Lily

by Michael Thomas Ford

  Afterward, Sims brought her to a grouping of small wooden cottages on wheels. It was explained to her that the people who worked for the Holy Gospel Caravan lived in the houses — which were pulled by trucks — as they traveled from place to place. At least, the important people did. People like Sims and the Reverend himself. The others rode in buses and slept in tents.

  Sims was then called away to attend to something more important, and he told Lily to stay near the wagons until he got back, and not wander off. This she was happy to do, as she was tired, and so she walked a little way behind the wagons, to the edge of a field, and made a nest of a kind by flattening the grass the way she had seen hares and foxes do.

  The ground beneath her was still warm from the heat of the day, and the breeze that rippled the tall grass of the field whispered in her ears. The sounds of the carnival seemed far away, although from time to time she heard voices raised in song, and occasionally a “Hallelujah!” or “Amen!” broke the stillness.

  She wondered what her mother and the Reverend were saying about her. Her mother had not looked pleased to be brought to the tent, and had frowned at Lily as if she had done something wrong. Sims had taken Lily away before she could explain, and so now Lily worried that her mother was angry with her.

  She pushed the thought from her mind and concentrated on the stars, looking for familiar constellations. But the heavens looked different from what she remembered, and she became confused. Nothing was where it ought to be. She closed her eyes and tried to recall what the sky should look like.

  When she opened them again, someone was standing beside her and looking down into her face. It was the old man from the fortune teller’s tent. Only now as she looked at him, he appeared again to be a child. In one hand he held a lantern, the globe of which was filled with a pale, flickering light. It took Lily a moment to realize that the light came not from any flame, but from the glow of a dozen fireflies.

  Lily and the boy stared at one another for a moment. The fireflies winked on and off. Then Lily said, “Did Mr. Sims send you to find me?”

  “No,” answered the boy. His voice seemed both old and young at the same time, which confused her once more.

  “What’s your name?” Lily asked him, hoping that having something by which to call him would make the question of his age less troubling.

  “Ash,” he answered. He sat down beside her, setting the lantern in front of him. The fireflies, as if sensing they were not needed at the moment, went dark. Ash, now a shadow beside Lily, was silent.

  “I was trying to remember the names of the stars,” Lily said after some time.

  “They’re not the same here,” said Ash.

  Lily wanted to ask what he meant by here. Did he know about her? Did he know about her village? If so, how? Had he been there? Or did he mean something altogether different? Perhaps he was talking about where he was from. She didn’t dare ask, although she very much wanted to.

  “This sky has no Poisoned Queen,” Ash continued. “No White Bear or Broken Ladder.”

  Lily had never heard of these constellations, and she wondered in what world they existed, and in which Ash had seen them, but she said nothing. Ash pointed to the sky. “There’s the Scorpion,” he said. “And over there, the Dragon. But their magic is asleep, or maybe dying. This whole world is dying, I think. Or maybe it’s already dead and we’re all just ghosts.”

  “I don’t think I’m a ghost,” Lily told him. “Are you?”

  To her surprise, Ash laughed. “I’m many things,” he said. “But I don’t think a ghost is one of them. Although some might disagree. Are you ready to see your mother and the preacher now?”

  “I thought you said Sims didn’t send you to find me?” said Lily.

  “He didn’t,” Ash replied. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know that they’re ready for you.”

  Lily got up, brushing the grass from her dress. Ash stood as well, and picked up the lantern. The fireflies glowed, illuminating his face. He looked at Lily with eyes that seemed to her to be impossibly sad. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but just then Lily heard Sims’s voice calling to her.

  “I’m here!” she called over her shoulder. When she turned back to Ash, she found that he had gone. The grass was just closing behind him as he disappeared back into the field.

  She ran back towards the wagons, where she found Sims waiting. Seeing her, he said, “What were you doing?”

  “Looking at the stars,” she told him.

  Sims looked up at the sky, as if perhaps he had never noticed before that it was filled with stars. Then he turned and walked away. Lily followed as they made their way back to the tents and the sounds of people talking and singing. She wondered what time it was, and whether the Holy Gospel Caravan ever truly went to sleep.

  “Does the fortune teller have a wagon?” she asked Sims as they walked.

  “Fortune teller?” Sims said. “There’s no fortune teller in the Caravan.”

  “But I saw her,” said Lily. “And there’s a boy with her. Ash.”

  Sims glanced at her, his brow furrowed. “There’s no boy here with that name,” he said.

  “Perhaps there’s an old man called that then?” Lily suggested. “A very small old man who sometimes looks like a boy?”

  “No,” Sims said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you saw someone who was visiting. As I said, we have no fortune teller. The Reverend would never allow such devilry here.”

  Lily wanted to argue, but thought better of it. Besides, a larger question had formed in her mind. “What about me?” she said. “Isn’t what I do a kind of fortune telling?”

  “Yes,” Sims said. Lily waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more until they were once more standing outside the tent in which Silas Everyman sat with her mother.

  “Go inside,” Sims instructed her.

  Lily slipped through the opening. She found her mother and the Reverend seated in chairs across the table from one another. There were two glasses on the table, and a bottle between them.

  “Ah,” said Everyman when he saw Lily. “Here she is now.”

  Lily’s mother looked at her, then turned her head and picked up the glass that was in front of her. She drank from it in a series of quick sips.

  “Your mother and I have had a nice, long talk about you,” the Reverend told Lily.

  “Can you help me?” Lily asked him.

  The Reverend nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Your mother has agreed that you need to be under my care. You’re very fortunate that she’s a godly woman, and understands the peril your soul is in. It’s clearly the will of Jesus that brought you here.”

  Lily wanted to know if it was the will of Jesus that her father had to die, as they would never have left the village but for that. But then, hadn’t she been the one to kill him with her kiss? Hadn’t the girl inside of her been responsible for making sure that the vision came true?

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “It’s not what I’m going to do,” said the preacher. “It’s what we’re going to do together.”

  Lily didn’t understand. She looked again to her mother for some kind of help, but her mother’s attention was on the Reverend. She gazed at him with an expression Lily found difficult to comprehend.

  “Come and sit by me,” Everyman said, indicating an empty chair at the table.

  Lily obeyed. The chair was hard and uncomfortable, the edge of the wooden seat cutting into the soft skin behind her knees. She fidgeted, trying to get comfortable, but nothing helped. She glanced at her mother, and saw that her mother’s eyes were soft and unfocused, as if she were very tired.

  Everyman smiled at Lily. Unlike her mother’s eyes, his were alive with excitement. He licked his lips before continuing, covering them with a thin film of spit that glistened in the light.

  “Earlier tonight,” he said. “Your mother and I prayed to the Lord for guidance regarding your trouble. Fortunately
for you, he has provided me with an answer. I am to be the agent of your salvation. The vessel through which he will work a miracle.”

  Lily didn’t understand. Her mother, however, murmured “Amen” and lifted one hand up. The hand also contained her glass, which she then pressed to her lips.

  “You will be saved,” Everyman said. He nodded his head firmly, as if some great debate had been concluded.

  “How?” Lily asked.

  The Reverend stood up. He extended his arms and smiled. “By helping others,” he told her. “By turning your curse into a tool for healing.”

  Lily still didn’t understand. But she felt foolish for not grasping the meaning of the Reverend’s words, and so she sat quietly, concentrating on the pain in her legs.

  “What is it that every soul wants most to know,” Everyman continued, “but the time and manner in which it will depart this world. And you can give them the answer to this question.”

  Lily couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to know when they would die. “How does this help them?” she asked.

  The Reverend cocked his head to the side. “How?” he said. “By giving them fair warning. So that, if possible, they can prevent it. Change how and when it will occur. Postpone it for as long as possible. And if they can’t postpone it, use the time they have left to get their affairs in order, spend time with their loved ones, and atone for their sins in order to be welcomed into the arms of the Lord at the moment of their passing.”

  Lily, rubbing one leg against the edge of the chair, felt the skin catch on a rough spot in the wood. She pressed against it, and the jagged lip bit into her flesh. “How do you know they can change what I see?” she asked. “Isn’t what I see the truth?”

  Everyman nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “But the truth can be changed. With enough prayer and effort. What you see is what will happen if the person does nothing, continues on as he is at this moment. But the future is not written in stone.”

  Lily wanted to know how he knew this. Nothing in her experience so far suggested to her that what she saw when she touched someone was merely a possibility. But she knew little of these things, and the preacher had the power of his god behind him. Perhaps he was more adept at magic than she.

  “Don’t you see?” he said. “You will give them a chance to change their ways. And in doing so, you will yourself atone for whatever sin has brought this affliction upon you.”

  “You mean it will stop?” Lily asked. “If I do this?”

  Everyman lifted his hands. “The Lord will surely show you mercy,” he said.

  Lily moved her leg once more. A drop of blood slipped from the wound she had made and began to slide down her calf. Reaching beneath her dress, she touched her fingertip to the stickiness, then brought her hand to her face. Pressing her palms together in imitation of the Reverend when he prayed, she moved her hands closer to her face and breathed in the sharp scent of metal and earth.

  Everyman, thinking Lily was overcome with joy by the Lord’s benevolence, winked at her mother, who turned her eyes away and looked deeply into her almost-empty glass.

  “How long will it take?” Lily asked.

  The Reverend tsked her. “That is the wrong question, child,” he said. “It’s not for us to ask God what his timetable is. Our sole duty is to serve him until he tells us our time is through.”

  Lily slipped the tip of her tongue between her tented fingers, searching for the curse-tainted blood that stained her skin. She wondered if she could taste it, if it somehow altered the composition of the life that flowed through her veins and made it more bitter. What flavor did damnation have? She wondered too if she could pass it along to someone else, like a sickness that jumped to another who came too near. She considered pointing her bloodstained finger at her mother, or at Everyman, to see if it brought fear to their eyes.

  Another question occurred to her. “How will they know I tell the truth?” she asked Everyman.

  The preacher held up one finger. “A very good point,” he said. “And one I have already considered. We will need to provide examples to satisfy their curiosity and silence their doubts. Proof. But don’t you worry yourself about that. The Lord will guide my hand.”

  Lily understood very little, but she said nothing. She was tired. Also, hope stirred in her heart. Perhaps the Reverend was right. Perhaps she could rid herself of the curse with the help of his god.

  “Tomorrow we begin,” Everyman declared. “So now you need your rest. I will have a wagon prepared for you in the morning, but tonight you may stay in one of the tents. Sims will show you where to go.”

  Lily’s mother stood, and so Lily followed suit. The cut behind her knee had clotted, but she saw that she had left blood smeared on the wood of the chair. A fly landed on the stain and began to explore with its curious feet the message left behind by her body. Lily wondered if it would die, or if perhaps it too would now see the deaths of every living thing upon which it alit. If so, would it drive the tiny creature mad, knowing such secrets?

  “Say thank you.” Her mother’s voice hissed in her ear.

  Lily looked at Everyman, who was filling his glass from the bottle. “Thank you,” she said.

  The preacher nodded. “We’re going to do great things together,” he told her. “Great things.”

  Lily’s mother said goodnight, and she and Lily left the tent. Once more, Sims was there. He said nothing as they walked, this time heading for a field filled with tents. Unlike the small gathering of wagons, the sprawling tent city was bustling with life. Campfires burned outside some of them, while music filled the air as harmonicas, fiddles, and voices joined together. Laughter, not all of it kind, trickled between the rows of tents, and clowns moved in and out of the shadows.

  “I apologize for the accommodations,” Sims said as they stopped in front of a tent that resembled all of the others. “Tomorrow I will find something more suitable for you. Your arrival was of course unexpected.”

  “Yes,” said Lily’s mother. “I understand. I think we will be all right for one night.”

  Sims nodded and left. Lily and her mother entered the tent. Inside they found two wood-and-canvas cots covered with thin, wool blankets. There was also a battered wooden washstand, upon which sat a china basin filled with water. A cake of white soap and two cloth towels were beside it. A small trunk sat between the cots, with a lantern on it.

  Lily’s mother undressed, folding her stockings and her dress and laying them over the trunk. She sat on the edge of one of the cots and yawned. When she saw that Lily wasn’t copying her, she asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “I need to make water,” Lily said.

  Her mother sighed. “Go out there and ask someone where to go,” she said. She slipped her feet beneath the blanket of her cot and laid her head down on the pillow, closing her eyes.

  Lily looked at the tent door. Beyond it was the world of the clowns and others who served the Reverend. She wished she could call for Sims to show her the way through it. The thought of walking among them alone filled her with dread, although she couldn’t say precisely why that was or what she feared.

  She undressed and got into her cot, trying to ignore the pressure in her belly. She closed her eyes, hoping that sleep might overtake her and make her forget the restless demands of her body, which seemed determined of late to betray her in every possible way. But the heaviness inside her continued to grow.

  “Lord,” she prayed silently, imitating the Reverend’s words. “Help me, please.” She hoped that now that she was in partnership with Everyman, she might have access to his god and his miracles.

  She waited, the blanket gripped tightly in her hands. Outside, the laughter of the clowns seemed to rise up and surround the tent. And then she felt the warm rush between her legs as her prayer was answered.

  S I X T E E N

  BABA YAGA made her way through the tangle of tents, following the faint sound of dice rattling in a cup. She loved games of chance, and was in the moo
d to try her luck. So when she located the group of clowns huddled around a fire, throwing dice in the dirt, she joined them. None of them gave her a second glance.

  “Have you seen his new pet?” one of the clowns, the one with the dice, said.

  “The girl?” said another, throwing a coin onto the ground. “Is she for the show?”

  “Aren’t they all?” said a third. “Isn’t everything for the show?”

  They all laughed, including Baba Yaga. She wondered how much the clowns really knew, and how much they cared. Probably not much on both counts, she thought. She tossed a coin beside the others. It was silver, but it was not of this land. As she recalled, it was from one of the hells. But whether it was used as a token to enter or leave, she couldn’t remember.

  “I think he’s more interested in the mother,” said the first clown, casting the dice. “It’s been a while since he had one his own age.”

  He rolled an eight. More coins were added to the pile. Baba Yaga contributed a polushka.

  “One of them must have some worth,” the third clown said. “He’s giving them a wagon. Although tonight they’re here with us.”

  The first clown rolled again. Eleven. Baba Yaga, who was out of coins, placed a robin’s egg on the pile.

  “I wonder how long until he tires of them and gives them to us,” said the second clown.

  The clown with the dice rolled a seven. His compatriots, who had wagered against this happening, swore their annoyance. Baba Yaga, mulling over what she had just learned, was content to let him keep what he had taken from her. Robin eggs were easy enough to find.

  She left the clowns to their game and went in search of the girl, which was readily accomplished by listening to the gossiping tongues and following their path. Baba Yaga sniffed the air around the tent. The girl had pissed herself. Well, no matter. These things happened when you were afraid. And the child, she thought, should be very much afraid. Something was building, a rising of power that was sure to grow into a storm of some sort, with the girl at the center of it. She would be tested, and fiercely.