The thorn bushes lining the muddy creek tore at his flesh with brutal force as he ran. He had been running for quite some time now. For his own sake, he needed to find a secret spot to rest for a while. Not only that, he also needed to get away from the angry mob of bloodthirsty circus oddities who were currently in pursuit of him…torches, pitchforks: the usual gear.
As the last of the tempestuous thorns cut a deep crimson crater into his skin, Ty Powers made a desperate dive into the muddy and shallow creek that inched its way across the nighttime landscape of the countryside. His senses were disabled: he could not open his eyes amid the muck; he could not hear anything even though the creek was hardly a foot deep; he could not feel, physically or emotionally (his day job and his recently exhaustive sprint down a country road made sure of this). But he could taste…mud, and lots of it. And he could smell…even more mud. He almost began to wonder if there was actually any moving water in the creek at all, but presently, he was more worried about the status of the disgruntled and underpaid freaks who were in pursuit of his blood. He raised his head from the mire slightly in order to clear out his ears. If he couldn’t see them, he’d have to get a feeling of where they were based solely on sounds. As the last of the impeding substance was wedged out of his ear, two voices floated over the silent creek bed.
“We lost ‘im, Sarge. The ringmaster will ‘ave our ‘eads!” said the first in a raspy moan.
“The ringmaster won’t accept anyone’s ‘ead other than Ty’s. The li’l devil goes around shootin’ whoever ‘e pleases, then runs off like a no-good coward! The ringmaster will not stand for this. We’re goin’ to ‘ave to comb the entire countryside before our job ‘ere is done. NO ONE rests until Ty Powers is dead and six feet below our filthy feet!” the second man bellowed.
“Sarge, I’m not tryin’ to be smart, but don’t you think we should wait till morning to continue the search? Even with torches I can barely see me own two ‘ands, let alone that nasty sharp-shootin’ scoundrel!”
“If I know Ty, by sunrise, ‘e’ll be one state closer to the
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…and don’t call me Squeak. You know ‘ow much I ‘ate that name.”
“Oh right. I guess you’d prefer Hhhhherbert, then?”
“Are we just goin’ to stand ‘ere and bicker or are we goin’ to find Ty and rip ‘im to shreds?!” yelled a shrill third voice, probably a female, followed by a chorus of angry supporters.
“All right, all right, all of you SETTLE DOWN!” begged Sarge. “Teeny, Porky…you and your crew take to the ‘ills. Fudgebar and Quack… ‘ead on into Deacon’s Corner and ask the townsfolk if they’ve seen anythin’ off-color. The rest of you, follow Hhhhherbert and I to the main road…that rotten good-for-nothin’ toddler couldn’t ‘ave gone too far!” And with another shout, the remaining mob of circus workers stormed the countryside in search of a man who, until recently, had just been no more than ten feet away from them.
~
The
On this particular night, Reverend Francis was in the chapel tower, high above his little village, inspecting the church bells, when he heard a commotion in the streets below. He wearily looked out the tiny window onto the veiled town square and spied two scraggly men with torches harassing an elderly woman in a nightgown just outside her front door. With a heavy sigh, and an even heavier heart, the old man feebly made his way down the rickety tower steps and out the large oak front doors into the night. He wore his usual black cloak, but in addition to this, he also wore a pair of slippers upon his dry and cracked feet.
As he approached the twisted scene before him, he heard the present conversation.
“Come on, little lady, why don’tcha let us in for a while. We won’t hurt’cha! We just wants ta ask ya a few questions,” said the taller of the two men.
“Go away, heathens! Reverend Francis will not be pleased to find your type in this village! Crossing the Line won’t get you anywhere!” The poor old woman was cowering in fear like a mouse before a lion.
“Yeah? Well the old Reverend’s friend, our ringmaster, also won’t be very pleased ta hear that one of his em-ploy-ee’s is hiding in yer village!” screeched the second.
“The ringmaster is no friend of the Reverend!”
“That’s enough, Quack. You, too, Fudgebar. What are you two doing so far away from your tents at this hour?” asked Reverend Francis, finally moving out of the shadows of the street to join the strange trio.
“Ooo, the Reverend himself in flesh and blood before us! Bow down ter the great Medium between Heaven and earth!” cried Quack, falling to the ground with a menacing cackle.
“Do not mock Heaven, young man. Your ringmaster would be ashamed. Besides, while you’re out breaking the Line law on his behalf, I’d at least expect you to behave according to this village’s moral code.”
The short and robust man called Fudgebar tried to conceal a snigger, but did not succeed.
“Oh, little Frank Bard, what would your father think if he saw you laughing at me?”
“Hey, hey, HEY! The name’s Fudgebar, ya crazy old coot! And the next time ya slip up, there just might not be no sunrise in yer future!”
“Calm down, Fudgey. The man’s right. So long as we’ve overstepped our bounds, we better play it safe. If ya don’t mind, oh most gracious sir Reverend sir, we’d like it if we could ask ya a few questions,” said Quack in a manner that dripped sarcasm like hot candle wax.
“Very well,
“Well, fer starters, have ya seen or heard anything tonight that would lead ya to believe that a fugitive of our own Brotherhood is seeking refuge in yer fair village?”
“Seeing as I’ve been watching over my ‘fair village’ from the bell tower since dusk AND have not heard a single odd noise until your unforeseen arrival, I’d have to say no in response to your question.”
There was a brief silence, in which the three men stared at each other lividly, with the poor old woman still fearing for her life in the background. “Very well,” breathed Quack. “One more question, though: If ya were ta guess where our fugitive is, where would ya say we could find him?”
“Look no further than the bed and breakfast just outside of this village and on your side of the Line.” The tenseness of his tone signaled the end of the conversation.
“Goodnight,” the two men muttered as they walked on down the dirt road and around the corner, out of sight.
“Bertha, get on back to bed. Daylight is still far from us. Do not let their presence alarm you any longer.”
“Oh, Reverend, I thought you’d never come! I never asked for that kind of treatment. Oh, never! I thought the Line would be the end of those circus folk in our streets, but I guess I was wrong.” Her delicate blue eyes began to fill with tears.
“I will not let this incident go unreported. The ringmaster will be informed when the sun comes up. I do fear, though, that whatever is happening here tonight is not over…Goodnight, Bertha. Take care, and give George my greetings.”
“Goodnight, Reverend. God bless you!”
~
Sylvia Dublin stood, half-asleep, at the counter in the showroom of her flower store. It had been a long day, preparing flower arrangements for three separate weddings. She never expected to be this busy in a village like Deacon’s Corner, but there she was: sore, aching, heavy-lidded eyes and all. Just as she was about to collapse on the warmth of her arrangement counter, the bell of her front door rang, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. She stood up immediately, accidentally bashing her head off a low shelf of potted plants, and crashing to the floor without catching a gland of her frantic late night customer.
“Are you alright?” asked a gruff but affectionate voice from somewhere above her.
“Uh…?” was all she could say as she tried to get up, but her blurred vision caused her to fall over once more.
“Oh gosh, I didn’t mean to frighten you…or hurt you. I just need a place to stay for the night and your store was the only place in this godforsaken village with any lights on.”
After a moment of recuperation, Sylvia’s vision realigned itself to find herself sitting upright on the floor, staring straight at a young, black-haired man in a colorful suit seemingly made of a patchwork quilt. On a second look-over, though, she noticed that he was covered in mud and, despite his calm tone, he looked quite disheveled. “Believe me,” she began to say, “this town is far from ‘godforsaken’, but you are right about my lights. They’re usually on all night. I actually can’t sleep without them on. I’m paranoid, I guess you could say.” She pointed wildly (due to some slight dizziness) at the corner closest to the door, where a shotgun sat upon a rocking chair. “What’s your name?” she asked after a while.
“Ty, and yours?”
“Sylvia.”
“That’s a pretty name…” He was kneeling at her eye level, and eventually found it in himself to help her up off the ground. Then he continued talking. “Paranoid…is that so? What kind of dangers would befall a woman like you in a village like this?” the man teased.
“None, really, unless people from the circus Cross the Line and wreck the village. But that only happens once a year, if that.”
“That’s an awful lot of trouble to go through for a potentially annual invasion? Hardly believable.” Sylvia did not approve of the tone the young man was beginning to take, but she let this pass as he dropped the subject. “But really, all I need is a place to stay for tonight…a place where I can keep away from the public eye for a while.”
“You a criminal or something?” she suggested casually. Her question was answered by the silence that followed. Immediately, her eyes grew wider and her mouth hung open as she put her hands out in front of her and stepped back. “I don’t have much money or valuables, and my life sure ain’t worth the price you’ll pay when the villagers hear a gunshot or a loud scream!” Her eyes darted about crazily, looking for a logical escape route.
“Calm down, Sylvia. I don’t have a gun…anymore. I don’t kill strangers, anyways. In fact, I really haven’t killed anyone…not to say that I haven’t tried. But that was different. I was cursed and didn’t have much control over my actions.” He seemed to momentarily forget that Sylvia was in the room.
“…cursed?” she asked bluntly. She let down her guard slightly, giving in to curiosity.
“I was ‘blessed with the power to control animals’. Five minutes after that, I find myself inexplicably forcing one to pounce on a woman I was about to shoot anyways. I can’t really see how it was much of a ‘blessing’, in retrospect, but you can’t really tie a tiger attack back to a person as the cause, so maybe that was better.” There was a silence, only broken for a while by grasshoppers in the fields nearby chirping adamantly.
“So…you told an animal to attack this poor woman? What had she done to you?”
“She fired a close friend of mine. She acted all sorry for her, but I’m thinking it was just a big cover-up. No one liked my friend or me, mostly because of my abilities.”
“…abilities?”
“Well, I’ve always been granted these outrageous abilities by my friend, like levitation and mind-reading, and I think mostly everyone I worked with envied me. That’s one of the reasons they fired my friend.”
“I see…so, after all that…we’ve come to the conclusion that you won’t shoot me or cause all of the insects in the village to eat me alive if I were to give you a room?”
“Um…indirectly, yes, we did. I think my power might be gone anyways. I can never quite tell when they wear off, you know?”
“No, I guess I really wouldn’t know. I sell flowers in a small corner of the world that no more than sixty people call home. No one has powers around here except maybe Reverend Francis. But I think he only knows how to eat, sleep, preach, and occasionally make governmental decisions for us. That’s the most ‘power’ in this neck of the woods I know of. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just not used to talking to people I haven’t known for more than a couple minutes.”
Just then, the bell over the door tinkled again, this time revealing a man in a black cloak and slippers.
“Reverend! We were just talking about you, speak o’ the devil…I mean, uh…I, uh…well, what keeps you up tonight?”
“Some rabble-rousers from the circus showed up to harass Mrs. Clearwater.” Ty jumped suddenly, but recovered by faking a sneeze. They were still out looking for him!
“What for?” she prodded.
“That’s for a different discussion. I’m more worried about what this all really means, and I think you can help me out.” He stood just inside the doorway, hands folded across his stomach. “Well, Miss Dublin…have anything to say?”
“Reverend, if this is about your crazy little notions about me leading a double life, then you are once again going to be sorely disappointed. I know life here in Deacon’s Corner is too dull to cope with sometimes, but trust me: making under-the-table money deals with the circus folks is not on my agenda now or ever. It is not worth the damage those lousy excuses for men and women would inflict on our little ‘utopia’. That’s final!” As yet another silence ensued, Ty decided that he would not let Sylvia know that he worked for the circus. He valued his life a little more after the most recent events.
“Then how do you explain two of their workers traipsing about our streets?!”
“I don’t know, you refused to tell me!” countered Sylvia. “I’m sorry, Reverend, but I’m beginning to think that you’re getting too old for this ‘town guardian’ thing. You’re making up too many stories and it’s damaging the integrity of what we have here. Maybe you should stick to just preaching.”
If Reverend Francis’ face hadn’t been turning every shad of purple and red imaginable, Sylvia would have felt good about her closing arguments. But now she worried about him suffocating in his own rage and despair. For the first time in his life, he had been told that he was wrong. He didn’t like it. To him, it felt like some god had awoken a long-dormant volcano. The magma bubbled, the smoke began to pour out the top, and it was only a matter of seconds before the infernal liquid began to explode into the atmosphere…
Out of nowhere, he grabbed the shotgun from the rocking chair and aimed unsteadily at the pair before him. Blind rage at its finest. He shot at random all around the room as Sylvia and Ty dropped to the ground to seek refuge from the stray bullets behind the arrangement counter. Ty stumbled about, tearing his suit on the corner of a flower pot stand, revealing the branding mark every circus worker had embossed on their lower neck, just before he rounded the corner of the counter. Reverend Francis, amidst his sudden wrathful explosion, noticed the branding immediately and stopped firing the gun. Ty nearly suffocated under the suspense. He was exposed, but luckily she hadn’t seen the mark yet. The damage had already been done, though.
The Reverend heard Sylvia’s whimpering from behind the counter, but decided to leave at once without a word. When he returned to his beloved chapel, he would call the ringmaster of the circus for the first time since the instantiation of the Line. Things had gotten out of hand, and it was his job as the sole political figure in Deacon’s Corner to make things right.
~
After the initial shock of the shotgun assault wore off, Sylvia and Ty got up from their huddle on the floor of the shop and inspected the damage. If they had been none the wiser, it would have been safe to assume that a tornado had ravaged the tiny flower-adorned room. Flower petals, pot shards, and tons of soil lay strewn across the floor in desolate heaps.
The two of them had somehow formed a strong bond. In Ty’s mind, they were both fugitives of some higher power. In Sylvia’s mind they were both riddled with secrets of alternate lives and mysterious occurrences. They both knew that they had to leave the shop before the whole village was at her doorstep, demanding answers.
Sylvia packed a small bag of food and clothes, then together they stealthily left out the back door and around the edge of town on the higher ground on Unity Hill’s rocky slope. As they approached the dirt road leading out of Deacon’s Corner again, they darted into a small opening in the rocks: a perfect vantage point of the road and the outskirts of the village. Any commotion made by the people would not go unnoticed.
Ty decided to recline against a rocky bed he arranged for himself while Sylvia set up a ring of lit candles that she had included in her bag. The light of the candles was much less obvious than firelight if indeed a mob of angry ruffians were out to get them. Once the candles were all lit, Sylvia got some food out of her bag and handed most of it to Ty. “You probably haven’t eaten in a while, being on the run and all,” she commented nonchalantly. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to explore our humble abode for a while. Eat up, and I’ll be back before you can say ‘more crackers, please’.”
With a gracious snort of laughter from Ty to send her off, Sylvia picked up one of the candles and made her way further down the chilly and void passage. She was glad to be able to get away from Ty for a little bit to reflect on the events of evening. The run-in with Reverend Francis had been a close one in more than one way: she had lied to him about helping the circus. She was one of the ringmaster’s undercover “agents” on the other side of the Line, positioned right next to the circus’ lifeblood—a source of extra money. After a few more steps, Sylvia noticed that she was nearing her intended resting place. Tiny glints of light shone off the cool and slimy cave walls. The dim, rotating specks began to grow more numerous just as the cave floor sloped down and to the left, finally revealing a large chamber filled with thousand of miniscule beacons from floor to ceiling.
It was her personal model of the nighttime sky. No one else’s. Hers…
She had just entered “The Diamond Chamber”. She mined it every month and exchanged the diamonds for cold hard cash that then went straight into the ringmaster’s pocket. Of course, though, she got some of the money back as payment for her services.
She stepped further into the chamber, causing a swarm of bats to screech and fly about her head like mosquitoes in a swamp. She swatted them away and, using her candle, found a large rock to sit on. Even in the dark, she could tell that the diamond-strewn chamber was beautiful, but she had been here so many times that its ethereal dimness and value to her life had nearly worn off.
You stare at the nighttime sky long enough, and it’s no longer the same. It was that worn out picture on the wall that no one looks at anymore, even though it was so appealing years ago…discarded by the world’s selective memory, and time.
And all of this was why Sylvia was both excited about and afraid of Ty. Last week, she had been informed by the ringmaster that attendance was at an all-time low and that, even with all of the money from diamond exchanges coming in, the circus would need a new gimmick to attract an audience. She had been assigned to finding a seemingly lonely person with a strange feature or ability who would be a perfect fit for the circus program. That task had seemed just way too intangible until this very night, when the mud-covered, compassionate oddity of a young man had walked through her door flaunting his ability to control the actions of animals. It was a stretch, but it was all she had.
Climb the ladder, but whatever you do, don’t look down…
The only problem was that they were far from the big top the ringmaster called home, and they couldn’t stay in this cave all night. They’d have to find a nice warm place to stay, and luckily, there was a bed and breakfast down the road. Although it was pleasant to think of a welcoming bed and the prospect of a delicious breakfast, something about all of it did not please her.
Another group of bats began to swarm around the chamber as Sylvia pondered the unsettling feeling in her stomach. It must, she decided, have to do with the ringmaster. She valued his opinion more than her own, sometimes. She admired every inch of him, head to toe. It was almost safe to say that she loved him. He had always been like a father figure to her, but only recently had she begun to see more in him. Unfortunately, the feelings were not mutual. He was older, she was younger, he was successful, she was…well, she sold flowers…
She only knew about his feelings because she had once walked in on him and Madam Beautram, the tiger trainer, in the act. They had tried to cover it up, but to no avail. The damage was done. All this aside, Sylvia still found room to feel loyal to the circus. She had been stupid to think that the ringmaster would reciprocate her love. But she still respected him as a guardian, and that’s why she trudged through the depths of this cave to mine diamonds.
…And that’s why she brought Ty with her tonight. The enigma himself was probably wondering where she was. She figured she had brooded over her situation long enough and better return to the cave mouth so that they could prepare for the trip to the bed and breakfast.
~
“Fudgebar, I think that’s the bed and breakfast the Reverend said ol’ Ty would be hiding out at!” gasped Quack. The tall, scraggly man gave a shout of victory and patted his chubby companion square on the back.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And if ya keep yelling so much, he won’t be there anymore cuz he’ll already know we’re here,” mutter Fudgebar.
The two men then ran off in silence along the dirt road to the lighted two-story cottage-style building ahead. When they entered, they briefly took in the humble interior. Just about everything inside was made of wood of about three different shades. It was almost like a ship captain’s quarters the way it was decorated, but the two circus workers knew that they were nowhere near a navigable body of water. A small desk, also made of wood, sat in the corner and behind it, an elderly woman reclined lazily in a light slumber.
Fudgebar, in his most sadistic manner, began to run about the room screaming “bloody murder!” in order to wake the poor old woman. His trick worked…a little too much. The woman immediately jumped from her chair just enough to unbalance herself, bringing her entire frail body crashing to the floor. Fudgebar came to a halt and joined her on the floor in a whirlwind of raucous laughter. As the woman got up from the floor, she began to yell furiously:
“Frank Bard! Milton Ducksworth! If Reverend Francis knew you were—“
“Naomi, my dear, don’t fuss,” hissed
“—but if the Reverend knew you were—“
“Honestly, Naomi, there’s no need ta—“
“—but you’re kind isn’t allowed to—“
“Naomi, it’s okay, we just talked ta him about—“
“—but he would never let you—“
“—but he did—“
“—but he wouldn’t—“
“—BUT HE DID!” yelled Quack, in a manner that brought the entire conversation to a screeching halt like a derailed train. Ironically, a train whistle blew in the distance. “Now, Naomi. All we want is ta know if anyone…unusual…checked into yer fine establishment this evening.”
After a few dramatic, heavy sighs, Naomi pulled out the registrar and flipped through it with far-from-enthusiastic force. “No, almost all of the rooms are empty this evening. Anything else I can do for you boys?”
“No,” grunted Quack, visibly stung by the term “boys” coming from the old crone’s mouth.
“Actually, yes,” sputtered Fudgebar. “Since there are so many empty rooms, and since we really think that the man we’re looking fer could be or possibly will be here tonight, we’d like ta have a room, just fer the sake o’ comfort…until we know fer sure, ya see.”
“I don’t rent out rooms after—“
“NAOMI! Just do it, okay? We’ll be out of yer hair by sunrise, we promise,” yelled Quack.
The woman blinked widely for a few seconds, then whipped the registrar closed. “Room 27 is all yours, boys.” She held out a small key for them.
The two circus workers cringed momentarily, then grabbed the key and walked briskly down the hall to the left of the desk. As soon as they were out of sight, Naomi picked up the phone. She needed the Reverend here, and soon, before things got out of hand.
~
…Earlier that day…
The gy
