by K. C. Ball
in Issue 78, July 2018
Corder couldn’t figure how it came to be that he got lost.
He had crossed the Barrens a dozen times or more the past six years, working caravans; sometimes saw an end to it in four days, never more than five. Maybe this time he got turned around second day, when a gusting wind snatched away his hat and he scrambled after it. Maybe he misread the stars.
Whatever happened, nine days were come and gone.
He had drunk the last of the water two days ago and had started to consider swallowing the barrel of his flintlock when he stumbled on a skull half-buried in the sand. He worked it loose with his boot toe; rocking it back and forth. Finally, an empty eye socket glared at him.
“What the hell you looking at?” he croaked.
“A dead man.” Corder heard those words as surely as if the skull had whispered back. He knuckled his peeling lips, caught a whiff of his own fetid breath, and his hands came away streaked with blood.
“Jesus God,” he rasped. “I’d give away my soul for just a taste of wet.”
It sounded like a prayer. A wind picked up from the south, shrieking like that cross-eyed whore Corder had bedded last time he was home to see his folks. He pulled at his hat brim, closed his eyes and turned with the gust, as if he was a weathervane. When it let up, he blinked away the grit and saw a building set off to the north. Whether it was real or not, it called to him.
Corder kicked at the skull. “I’ll just wait a bit to die,” he rasped, and he headed north.
After a time, he fetched up to a shack. The outside showed nothing but a single door. Inside, he found an empty room, with a second door hung opposite the first. A shiver shimmied up his spine. There hadn’t been a sign of that second door outside.
At a touch, the second door swung into velvet darkness and Corder heard and smelled the rain. He stepped out onto the cut-stone stoop and shuddered at the hard sting of summer rain.
A memory of Grannie Ruth whispered at his ear. “The world’s full of magic, boy, for good or bad. Best not play with it.”
“To hell with that,” he whispered back.
He tipped his head, opened wide and began to drink. After a time, no longer feeling so bone-dry and all squeezed out, he shut his trap and closed the door, settled on the stoop and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Something raked his ribs and woke him to the morning sun. He reached for his flintlock. Gone. Did he drop it out there on the sand or did someone take it from him?
“You awake?” a man asked.
Corder squinted against the light. A tall stranger loomed over him. Corder couldn’t quite make out the fellow’s features but the way he said his words reminded Corder of home. Maybe he was safe.
“You some sort of highwayman?” Corder asked, just in case.
“Good god, no,” the stranger said.
He held out Corder’s pistol. “Here’s your gun, friend; just promise you won’t shoot me.”
Corder took the weapon and holstered it. “I promise,” he said. “If you stop kicking at my ribs.”
The stranger laughed. “I tried calling, but you wouldn’t answer. Thought at first that you were dead.”
“Am I?” The thought had crossed Corder’s mind.
“You’re talking to me, aren’t you?”
“That don’t prove a thing,” Corder heard Grannie whisper.
He grunted and pushed himself to his feet. His joints and muscles ached as if he had been beaten. His tongue tasted like something small had crawled into his mouth and died, and he had to piss so bad his back teeth felt about to float away.
“I got to make my water,” he said.
The stranger motioned with his hand and Corder tottered to a gentle drop, pulling at the lacings of his fly. “I’m not always so damned grumpy come a morning, but I’ve wandered in the barrens for a spell.”
The stranger grinned. “I have been across that place a time or two myself. My name’s Pellum, by the way. Doctor Pellum.”
“My name’s Corder.”
Pellum grinned. “Pleased to meet you, Jesse.”
Now that was strange.
“Did I say my folks named me that?” Corder asked.
Pellum shrugged. “You were mumbling in your sleep.”
“Uh huh.”
Pellum pushed right on. “Did you come through the shed?”
Corder pulled out his pecker and let water fly, his words more cautious when he spoke.
“I surely did. Belong to you?”
“You could say that.”
As he pissed, Corder picked at what had just passed between them. He studied the land spread below the rise; wondered where he was. He had made it off The Barrens, that for sure, but he wasn’t anywhere he recognized.
There was a range of mountains to the north, with green fields stretching from the foothills, and a proper town took up the flatlands below the rise. Crushed-stone streets radiated from a town square. Neat frame houses, painted up in white, with green and red and blue trim, lined the streets. There was a school and churches, too; stores and a bank, all laid up in brick.
Corder felt that sudden shiver up his spine again. Such a pretty, perfect little town had no business being here.
Wherever here was.
His hands shook as he fastened up his fly. The still, small voice of Grannie Ruth whispered in his ear again.
“Ask the fellow who he really is.”
“No,” he whispered back.
“You talking to me?” Pellum asked.
Corder dipped his chin. “You live down there?”
“No. Over there.”
Pellum pointed east. Corder saw clustered tents and fires. Among the tents, people went about their business. But the thing floating above the campsite caught Corder’s attention. It was a hot-air balloon. Corder had seen one at a fair a few years back.
Pellum must have seen him looking. “That’s Easy Promises. Ever been up in one?”
Corder shook his head. “No.”
“Uh huh.” Pellum motioned with his hand. “Well, come on; I’ll take you up in Promises, once we get you food and drink. Wait and see; the view’s spectacular.”
By the time they reached the tents, walking had become a chore again. Corder dropped onto a canvas stool next to a fire, working hard to catch his breath.
“Hey, Red,” Pellum called.
“What?” a woman’s voice.
“How about a cup of tea and a bite of breakfast. We’ve got a hungry visitor.”
The woman answered. “This isn’t a charity operation, Doc.”
Pellum rolled his eyes. “Just bring the food.”
“All right, but this is the last time.”
Pellum leaned toward Corder. “She says that every time.”
“You pick up a lot of strangers?”
“We’re all strangers until we get a chance to say hello, aren’t we?” Pellum grinned.
Corder pointed to the balloon, hanging above them. Doctor Pellum’s Patent Nostrum was painted on its side in bold red letter. Smaller letters offered a promise. A Cure for All That Ails You.
“Is all that true?” Corder asked.
Pellum spread his arms. “Every word. Doctor of medicine, divinity, philosophy and dentistry. And purveyor of a patent medicinal.”
“A what?”
“A tonic.” Pellum spread his arms. “Friend, this is my show and all you see is mine.”
A young woman, tall and slim, with auburn hair, stepped from a nearby tent, carrying a plate and steaming mug. Corder came to his feet to watch her. His heart hammered; his breath caught when she stopped an arms-length from him. She kept what she had prepared for him held close to her.
“Are you going to pay for this?” she asked. “Or are you another beggar?”
Pellum shook his head. “No way to greet a weary traveler, Red. The Book says give and it will be given back to you. Good measure will be put into your lap.”
“Don’t you quote the Book at me,” she said. “Not just to suit your purposes.”
“Give it to him,” Pellum said.
She thrust a plate and cup at Corder. “I want these back when you’re done, and don’t you break or chip a single thing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
The scent of the tea, the pungent aroma of beans and bacon, had latched onto him, but so had the scent and sight of the young woman. He couldn’t take his eyes away from her, not even long enough to eat. The growling of his stomach broke the sudden silence. The young woman laughed.
“Sounds like it’s been awhile since you ate,” she said.
“A few days,” Corder said.
“Go on then, get to it.”
She raised the plate and cup to him. Corder accepted both and she turned back toward her tent.
“Thank you,” Corder called after her. “I’ll be careful.”
She didn’t look back. “You better.”
“Who is she?” Corder asked Pellum, when the young woman was out of sight.
“That’s Mariah,” Pellum said. “She’s my daughter.”
Corder stood in the dark between two tents. Jam-packed trestle benches, facing a stage, filled the space before him. Metal pots lined the stage; what some called limelights. Nasty things. Working strong-arm in a bawdy house back east, Corder had seen a fellow get his hand half burnt off by an exploding limelight during a show.
Pellum’s performance began at dusk.
A fat lady sang to start it off. Three men accompanied her, pretending to be an entire band and coming damned close to being one. Then a big fellow picked up a heifer cow as if it were a calf. After that, a man and a woman – in fright wigs and grease paint – did a sorry Punch and Judy. The crowd laughed, anyway. Finally, A pair of dwarves called the Hurling Burley Boys tossed and caught balls and rings and knives. Eggs and iron ingots.
Finally, Pellum stepped up. He leaned into the crowd’s welcome, as if into a stiff wind, swelled larger as the audience applauded, drawing nourishment from their approval.
His words rolled across the fields. \
“Friends,” he said. “I’ve been through these parts, so I won’t waste your time feeding you old, tired lines.”
Someone shouted. “We want to hear you say your piece.”
Pellum waved down applause that followed. “No, I’m going to let you talk. Some have used my nostrum. Tell us what it’s done for you.”
Near the front, a woman jumped up and pulled the man beside her to his feet. “You helped us have a baby!”
Pellum raised an eyebrow. “You mean you used my nostrum?”
“Yes, of course,” the woman shouted back.
The crowd roared with approving laughter.
A fellow, almost as big as Pellum’s strong man, unfolded himself from a bench. He held his hat in both hands, kneading the felt brim as if it were a lump of dough, working it to build his courage to speak before a crowd.
“You saved my farm,” the fellow said. “Three years ago, I fell out of my haymow, near to broke my back. Couldn’t do a lick of work. The bank kept pestering me to pay the mortgage. Would’a lost the farm.”
He glanced to the woman and five stair-step children on the bench beside him. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“A bottle of the nostrum took away my pain. A second bottle gave me back my strength. It was a miracle.”
Others in the crowd told stories. An eldest daughter cured of vapors. An old man able to use arthritic hands again. A woman who regained her sight. After a time, Pellum pulled a flat, half pint bitters jar from his jacket pocket.
He thrust it toward the audience. Even at a distance, Corder saw the emerald-green liquid in the narrow bottle rolling as if it were alive.
“For those of you who’ve never seen it, this is what these folks speak of,” Pellum said. “If you don’t know of the Nostrum, if you suffer from any of a thousand maladies, or hope to have a child, too, this is the answer to your woes and expectations.”
The crowd leaned forward in their seats, as the volume of Pellum’s voice swelled. “My Patent Nostrum cures the ills of man and beast. It will regrow hair. Help you lose those extra pounds of ugly fat. If it doesn’t give you your life back, then you’re already dead.”
The band began to play an old drinking song. The Burleys approached the stage, pushing bottle-laden carts.
“Come on, friends,” Pellum said. “Who’ll be the first to buy a bottle, maybe two, and chase away all woes?”
Men and women rushed forward with their money. The Burley boys began to throw bottles to the crowd in an easy, under-handed way, while Pellum accepted payment. He spoke with and touched each paying customer. It reminded Corder of those tent meetings Grannie Ruth had hauled him to, when he was a kid.
And as he watched it all, Mariah eased up behind him.
Corder had memorized the sound and smell of her at their first meeting. The whisper of her breath. The scent of sunshine in her hair. He felt her now in his mind and heart, as if she were some sort of beacon. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but couldn’t say it proper – yet.
“They love him, don’t they?” Corder kept his eyes on Pellum and the eager folks about the stage. He didn’t look at her, for if he did he knew those other words would tumble from his mouth.
“He loves them, too,” she said. “He almost gives the stuff away.”
“Does it bother you?”
“That he’s so generous?” Mariah asked.
“That he peddles snake oil and empty promises.”
Her voice grew cool. “People will always lend an ear to a smooth and practiced promise of easy gain, but just because it’s smooth doesn’t mean it’s phony.”
“I didn’t mean to offer insult.”
“Then you best watch your words.”
Pellum’s people had tottered off to bed. Across the fields, all the lights in town were out, except the street lamps.
Corder sat alone, poking at the embers of a fire, wrapped in a blanket the Burleys had provided, for the night had turned cold. Clouds hid the moon and stars, and Corder figured it would rain soon.
He could sense Mariah sleeping across the camp, as if he were a compass and she was true north. He could feel the swell of her breathing, the weight of her head upon her pillow. If he’d allow himself, he could have closed his eyes and dived into her dreams. He wouldn’t cross that line without permission, though. For the first time in his life he knew what it meant to be in love.
The notion scared him.
As he kicked around his thoughts, he sipped at a bitters jar he got from the Burley boys.
“Won’t hurt you,” one of the boys told him. “Just alcohol and food coloring.”
Pellum settled onto the stool across the fire and propped his forearms on his knees. “You like tonight’s performance?”
“Never saw people get so excited over such a simple show.”
“There’s not much in the way of entertainment in this small a town,” Pellum said. “And there’s the threat of a coming war.”
“I’ve seen my fill of war,” Corder said.
“I know. You’ve got no secrets from me.”
That still small voice whispered to him once again and this time Corder asked the question. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
Corder was afraid he did. “Am I dead?” he asked.
“I could arrange that. What’s your pleasure?”
Corder’s heart was galloping. He suspected he was in a game so far over his head he couldn’t see the top. He felt rooted to the camp stool, boxed in, but he had learned to never show a drop of fear.
He answered with another question. “What do you have in mind?”
Pellum grinned. His mouth seemed wider than the limits of his face. “I like you, sir. I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Join my company for one year.”
“And after that?”
“If you want to leave, you can. I won’t stop you.”
“I don’t dance or juggle,” Corder said. “I’m not much good at telling jokes and can’t sing a note to save my soul.”
Pellum laughed. “Not what I had in mind. Mariah tells me she feels your presence even when you aren’t around.”
Corder’s throat felt like he was back out on the Barrens. He had to clear it twice to speak.
“That so?”
“It is. I’ve been watching, you know. You feel her, too. Superstitious old women – young boys’ grannies – might call it second sight.”
Corder had to work to hide his shiver. “What if I do?”
Pellum sat upright again. “I believe you two share a soul bond.”
“Magic?”
“The strongest kind.”
“That shack’s magic, too, isn’t it?”
Pellum didn’t say a word.
“What have you got in mind?” Corder asked.
“A mind-reading act to knock the yokels’ socks off.”
“Will she do it?”
“She’s says she will.”
“When would we start?”
Pellum stood and dusted off his pants.
“When you’re ready. Take time to get your thoughts around the notion.”
“I don’t need time to think,” Corder said, coming to his feet, too. “I’m ready now.”
He stood on the stage, focused on the little sounds around him. Corder feared darkness more than any other thing, but he let Mariah put a blindfold on him and didn’t move or say a word.
“Make it good and tight, Red,” Pellum called. “Don’t want our Stranger peeking, even during a rehearsal.”
“We don’t have to do this,” Mariah said, at Corder’s ear.
“Yes, we do. If we don’t, we’ll never hear the end of it.”
Corder felt her slip from the stage and move out among the benches. He turned his head toward where she had stopped in the center aisle. He felt her heart beat; could feel each breathe she drew.
“Begin,” Pellum said.
Mariah took two steps left. “I’m holding an object …”
“No!” Pellum said. “Too many words. This act is faked with code words. People know that. You’ve got to mystify them.”
Mariah tried again. “What do I …”
“Just say his name, Red, the same way every time.”
“Corder?”
“That’s right.”
“A handkerchief?” Corder asked.
“No!” Pellum’s voice thundered, as if he stood upon the stage a foot away. Corder started and stepped forward. The toe of his boot bumped an arc light. He heard it hiss, and he almost lost his balance in his hurry to back away.
“Don’t ask a question; make a statement,” Pellum said. “You have got to sound as if you’re absolutely certain.”
“I’m not. I feel cloth but can’t make out what it is.”
“Then focus. Picture Mariah’s hand.”
“This isn’t going to work,” Mariah said.
“It will. Try again.”
Corder felt Mariah move, up the center aisle, to his left.
“Corder?”
“A small metal thing.”
“Focus!” Pellum roared. “No one will to pay to hear you stutter guesses.”
“Damn it, Pellum,” Mariah said, her voice rising. “If you want a miracle, do it yourself. We can’t.”
“You’re not trying hard enough!”
Pellum’s voice echoed off the trees.
“No! You’re a …”
“She’s got a gold ring,” Corder said. “A woman’s ring with a ruby the size of my fingernail. Now stop shouting at her.”
“You’re right!” Mariah cried.
She ran to the stage. Corder could see himself through her eyes, could feel the smooth edges of the ring she still clutched in her left hand. Could feel her love. He pulled the blindfold off so that he could see her face.
“Oh!” she said. “I can see me.”
He pulled her close and surrendered to her lips.
“I love you,” he said, at last, when the kiss ended.
“I love you, too,” she said.
Corder stood upon the stage, still and silent, dressed in ragtag and a tricked-out leather blindfold. He couldn’t see the limelight, but heard the ever-present hiss and smelled the acrid odor of the flame. The lamps still gave him jitters, that hadn’t changed, but he endured it, just as he put up with darkness.
As news of the act spread ahead of them, his blindfolding had evolved into ritual, a show unto itself. At first, a simple bit of silk had been enough. Now, one year later, folks would bring complicated rigs and beg to blindfold the Mystic Stranger.
That was how Pellum billed them. The Mystic Stranger & His Lady. Corder and Mariah had laughed at the notion of the names. They were both giddy with the blooming of their gift, but over time they laughed less and smiled more. Neither said the words too often, for they didn’t need to announce their love.
They spoke freely of a shared future. Marriage, children and growing old together. For the first time in his life, Corder felt a need to cleave to one person, to put down roots.
Even if it was with a traveling show.
And the mental tug he felt that first day had grown until it had become the foundation of his life – of their lives and their act. Each night Corder stood on the stage, at ease and still, but his blindfolded eyes tracked Mariah’s every move.
“Look at him,” someone would whisper.
That notion, more than any other thing, turned skeptics to believers. There were those who explained how he could pretend to read her mind, but no one could explain how he followed her every silent move.
Then came a night.
They had traveled full circle, back to the perfect little town. Corder knew the shack still stood on the rise – he felt it, just as he felt Mariah, but he had no need to visit it.
“Corder,” Mariah said.
She stood half way back, center aisle, her hand resting on an older fellow’s shoulder. Corder could see the pocket watch she held in her free hand, could smell the fellow’s hair oil and feel the stitched seams on his jacket.
“A gold watch,” Corder said. “An eagle on the stem.”
Mariah flipped the casing open.
“Corder?”
“An inscription. To Angus from your loving wife, Louise.”
The fellow grabbed the watch, held it in the air and spun around, showing it to everyone.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! That’s what it says!”
The audience whistled and applauded, long and loud. Mariah moved to the front and left; Corder’s head turned to track her movement. The approbation swelled.
“Me,” a woman in the first row shouted. “Pick me next.”
A good-sized woman two seats down bounced to her feet.
“No. Pick me,” she demanded.
The first woman, no small thing herself, came to her feet, too. She stepped toward the second woman and gave her a push.
“Time for both of you,” Corder shouted, trying to be heard above the ruckus.
The women ignored him, as their struggle grew. Two sturdy men tried to stop the tussle; that just made it worse. Mariah got caught up in it.
Corder stepped toward the edge of the stage, toward Mariah, sensing her distress. His foot struck an obstruction. He could feel the heat and hear the hiss.
A limelight.
He took two big steps back, reached to the bindings of his blindfold.
“Damn it, stop!” His frantic shouts went unheeded.
The Burleys and the strong man ran to the struggle. Corder could see the three buskers through Mariah’s eyes. They tossed one and all aside, but couldn’t get to her. Folks were on their feet, rowdy and laughing, but Corder heard a deeper feral sound.
This was a mob and it smelled blood.
He fumbled at the blindfold, frantic to see with his own eyes. Then someone bumped the stage and the limelight exploded. Eager flames reached for him. He was too far away. As if alive, the fire searched for another – and found Mariah.
“Jesse! Oh, God, please, Jesse!” she cried.
Her anguished voice was all that Corder heard. She shrieked his name again, but only once.
Flames seared her face and Corder no longer saw through her eyes, but he felt and smelled the fire crisp her flesh.
“Damn you, Pellum,” he cried. “Help her.”
No response. At last, he managed to rip away the mask, and found he had freed himself too late.
Corder stood with Pellum outside Mariah’s tent.
“You could have saved her,” Corder said.
“We did everything we could.” Pellum sounded smug.
“Not the others; just you. Make this right.”
“Who do you think I am?”
“We already had this conversation. Either way, it doesn’t matter. You can save her, I know you can. What do you want from me?”
Pellum shrugged. “Let’s suppose that could happen, just suppose, mind you. If you hadn’t come, she would be fine.”
“She won’t die, if I give her up?” Corder asked.
The notion ripped at him, but he held on to it.
Pellum nodded. “If you go away. Your year is up, you know.”
“The hell you say.”
“Indeed. Free will’s a nasty business, sir. No one controls it. That’s why it’s free.”
The tent flap opened, the local doctor stepped out. Corder didn’t care one bit for the look on the sawbone’s face.
“Fix it,” Corder said.
“You sure?” Pellum asked. “Want some time to think on it?”
“I don’t need time to think. I’m ready now. Fix it!”
Corder stepped back from the drop and closed his fly. He turned to Pellum. “Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that.”
“Where is she?” Corder asked.
Pellum pointed east, to where Easy Promises floated above the tents. Faces Corder recognized gathered around the fires.
“Down there, fixing breakfast,” Pellum said.
Corder closed his eyes and opened up his mind. He could see through Mariah’s eyes again, could smell bacon frying, feel her unblemished hand upon the skillet.
She stopped and looked around. “Is someone there?”
Corder opened his eyes and knuckled at his tears. “She don’t remember me?”
“No. You two have never met, but if you did it would all happen. Not the same way. You know what you know, would try to change things, but it still would happen.”
They stood in silence, as Corder watched the camp. At last, Pellum stepped close and laid his hand on Corder’s shoulder.
“Want to try again?” Pellum asked.
Corder shrugged away Pellum’s hand and turned to the door.
He stepped from the shack, headed south into the Barrens, and soon came upon the skull. The damned thing stared up at him and whispered, plain to hear.
“Ready now?”
He kicked at it; sent it flying. Without looking back, he stumbled off across the sand.
©July 2018 K. C. Ball
K.C. Ball’s stories have appeared in print, online, and in podcasts in such publications as Analog, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and Pod Castle, as well as in her first short story collection, Snapshots from a Black Hole & Other Oddities from Hydra House Books. She is a 2010 graduate of Clarion West writers’ workshop.