reddish light, enough for him to see her. She stood facing him. His pack and sword lay near her feet. He thought she smiled, a soft, personal smile, as if recalling the memory of something pleasant.

  "I had to find you, my love," he said. "But the horse...it wouldn't let me pass."

  She touched a finger to her lips. "Now that you have found me you will remain forever," she said. She picked up his sword.

  Lewis stood. "Attis cleaved his loins and from his blood the land gained renewal," he said. She held the scabbard with the pommel toward him, and he slid the blade free. This is how it was meant to be, the tale he must fulfill. His actions here would save the rest, allow the train to leave. His companions would remember him. Gold and Leonora's child carried his name. He raised the sword, with the blade pointed at his groin. Cybele sat with the same joyful expression, waiting for his blood to drench her.

  Was this her moment then? Damn her for manipulating him into this. She knew he would act to save the rest, knew he must satisfy the tale. He held the sword with arms raised and rotated it to point toward the distant ceiling. One quick downward thrust to reach an ending.

  Downward then, but not at himself. The blade cut into Cybele's neck. Severing her head required two more swings. Blood jetted from her neck, covering him and the cave floor. Her head rested nearby, lips still showing that soft smile.

  He dropped the sword and sank to his knees. His hands were sticky, and he wiped them in the dirt, blending the shades of red. The glowing walls faded, and the deep noise from below stopped.

  After a time, he thought he felt a tremor and groped for his light. In its narrow beam the room appeared to have decreased in size; the ceiling now hovered a few yards over his head and the surrounding walls drew closer. He felt a tremor again, more definite this time, from somewhere deep in the rock, and he hurried, as fast as he could move his exhausted limbs, back along the way he had come.

  In the room over the stream, he sank to his knees. A glow of sunlight marked the entrance to the hole he had squeezed through, a distant star, alone in the encroaching dark. He would float to it on a bed of moist air. Unable to stand, he crawled toward the hole, leaving his sword and pack. What need did he have for food? Life here was over now, thanks to him, his selfish act. But he would rather die in the light than down here. The dirt in the room cushioned his hands and knees, but he had to stop several times to let his racing heart slow. Breathing became difficult, the dark air viscous and bloody. At the hole, he strained his body through the squeeze point, tearing...tight knuckles pressing rocks...into the wider passage beyond.

  A hard rain fell, pooling below the entrance. He sat just inside the overhang and watched the large, slopping drops. His knuckles were raw and it hurt to breathe. The blood dried on his skin and clothes. He touched a patch that matted the hairs on his right arm—the last link with his love. Another tremor shook the ground and he thought he heard a roaring sound from back in the cave, growing closer. He scrambled out and up the ridge, stopping several yards above the cave entrance. The roar increased, the hillside trembled, then water spurted from the cave, a flood culled from rainfall, from the stream, sent out into the world by the tremors of shifting earth and rock. He looked away, afraid of seeing Cybele's body in the effluence.

  Mist shrouded the mossy plain, but rain was better than red heat and haze. The rain cleansed him, washing away the blood. Drenched and weary, he sat with his back to a spiny shrub. From the cave, the water continued to flow, cutting a new river.

  After a time, he climbed down and walke
d along the river, which had already gouged a bed through the dry earth. It would lead him, this river sprung from his act. He didn't remember stopping, but at some point he must have camped for the night. He awakened with the stars bright above him. The earth on which he lay vibrated, a gentle tremor, soothing after his journey. Somewhere back toward the cave, a column of cloud blocked the stars.

  ~

  The twins walked toward him, and he stood to greet them. They had grown, now his height though still slim. Why did they smile? After what he had done...They were holding hands, and with their free hands they reached for his, forming a silent circle, the three of them beneath the night sky.

  ~

  A dazzling sun rose clean and yellow; gone was the rusty haze that had afflicted the land. He dozed, and he dreamed that Dawn lifted him. He floated in her arms.

  "He doesn't weigh a thing but you'd better carry him."

  Another shape reached out, Bodyssia; she took him from Dawn. Above him, the blue sky smiled. It pulled at him, but she held him with a firm grip. One of his arms wedged between his body and hers; he flailed the other until he became too tired to struggle. Her face hovered above him, her strong jaw, her lips moving, forming shapes that must have had significance. Whatever her plan, he could do nothing to stop her. She stumbled, dropping him. Above him, the sky was no longer blue; haze obscured the sun. Rumblings sounded from somewhere, and the ground on which he lay trembled. Bodyssia picked him up and they continued.