by Jeffrey Ford
Willa sat with tears in her eyes. She said, “You must go.”
The day before they were to leave, Cley took Wraith hunting in the forest.
“I don’t understand,” said the boy.
“Don’t worry, I’m coming back. I promise,” he said. He had a brief memory flash of having told Anotine the same thing as she lay on the path next to Dr. Hellman.
“What if you don’t?” said Wraith.
“There is no question that I will,” said the hunter. “Let’s find a deer, now.”
They crouched together behind a blind of tall ferns, having tracked a large buck through the underbrush for two miles. Now that it was time to take a shot, Cley gave the bow to Wraith.
“Remember,” whispered Cley. “You’ve got to watch with both eyes.”
With the arrow in place, the boy slowly stood, and pulled back on the string. He held the shot for a moment, aiming, and his form looked perfect. Cley thought to himself, “He will be fine.”
Wraith released, but the arrow sailed harmlessly over the buck’s head and embedded itself in the trunk of a pine tree. With two bounding leaps, the animal was gone.
Neither of the hunters spoke for the rest of the afternoon. Only on their way back to the house through the gathering dusk did Wraith turn to Cley.
“By the time you return,” said the boy, “I will be able to make that shot.”
“I know you will,” said the hunter, and put his hand on Wraith’s head.
“If you don’t return after the winter, I will come for you,” said Wraith.
Cley could not speak. He moved on toward the edge of the forest. When they reached the meadow, the boy ran ahead to the house.
It was early morning, and Willa and Wraith were still asleep. The hunter wore his hat and held his bow and quiver. His pack was filled with food and the tools of survival. He looked around the room, at the fireplace, Pierce’s old broom leaning against the table, Wraith sleeping in the corner.
“The time has come,” said Ea.
Cley walked over and leaned down to kiss the boy. Willa appeared at the entrance to the other room. She was smiling.
“Please be careful,” she said. She took Ea’s hand in hers. Then she went to Cley and touched his shoulder.
“When you fire the pistol …” said Cley.
“No more about the pistol,” said Willa. “I’m a better shot with it than you are.” She laughed.
The hunter smiled. “Yes, I’m an old man,” he said.
They embraced.
The door opened, and Willa watched Cley and Ea heading off toward the north.
Cley’s years by the lake left him in poor shape for a journey. Ea, too, was now much older, and did not move with the same grace as in his youth. The companions made slow progress, taking much the same route that Vasthasha had on Cley’s journey to save the Beyond. Two months passed them in the opposite direction before they came to the foot of the mountain range they must cross.
It took three arduous days to ascend to the head of the pass, which was the only route through the maze of towering stone giants. As the temperature began to plummet, they made camp one night at the mouth of the mountains’ gullet. After they ate the wild goat Cley had killed that afternoon, they sat by the fire, talking aimlessly about the past.
When Cley brought out his pipe, Ea said, “Along the way today, I found some of these.” He held out his hand and showed Cley six little brown pellets.
“Rabbit turds?” asked Cley, and smiled.
“Put them in the pipe,” said Ea.
“I’ve smoked my fill of shit in this life,” said Cley, waving a hand at Ea’s offering.
“They are the seeds of a weed that grows only in these lonely mountains,” said the Traveler.
“What will I see in the smoke?” asked Cley. “I’m tired of the consciousness of the wilderness.”
“It does not tire of yours,” said Ea.
The smoke of the seeds was bitter, but also very relaxing. Before Cley took his third toke, he was ready to bed down.
“Are you tired?” asked Ea.
“Exhausted,” said Cley, as he leaned back and pulled the blanket over himself.
The hunter’s body lost all its tension. The muscles and joints that had ached for days now, miraculously, had no complaints. He felt warm and tired, on the verge of sleep. Before drifting off into a dream of arriving at the true Wenau, he had two very vivid thoughts. The first was brief. He was back at the house by the lake, in bed with Willa. She lay facing him, her breasts against his chest, her hand on his back, her quiet, steady breathing near his ear. He ran his open palm down the skin of her shoulder, her side, her hip.
The second thought, briefer still, was of Wraith, aiming the old bow. He released the arrow and it flew over the leaf-strewn ground, threading between two tree trunks, and struck the buck directly in its heart. The beast released its life in a torrent of steam, and, as it fell, Cley fell into Wenau and landed beside the reclining form of Arla Beaton.
The next morning the companions woke before sunrise.
As they prepared to leave Cley found, in his pack, the green veil. He took it out and opened it, laying it flat upon his upturned palm.
“See, here,” he said to Ea.
The Traveler smiled. “Your square of Paradise.”
Cley lifted the veil in both hands and held it up to cover his face. Through it, he saw the wilderness clearly, save for a green tint that slightly changed the color of everything.
“Are you ready, Cley?” asked Ea.
“No,” said the hunter. “I’m not going.”
“We’ve come so far,” said Ea.
“I’m sorry,” said Cley. “It has been very fine to see you again. I wish I could see Arla before she dies, but I need to return. I’m needed more urgently elsewhere.”
“There will be no other opportunities,” said the Traveler.
“I know,” said Cley. “I’m going home.”
Ea stood in silence for a long time, watching the hunter lift his pack and sling it over his shoulder. Cley still held the veil in his hand. “It is your decision,” said the Traveler.
Cley walked over to his friend from Wenau and shook his hand. “Thank you,” he said.
“The wilderness loves you, Cley,” said Ea.
“I couldn’t tell,” said the hunter, and they both laughed.
“I should make it back before the snow,” said Cley.
“You will,” said Ea.
The hunter turned and began to walk away.
“Cley,” called Ea. “I have to give you a message from Arla.”
Cley stopped but did not look back.
“She is dead,” said Ea. “She died a few months before I came to see you. We knew you were living by the lake with the woman and the boy. The old tattoo master of the Word told us everything. In her last days, she made me promise to come to you and offer passage to Wenau. She told me, ‘If he makes the long journey here, he should find my grave. Only if he turns back, and goes to the woman and the boy, are you to tell him that I forgive him for everything.’”
Cley began walking again. He knew it would be a long and difficult journey, and he did not need the extra weight. Holding the veil above his head, he opened his fingers, and the wilderness took it from him.
all in the choosing
I tried to explain to them that it was folly to attempt to hang a man with the power of flight, but they continue building the gallows. If I look out the barred window at the back of the cell, I can see it under construction. Yes, I have been found guilty—sentenced to death. This is to be my last night.
I could bend the bars on that window like they were long blades of grass and take to the sky in less than a minute, but I won’t. The instant I pass through the portal to freedom, I will again be a creature. It is all in the choosing.
Spencer had a choice to make, too, and he was about to pronounce his decision, when Frabone stood up and interrupted the proceedings. Everyone in the co
urt turned and looked at the wretch.
The constable was clearly angry at his intrusion.
“Before you slam the desk, sir, I have one more piece of evidence to present,” said the prosecutor. “It will give the truth.”
“The truth,” said Spencer, and smiled. “I doubt it.”
“In the name of Justice,” said Frabone.
“No,” said Feskin.
“He’s had his day, Feskin, I agree, but I want to see this evidence for my own decision. Stay calm, I’m still at the tiller,” said Spencer.
Feskin leaned over to me, and whispered, “This won’t be good.”
“What part has been?” I asked.
Frabone stepped to the side of the room so that both judge and citizens could see him at once. He wore a look of death with ambition as he held up his hand for everyone’s attention.
“Yesterday afternoon,” said the prosecutor, “in this court, as the defendant was being escorted to his cell, he was approached by a girl who slipped a note into his hand. My associates witnessed this and warned me of it. I instructed them to follow the little girl, keep her under surveillance until the trial was over.
“They followed her home and watched her house for an hour before they discovered she was gone. They gently persuaded her mother to reveal the daughter’s destination. She finally told them that Emilia had taken a horse and gone to the ruins.
“My associates hired horses and rode through the forest, over the fields of Harakun to the Well-Built City. It was evening when they approached the remains of the old wall. A hundred feet off the ruins, they apprehended the girl. She was on her horse, and she carried something under her arm. My associates investigated this object and found it to be a box done up with fake jewels. It had sat on the demon’s writing desk, back in the Well-Built City.
“When they opened the box, they found this inside,” said Frabone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the green veil. “Guilty,” he said, and stood there holding it in the air for all to see.
The doors opened then, and two of Frabone’s associates escorted Emilia into the court. She was shown to a spot near the constable’s desk, and she stood there, looking at the floor.
The prosecutor approached her, and said, “You were taking the veil in order to destroy evidence, weren’t you?”
Emilia looked up. She stared at the back of the room. “I went to the ruins to get the box for Misrix. He told me that it was special to him. That is why I went.”
“At least, if you are innocent, you found the evidence we needed when you took the box,” said Frabone.
“The veil as I have told you over and again,” said Emilia, “was not in the box.” She glared at the prosecutor. “I told you, I was coming through the ruins, and I saw it floating downward through the air. It drifted almost to my hand but the wind tried to grab it away at the last second. I was too fast for it. I put the veil in the box before leaving through the wall.”
“Emilia,” said Frabone, coming close to her, and laying his hand on her shoulder, “we know that is a lie.”
This was a defining moment for me. The urge to tear Frabone’s head off was very great all throughout the trial, but when Emilia’s composure crumbled and she began to cry, Feskin had to put his arm across my chest to hold me steady. They never got another word out of her. She cried for a half-hour in front of the town of Wenau, and when she was finally ushered out of the building, she was still weeping uncontrollably.
The allegations, as I have told you, are not true. Frabone wants to convince you that I murdered Cley. I have shown you Cley. Does he not live? He is remembering me, right now, somewhere in the Beyond.
Before I sat down to record these final thoughts for you, I heard a voice outside the back window of my cell. I pulled myself up on the bars and looked down. Emilia was standing there, looking up at me.
“I wanted to help,” she said.
“You did,” I told her.
“Are we still friends?” I asked, as my grip slipped and I fell back to the floor. When I managed to pull myself up again, she was gone.
I have also seen the hangman from my window. He has been overseeing the building of the gallows. I swear to you, the man bears an uncanny resemblance to Brisden.
Tomorrow, I will understand.
Acknowledgments
This book is for those stout-hearted readers who have accompanied me on the entirety of this three-part journey and also for those who gave me good directions along the way, especially Jennifer Brehl, who carried the compass, showed great courage, and, on this leg of the expedition, cleared miles of rancorous underbrush.
Special thanks to:
Pat Dean, tattoo guru, for lending me some interesting books.
Bill Watkins, Kevin Quigley, and Mike Gallagher for reading and commenting on various parts of this novel while it was growing.
Meems, Nauk, and Air for precious Time.
About the Author
Jeffrey Ford is the author of the novels Vanitas, The Physiognomy, Memoranda, The Beyond, The Portrait of Mrs. Charbuque, The Girl in the Glass, The Cosmology of the Wider World, and The Shadow Year. His story collections are The Fantasy Writer’s Assistant, The Empire of Ice Cream, The Drowned Life, and Crackpot Palace. Ford has published over one hundred short stories, which have appeared in numerous journals, magazines, and anthologies, from the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction to The Oxford Book of American Short Stories. He is the recipient of the World Fantasy Award, the Nebula Award, the Shirley Jackson Award, the Edgar Award, France’s Grand Prix de l’Imaginaire, and Japan’s Hayakawa’s SF Magazine Reader’s Award.
Ford’s fiction has been translated into twenty languages. In addition to writing, he has been a professor of literature and writing for thirty years and has been a guest lecturer at the Clarion Writers’ Workshop, the Stone Coast MFA in Creative Writing Program, Richard Hugo House in Seattle, and the Antioch Writers’ Workshop. Ford lives in Ohio and currently teaches at Ohio Wesleyan University.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Physiognomy © 1997 by Jeffrey Ford
Memoranda copyright © 1999 by Jeffrey Ford
The Beyond copyright © 2001 by Jeffrey Ford
Cover design by Amanda Shaffer
ISBN: 978-1-5040-4830-9
This edition published in 2017 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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New York, NY 10038
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