Evil Jester Digest, Vol.1 (20 page)

Chris obeyed the Groundskeeper’s words. He trotted outside and down the path. After a few minutes, he came to the tree hidden behind a concrete wall. Hopping over the squat barrier, he felt the aged wood with his fingertips, marveling at the strange etchings and pictures and poems. He even read a few lines. And then he climbed up the tree and sat looking at the beautiful countryside.

The grave-faerie soon bobbed around him. It radiated in green and purple hues. He watched it for some time, amazed at such a strange and wonderful creature. Then it flew away.

Chris climbed down and followed.

He traveled through the graveyard, hoping he wouldn’t see a ghoul or specter fleeing to a secret underground lair. On and on he walked, following the light, until the grave-faerie hovered over a bare plot of ground. There were no stones, no graves, nothing.

Chris thought he hadn’t followed the Groundskeeper’s directions properly. He thought hard and decided he did everything right. So, with glass vial in hand, he scooped up some dirt and capped it.

He thanked the grave-faerie kindly, wondering if it understood him, and ran back the way he had come, back to the Groundskeeper’s home.

And as Chris ran back to his friends, he never realized that the grave-faerie had used up the last of its magic. It nestled down in the hole Chris had dug, pulled a leaf over its body, and died. And when it stepped through the ancient Atlantean portal and was back home, all the other spirits rushed over to hear of new stories and marvel at new adventures.

Chris’s friends were waiting for him when he returned.

“Did you get what you need?” the Groundskeeper asked.

“Yes. The grave-faerie showed me where to dig.”

“It is the last of its kind in a world of dying magic.” A trace of sadness crossed the Groundskeeper’s face. Then it went away and he smiled and led the three kids outside. “Now, my friends, your quest leads to the traveling carnival, in the west. To the Fatekeeper. She will help you find what you need. You must travel quickly! Your displacement sands will soon run dry!”

*****

They all bade
goodbye to their new friend, the Groundskeeper.

And he bade goodbye to them.

And just like a dream, they were gone.

And far away, the sands of their hourglasses stopped. The Timekeeper descended from the old clock and ticked through the countryside. It searched for three May flowers.

But first, one November blossom.

Chapter 2

The Carnival and the Shadow

The three kids
traveled for two hours before seeing the carnival fires glow throughout the valley. The wind echoed softly through the trees and numbed their faces. With cold fingers, they buttoned up their coats, dreaming of how fun it would be to join such a splendid show, to travel all over the world, to the sunken city of Venice, or the ancient temples on Mount Olympus, or even the fabled continent of Atlantis.

They heard laughter swell like a thunderstorm.

They inhaled cotton candy and peppermint taffy.

And they listened to lutes and dulcimers play haunting melodies, tapping their feet to the hypnotic scales, watching from afar as the belly dancers weaved their exotic craft within the shadows. Silver glimmered in their hair and over their linen-draped bodies.

Soon they were racing down the hill, as fast as they could, toward the warm fires and laughter of the traveling show.

*****

They halted just
outside the edge of the flames and strolled cautiously into the light. The air was sick and sweet at the same time: sulfur and perfume, ash and candy. Crowds of performers and workers passed around mugs of ale. They glanced at the youngsters with smiles and hugged the kids tenderly, inviting them to join in the festivities.

The kids sat on the cold ground and were each handed a drink. The liquid was warm to the touch and sweet to the taste. Sarah drank and watched a trio perform their dance. Silver chains dangled and slapped around the dancers’ waist and thighs like the ticking of a dozen clocks.

She wanted to dance with them.

Soon, the music ascended an octave, gaining in speed. The dancers’ hips gyrated and swayed with the notes. The flames licked the heavens and burned bright green. And before she knew what was happening, she was dancing along with the women, hand in hand, laughing and drinking the green liquid.

The two boys joined her.

Chris’s vision shifted from the green flames to the dancer, who held his hand and kissed him on the cheek. He arched his arms high over his head and floated above the red clouds, like a midnight dove, weightless and free. Sarah swam through an ocean and breathed the droplets as if she had gills, circling the multicolored fish that bobbed and weaved around her. Mitch tobogganed down a mountain of fudge, his scarf billowing out behind him, down and down the peak overflowing with peppermint ice-cream glaciers.

Soon they were curled up next to the fire, and dreaming.

*****

The fire was
gone when they awoke.

An old woman sat next to them. She was gray-haired and wore a purple gown. Her eyes were December.

Mitch gave a little squeak.

Chris rubbed his eyes, doubting his vision.

“Are you the Fatekeeper?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“We’ve come to find you."

“And now you have found me. Come, my friends. It is cold out.” She strolled to a wagon and threw back the cloth door. “Please, come in and have a seat.”

They entered and sat on a small couch, waiting.

The Fatekeeper set a circular table in front of them. In the center was a black needle the thickness of a pencil lead. She grabbed a glass sphere and positioned it on the needle. With one triumphant spin, the glass ball was set in rotation, perfectly balanced.

Her dead eyes flared with green light.

“You’re being tracked something.” She concentrated hard. “It’s Time. Look and see for yourselves.”

The three kids leaned closer.

A green mist melted and bounced inside the sphere. Out of the haze, they saw their friend, the Groundskeeper. And out of the mist emerged another shape, a very dark shape, right behind him.

*****

The Groundskeeper felt
the dark presence.

He whirled around just in time to see a cloaked figure descend from the old tree. It glided toward him and sat perched on top of a gravestone.

The Groundskeeper stuck his shovel in the ground and leaned against it. “It’s been a long while.”

“Yes, my friend,” the Timekeeper said. “Perhaps too long. I’ve forgotten about you, all alone up in these hills, caring for the dead. It’s a mistake I’ll soon remedy.”

The Timekeeper extracted an hourglass from its pocket.

“These are your sands,” the Shadow said. “See how they filter through, grain by grain? How would you like me to tip it over? How would you like to wake up tomorrow a day younger? A year? Ten years? I can do that for you. All you have to do is tell me where they are.”

The Groundskeeper laughed. “Can’t find them, eh? Surely you must know. You’re the Timekeeper.”

“Your sands will soon run dry, my friend. Tell me where they are and you can run in summer again, like the others in Sterling Springs. All you have to do is tell me who is hiding them.”

“Memories are meant to die. They’re designed that way. I have no inclination to become a young man again. No, I don’t want it. My time here is at an end.”

“Don’t think you can get out of it that easy.”

The Shadow held the hourglass to its hidden face. It counted the grains aloud: “Five…four…three…two and…”

The Timekeeper tipped the glass on its side.

One grain remained.

The Groundskeeper gasped. He threw his shovel and ran, trying to outrun the Timekeeper. He dodged amongst the gravestones and shuffled across the wet grass. But the last of November’s heat seeped from his body. He fell over and looked up at the dark sky, at the harvest moon, at everything, completely motionless.

Dead leaves blew over his body.

The Timekeeper leaned over him. “There you shall remain in life for the rest of your death. There you shall gaze at the heavens as each day passes, as each season goes by. Soon, the ground will welcome you into its grave, inch by inch. Grain by grain. And there you’ll breathe dirt forever, amongst the worms and rotting corpses.”

A single teardrop formed in the Groundskeeper’s eye.

The Timekeeper continued: “This is your tree, is it not? It represents your life, from the roots all the way up to the top. Strong roots. But you have never gone away from this place, have you? You have remained in this cell of gravestones and ghosts with only dying magic and poetic words from forgotten books to keep you company. Why is that? Have you been waiting? Hoping one day I would take pity and let you in?”

The Timekeeper glided up the slender hill and over the wall protecting the enchanted tree, past the rings of faerie dust and decaying spells. With a flash of black fire, it inserted the hourglass into the aged wood. And there it remained, tipped on its side, for all to see.

The Timekeeper walked back to the fallen Groundskeeper. “No one may pull that hourglass out. No one but yourself. Not even me! Good luck, my friend. You should have taken my offer.”

It was then that the Timekeeper saw the tiny grave-faerie frozen to the ground, right next to the Groundskeeper. And for the first time in a long time, it wondered about something beyond its ability to rationalize.

A grave that defies time…

*****

The glass ball
turned black.

The three kids wept.

“I’m sorry,” the Fatekeeper whispered. “But he gave his death to save all three of you. It wasn’t in vain.” She stood and motioned out the window, toward the woods. “Now you must travel toward the Hollow Woods, and then beyond, to the Lake of Mirrors. This will help you on your journey.” She handed Sarah a compass. “It will guide you through the woods, to death’s door. Keep the arrow north, at twelve o’clock, for the time that once was and what may be again. Now you must go. Quickly! Run toward summer! Run toward autumn! But beware…death lurks in both directions. Even under a baby’s crib!”

*****

The three kids
thanked her, sadly.

And they rode off into the night.

And the Fatekeeper watched over them through her glass ball.

And far away, the Timekeeper loomed over the fallen Groundskeeper. It felt the kids’ presence bear down on its cold heart. But it also felt something else. Something watching over them, guiding them, protecting them.

And then it knew.

The traveling witch.

The one who walks in winter.

Chapter 3

Visions in the Morning Night

They entered the
Hollow Woods.

The night sounds haunted their thoughts and moisture condensed in quiet speech and breath. The oak and elm reached toward the barren sky. Leaves spiraled through the evening air, red-appled birds. Ivy dripped along the ground, mint colored with blue, palmated veins. The glossy bulbs watched them pass, breathing through kidney-shaped leaves that swayed in the wind.

Overhead, the sun rose in the west.

*****

A mist encompassed
the Fatekeeper’s sphere.

Her enchanted vision left the three kids temporarily as she ran her fingers over the warm glass. She tried to pinpoint where the strange beacon was coming from, a ticking sound that rose with the sun.

She searched the mist and fluorescence, traveling like the wind through the countryside, past the abyss of woods and lakes, rivers and thickets, past the hills and deep valleys, seeing only death under her sightless stare.

She searched for the pulse that rose and sank like a piece of chamber music echoing through fog and time.

On and on, she looked, following the notes across the dark summits and plateaus.

Her eyes blazed emerald with longing.

Her mind soon wrapped around flamboyant tents and wagons and she inhaled the odor of candy and carnival animals. She passed them all and loomed over a wagon. Then she was in the wagon. A green glow bounced off an aged face.

She was looking within herself.

And the music she followed was the music of her own heart, a dissonant and haunting tune, mourning the loss of time and death, abandoned years ago for a talent she no longer wanted.

And then the Timekeeper had her.

*****