Stephen Myer is a writer and musician based in Southern California. His stories and poems have been published in online and print literary journals, such as Goats Milk Magazine, The Literary Yard, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Grand Little Things, Close To The Bone Magazine, The Avenue Journal and The WALL Journal.
In the presence of myself and Little Brother, both in our sixteenth year, Mother shot our father point-blank through the heart on the steps of our humble home. The redness crept across his Sunday shirt as she cradled his paling life in her lap. She stroked his hair while pressing his sagging head against her bosom, grieving as if he’d been laid low by some crazed stranger. Passersby on an otherwise peaceful Sabbath gathered to view the tragedy. She lifted the pistol and pointed it at anyone sporting a notion of helping her dying husband. Little Brother and I stood transfixed, watching the unimaginable scene play out as if performed by a ghostly troupe of actors on a stage of disordered reality. With our father’s last breath, a gold nugget fell from his hand. Mother tossed it as if it were the agent of such turmoil. It rolled on the hard dirt and came to rest beside Brother’s boot. He picked up our misbegotten inheritance and studied it before handing it to me. I pushed it into my pants pocket, wincing as its jagged edge pierced my thumb.
“I pity you boys,” said our mother, then turned the gun on herself.
* * *
Father lapsed into spells of fancy in which he claimed to have come out of the west, insisting he’d found the fabled gold at the end of a rainbow that arced across a glittering sea. He sacrificed great wealth by leaving it behind, barely surviving the savagery of inhospitable lands as he traveled east to woo and marry the beautiful woman who became our mother. During father’s fugues, he wondered aloud if forsaking love might have proven the wiser choice. Mother would leave the room, in tears. Father didn’t notice.
“That all there is to the story?” I’d ask.
“What story you referrin’ to, son?”
“You only have one, Pa. You never tell us the details of your peculiar journey.”
He stared at me with a quizzical expression.
“I reckon whatever details you’re expectin’ already exist in your imagination.”
Then he’d stand and smile and walk away, leaving us to wonder if his tale held a bit of truth. ’Tis little surprise the nugget that fell from our father’s hand came to define Brother’s destiny, and mine.
* * *
Brother grew up bigger, stronger, and more handsome—but impetuous, and now prone to petulance and fits of delusion since the death of our parents. I was older by a moment, yet he ignored my better judgment, claiming we were equals, which we were not. It’s a mystery how men of the same flesh turn out so different. Still, I stayed close, for he was all I had left.
* * *
“Hold onto that rock and keep it safe on our journey, Marcus.”
“Of what odyssey do you speak?”
“We’re headin’ west to claim the rest of the gold that’s rightfully ours.”
“’Tis foolish to believe Pa’s silly prattle, Brother.”
“More foolish not to.”
I resisted his folly, but eventually conceded when he promised to respect my sensibilities and share whatever came our way. That I could abide, and leaving our sorrows behind seemed a reasonable thing to do.
* * *
Our town offered little more than the pink and white tailings of a dusty potash quarry. Travelers had but one reason to pass through. A remarkable monument stood at the outskirts, its green bell tintinnabulating in the belfry of a red-shingled whorehouse. The profane peal drowned the voice of the Lord that chimed once a week from the church at the opposite end of town. The bordello had no formal name. An ornately painted sign hung above the lintel, proclaiming what all wandering men feared most. This Be Your Last Chance for a Damn Good Time.
* * *
In search of said rainbow and gold, Little Brother (with great exuberance) and I (with little optimism) mounted our horses and set out for Edgers City, a day’s ride due south, where we’d procure dry goods and comestibles for our journey through the desert and beyond. We rented a room at a roadhouse and boarded our horses at the nearby smithy’s stable. At six postmeridian, we headed for The Pilgrim Saloon that sat at the end of a dry-rotted boardwalk running the length of town.
The piano man nodded as we entered. He chomped on a stogie, his foot keeping time to a minor lament. I gleaned from his doleful expression that gratuities hadn’t amounted to a finger’s worth of rotgut. Brother walked ahead to find us a table, so I tossed the gold nugget into the tip bucket—in truth, to be rid of it. The rock clanged against the metal and a small misshapen angel appeared from behind the piano. Her eyes sat wide apart—her nose thin and curved like a beak. A tattered millefleur frock hung loose off her bony shoulders as her arms swayed in a sullen stride. She pecked at the nugget and deposited it back in my hand. In a show of delight, she cackled a triad of gallinaceous harmony, then bobbed her head and strutted back behind the piano. The piano man smiled and said ’twas best I keep the nugget, for his daughter Chordacluck was a savant who knew where such things must reside.
The establishment was nigh empty except for a company of gamblers hunched over a round table covered in green baize that about matched their sickly complexions. They sat hawkeyed and tense, cards pressed against lips. Some extended their pock-marked noses over those cards like fleshy scythes, guarding their documents from the wandering eyes of other prodigals in the game. Paltry piles of specie sat in front of each—except the dealer, whose considerable spoils lent a suspicious air to the ceremony.
“Beer,” called Little Brother.
The waiter eyed me. “How old are ye?” he asked.
Little Brother declared, “He’s older than me and likely smarter than you.”
The waiter took our order, then returned with steaks and cool draughts, advising us to knock them back before the suds turned to chalk in the gritty air of Edgers City.
“You truly believe Pa found that nugget at some rainbow’s end?”
“Damnit, Marcus. It’s understood and settled.”
The card game ended and the glum gamblers headed for the door—all except three, who lingered and stared at their meager remains.
“Hey, boys,” I called.
“Eat your grub,” said Little Brother, chewing his steak with conviction. “We didn’t come here to make friends.”
“Don’t like the look or smell of the meat,” I said, pushing my plate away.
“Suit yourself. I’d be happy to take it off your hands.”
“How’d y’all do?” I inquired of the three gamblers, ignoring my brother’s advice.
They approached. The one in the middle twisted the ends of his gray moustache. “Nary an honor dealt our way,” he said. “Fate, thy will be done. Still, safer filing a complaint with the Lord than the dealer. Right, boys?” His friends nodded but said nothing.
“I bet you have some good tales, Ole Timer. There’s a drink in it, if you’ll provide such service.”
“That is a curious request. It’s certain I got some, woeful and whatnot, though I’m hardly in a jawin’ mood.”
Little Brother slammed his boot against my shin. I stifled a cry as the men dragged three chairs over and joined us.
I called to the bartender. “A round of whiskey for these gents—and the piano player—oh, and a ’sasperilla for the little angel.”
“Mighty genrous, mister,” said the one with the gray moustache, who introduced himself as Augur.
“That your first name or last?” I said.
“Just Augur.”
He raked ten fingers through his long silvery hair, then rolled a baccy stick and lit it, letting the smoke curl around his lips.
“Wherebouts ya from?”
“Up north, by the quarry.”
“Ya mean that old town near the red Nanny Shop?”
“The very same.”
“Hmm. Peoples up there’s pretty poor and a round of drinks in this waterin’ hole ain’t cheap. Did ya get lucky, turn sudden beneficiary?” Auger produced a pack of playing cards from his waistcoat. “What says you to a friendly game, right now?”
“Quarry people are poor, but they’re not stupid,” I said. “We’re humble travelers of modest means, having no desire to replenish the empty pockets of unlucky gamblers. My offer is a simple transaction. A good yarn for a shot of whiskey.”
Augur stroked his chin. “Tell ya what. Buy us a bottle and I’ll supply y’all with tales into the wee hours.”
“Too much time. We’re headed west at dawn.” “Followin’ the sun, are ya?”
Little Brother stood up, aiming to finish his meal in peace at a distant table. I grabbed his wrist and guided him back down. He yanked his arm free and scowled, then shoved a large piece of meat into his mouth, which appeared for the moment to assuage his irascibility.
“Now then, you boys oughta know what you’re up agins,” said Augur.
“How’s that?” I replied.
He swallowed his whiskey in one gulp and slammed the glass on the table.
“The five of us here is sittin’ at the edge of the world, we are! Makes no sense lookin’ fer trouble that lays beyond, with nary a hope of reachin’ the glitterin’ sea.”
“You’ve piqued my curiosity with that queer prelude,” I said.
“There’s little land to the west afore ya come up agins the Grrrreat Desert,” he went on. “Ever been to the desert?”
“No. But I’ve an idea.”
“Maybe so. But not the one of which I speak.”
Augur spread his arms wide to measure the distance of his words. “Them badlands seems infinite. ‘Venchully turns a man loco—but I cain’t say fer sure. None who traversed them parts ever returned to confirm.”
“Then how do you know ’tis true, and if there is a sea beyond?” I said.
“Often heard tell as a boy. If a thing’s stated agin’ and agin’ must be somethin’ to it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Hardly anythin’ does these days. Anyway, that desert is where Death lives. You and yer restless friend are too young to attempt the dangerous crossin’.”
“He’s not my friend so much as we’re twins.”
“Y’all look nothin’ alike,” said Augur, squinting one eye in disbelief. “Why, he’s twice yer size.”
“Call him Little Brother,” I said. “He prefers it to his Christian name.”
“He ain’t all that talkative. Cain’t he speak for hisself?” “Sure, but I wouldn’t risk asking him.”
I reached into my pocket for the nugget to square the cost of the vittles and drinks. Brother grimaced and grabbed my arm, then produced a handful of coins and handed them to the waiter.
“Look, fellers,” said Augur. “It ain’t my intention to offend genrous men with tales of darkness and despair, only to wind up on the bad side of their good nature. Take my words as a friendly warnin’. For in such desert exists a cruel society of veiled ladies—pulchritudinous psychopomps, to be exact.”
Brother whispered. “What the devil’s he talkin’ ’bout?”
“They’re the pretty gals who lead men to their resting place. Had you taken learning seriously, you’d know such things,” I explained.
Augur continued. “These women was commissioned by none other than the Almighty hisself to gather and prepare the dead—only the good ’uns, mind ya—undertaken from territories near and afar.”
“How’d those good ’uns get to the desert if they’re dead?”
“They wasn’t dead when they wandered in. See my point?”
Auger’s words sent a chill through me. I wondered if his story contained a speck of truth. Little Brother, who’d held his tongue for the most part, broke into venomous chastisement.
“You oughta shut your damn mouth, telling such lies.”
“They’s only stories, and stories cain’t lie.”
“There’s gold at the end of a rainbow which dwells seaside!” blurted Brother in frustration. “My daddy’s been there. He showed us a nugget as proof.”
“Do ya have it in yer pohsession?” said Augur.
“None of your damned business.”
“Well, a man’s free to ask.”
“Nothing’s free for the askin’.”
“No need to get all bowed up, Sonny.”
Brother’s hand shot across the table. He grabbed a fistful of waistcoat and pulled Augur so close their foreheads about touched. The music stopped. Chordacluck crawled from behind the piano and squawked a discordant triad.
“You best leave while you still have the chance.”
Those words sent Augur’s companions kicking their chairs back and bolting out the swinging doors, abandoning their drinks and friend. The fire in Brother’s eyes was enough to scare the devil.
“No sense gettin’ violent,” said Augur. “Suits me what little value y’all put on yer lives.”
“We’ll have no more of your daft talk. Now, git, before I truly lose my temper.”
He released Augur, who sunk back onto his chair, sliding his palm up and down the crease in his vest.
“One last thing afore I depart.”
“Make it damn short,” said Little Brother. “You can talk the hind leg off an ass.”
Augur slowly stood and finished off his friends’ whiskey, then pulled on the last of his baccy stick and crushed the butt with forefinger and thumb.
“Would y’all be interested in seekin’ my assistance on yer inadvisable journey?”
“No need. We’re fixed fine, thanks,” I said, hoping to quell the unease.
“Well . . . much obliged fer the Red Eye, and good luck, boys.”
Augur saluted us, then laughed so hard he lost his balance and fell face first against the table. We thought he’d cracked his skull and died, which he had.
* * *
“Go ahead, Marcus, you’re twelve years today. I’ll stay here and imagine the smile awaitin’ your face.”
“You coming, Brother? It’s your birthday, too.”
“I been there plenty.”
“Sure you have.”
“’Sides, all I got is this one coin,” he said. “Hard earned at that.”
He slapped the coin into my palm, then spun me around so I faced the red whorehouse. I was met at the entrance and led to a parlor decorated with portraits of plump and rosy women. The prettiest ladies I ever saw sat on a sofa, as if they’d stepped out of those paintings. The room grew silent when a short gussied up man entered puffing a cigar.
“Whad’ya got in mind to do with that?” he said, pointing to the coin.
I cleared my throat. “Buy me a woman, sir.”
“Hear that, ladies?”
Tender laughter filled the red room. He snatched the coin from my hand.
“On your way, boy. You still got milk on your lips.”
He slipped the copper coin into his vest pocket.
“Don’t know what you mean.”
“Come back when you’re growed up. Now, scoot!”
I ran from the whorehouse, tears welling up inside. Little Brother waited in the shade of a tree not far from the entrance.
“Back mighty soon. Hardly ’nough time to get your money’s worth.”
“Turned and ran is what I did and forgot to retrieve the coin.”
I told him the money bought me humiliation rather than pleasure. Brother stomped away. The next time he spoke he made clear he planned to get the coin back—and more.
* * *
We departed the saloon and headed for the roadhouse when a ruckus in the stable caught our attention. Our horses bucked in their stalls, possessed by some equine fear, as if ghost riders attempted to mount them.
“Don’t know what got ’em spooked,” said the smithy. “Me and my hostler never saw such carryin’ on in geldin’s.”
“Check for snakes and such?” I asked.
“A’course. Hope they don’t bust up my barn.”
“There, there,” said Little Brother in a deep and soothing voice. He stroked their foreheads. “S’all right. Let pass your affliction.”
The horses snorted then curled their lips and lowered their heads.
“That’s right.”
Brother turned toward the smithy. “Animals dream, just like us.”
The smithy folded his arms and clicked his tongue. “But would they dream the same dream at the same time?”
“Mayhaps one dreams and the other turns troubled, as well,” said Brother.
Not likely, I thought. Those horses bucked from fright, as if they heard Augur’s story.
That night I dreamt about the desert women dressed in veils and long gowns, with knives hanging from sashes tied around their hips. Black scorpions with faces of the dead I’d known scurried across the starlit sand. The women drew their blades and skewered the creatures, then held each by their deadly tail and swallowed them, licking their ruby red lips as they beckoned me with knives shining in the moonlight. I awoke with a start. Little Brother slept soundly, unaware of my terror. I sat at the edge of the bed, trembling until the crowing of dawn.
The smithy prepared a breakfast of flapjacks, bacon, and strong coffee. Brother scarfed down his vittles and ate most of mine, for I had lost my appetite thinking about the dream. We thanked our host and mounted up. I rode close to Little Brother as we headed toward the desert.
Noontime we passed the first dune, signifying a change in the land. The sign on the brothel crossed my mind. Being the last chance—to turn back. There’ll be plenty of good times once we find the gold, I told myself. Large birds with wingtips spread wide like claws of ill-tempered cats soared in spirals, eyeing our movement.
A downpour caught us unprepared. Clouds like vaporous chimeras appeared out of nowhere, whipping their tendrils in thunderous lashings, transforming the dry zephyrs into swirling sheets of harsh sand. We dismounted and blindfolded the horses—our own eyes barely protected by the sagging brims of our hats. Finding no suitable shelter, we trudged through the stinging wind and rain.
Twilight led us out of the storm and into the blackness of the desert night, as dangerous to the eye as the midday sun. We unmasked our jittery horses, then sat idly in our saddles until the moon rose behind us to illuminate the way. Glittering pools formed by the rains stretched beneath us. I looked down into the moonlight reflected in the transformed land. We traveled between two worlds, our own and the shadow one below, reversed yet synchronous. In that other world, a spirit rode behind me. Her arms clung to my waist and her head rested on my back, yet I could not feel her touch. Her clear, sweet voice sang a simple melody. I twisted in my saddle. She wasn’t there.
* * *
We returned to the brothel at dusk and hid behind a trough at the side of the house.
“What do you aim to do?”
“Only what needs doin’.” Little Brother untied his bandana and tossed it to me. “Hide your face and stay put.”
“What about you?”
“He won’t see me comin’.”
Little Brother unfurled a rope and wrapped the ends around his fists.
“I’ll have no part of this,” I said. “A man’s life’s worth more than a coin.”
“Not fixin’ to kill no one. Just teach him a lesson.”
Weren’t but a few minutes and the whoreman came out the door whistling like he possessed not a care in the world.
“That’s him,” I whispered.
Little Brother leapt from behind the trough and cinched the rope around the man’s neck. Dust clouds plumed up from the scuffling of boots on the hard dirt. The whoreman’s eyes bulged heavenward, as if praying the Almighty would intercede. His indigo face blent into the purple sky. A string of saliva dangled from his tongue like wasted seed dripping from the pizzle of a spent bull.
* * *
Our journey unfolded with no great misfortune, though I had a premonition one was due. We traversed torrid Saturnal rings, mysterious shadows hued in ochre and gray, spreading across the sand in wide circles. Dry winds burned our throats and we drank more water than allotted, having miscalculated the demands of our venture.
Come sundown, we made camp and took stock of our hasty rations. The feed bags were a quarter full and our comestibles about the same—the canteens near empty.
“Lucky if we make it back to Edgers City,” I said, stacking brush for the fire.
Brother struck a match against his boot heel and lit the kindling. “We’re not goin’ back.”
“Who knows how much farther lies the sea, if even there is one? I spy no hint of a rainbow in these parched skies.”
He spat and quietly stoked the fire.
“Admit it, Brother. We’re on a fool’s journey. If Augur’s women exist, death surely lies ahead.”
“Death always lies ahead. Come to your senses, Marcus. Those gals are but metaphors. That’s what stories are made of.”
“But what if it’s so?”
“Then it’s so. There’s nothin’ for us back home ’cept a spent quarry and a sad life for two orphans. I rather we die in the desert.”
“I rather we don’t.”
“Cheer up. I smell the sea.”
“What’s it smell like?”
“It don’t smell like desert.”
’Twas useless reasoning with him.
* * *
“Let up on the rope.”
He pulled harder, the tendons in his arms taut like harp strings.
“Stop, you’ll kill him.”
“Don’t believe you give a damn,” said Brother through clenched teeth. “I know your double heart.”
His remarks stung, yet I could not deny them. I cared nothing for the suffering man and little more for anyone else. Still, those words were not brotherly. I jumped on his back and pounded his shoulder with my fist. The rope loosed from his grip as I wrangled him off the whoreman whose legs jerked like a sinner freshly hanged. Brother moved like a sidewinder and suddenly he was upon me, straddling my chest and pinning my arms to the ground with his legs.
“Enough,” I yelled.
“Enough is right! I’m doin’ this for you, Marcus. I do everything for you—so you don’t have to blame yourself for your mistakes.”
“Shut up and get off!”
Brother slowly stood and ambled toward the prostrate man.
“Is he alive?” I panted, slapping the dirt from my clothes.
“Still breathin’. Come over here.”
Little Brother held the copper coin in one hand and a wad of tender in the other. He tossed the coin to me and flung the papers into the air. They fell like dead leaves upon the whoreman’s sullied body.
“Seems foolish not to keep the money,” I said.
“I ain’t like that. All’s I want is what he took from you, and to see the scoundrel lyin’ where he belongs. We’d better go, and quick.”
I followed behind, still angered by his calling out my heart. No person has the right to criticize that region wherein lives the fallible soul.
* * *
We found ourselves disoriented, surrounded by endless bluffs and cacti bent like twisted signposts. The sun rolled backward across the sky with the moon in pursuit. Congregations of stars positioned themselves in strange constellations. Little Brother checked his compass in this land with no direction.
“Damn thing must be busted. The needle can’t make up its mind,” he said, then threw the compass into the night as if it were the agent of our confusion. I’m bettin’ west is that way,” he said, pointing. “The sea’s got to be over those saddleback dunes, yonder. The smell is unmistakable.”
“You don’t rightly know, and it’s prolly yourself you smell. We’re lost.”
“We ain’t lost. You have no faith, Marcus.”
“I do have faith, though not in this journey. Hardly remember why I agreed to come.”
We sat quiet and bewildered. The only sound in the night was the foraging of horses who nickered while digging at sparse desert plants. I rose to investigate. The sand around the hole they dug felt moist. The horses had broken through the land, releasing water from an underground spring. Liquid purled up and formed a dark pool in which the reflection of my spirit-rider appeared.
“Please, girl, take my hand.”
I reached into the placid water, only to watch her dissolve at my touch.
“Don’t leave me again.”
“Who you jabberin’ at, Marcus?”
“Look at this.”
“I told you the sea’s close,” he said.
“’Tisn’t a salt-lick. Water’s fresh.”
“It’s all the same and you oughta admit I’m right.”
The crystalline water tasted clean and sweet. We filled our canteens and let the horses drink.
“See, Marcus. Gotta have faith. I’ll make us some strong coffee first thing in the morning.”
“If morning ever comes,” I muttered.
We returned to our blankets, myself set on dreaming of the spirit girl. Wasn’t a moment after stretching out when large birds like we saw at the commencement of our journey perched themselves near us and began yawping, cursing our good fortune. Little Brother fired his pistol into the air. They squawked once in defiance, then took flight. The night fell silent.
“Too bad you didn’t kill them buzzards. They’d be the first decent meal since who knows when.”
“Not interested in eatin’ anything that considers me carrion. Wish we had them smithy flapjacks and bacon.”
“They couldn’t always have been like that, I mean the birds. Wonder why the notion of death gets them so wound up.”
“See it for what it is, Marcus—the hunger in all creatures. Least you know where you stand with ’em. Anyway, time for some shuteye.”
“Damned if I know why Mater sent Pa to his reward, then helped herself to a share of it right after,” I said.
Little Brother yawned. “I reckon she had her reasons, and they musta been good ones, least in her mind,” he said. “Yep. Torment lays quiet, but only for so long.”
“You remember her final words, Brother?”
“‘I pity you boys.’ Wasn’t it?”
“She was referring to this.” I held up the nugget.
“Put it back in your britches, Marcus. It’s only a taste of the feast to come.”
“More like a curse.”
“Quit airin’ your lungs and get some sleep.”
Brother turned onto his side and pulled up his blanket. My eyelids closed and soon I floated upon the hum of a sultry wind. The sound grew louder. I sat up, determining it came from what I guessed to be west in this confounded land. The moon suddenly dropped and the stars fled from the sky, as if commandeered by some incantation ordering them to leave their heavenly stations and fill the night of a different world.
Something glowed low in the distance. I shook Little Brother and pointed to the light. He threw off his blanket and ran toward it. I yelled for him to stop, believing it to be my premonition made manifest. He didn’t heed my words. Out of instinct, I followed.
* * *
About a fortnight after my humiliation, we returned to the brothel—brother bent on getting me satisfaction. I showed the coin to the whoreman, who’d recovered. He rubbed his neck a bit, eyeing us and the coin with suspicion.
“Take your pick,” he said.
Little Brother smirked, then sat on a sofa between two ladies. At the far end of the room, a dark-haired girl attired in a colorful frock stood like an angelica descended from the highest realm of heaven. Her eyes caught mine and a powerful sensation seized my parts. We headed up a winding staircase and into her bed where I discovered a bounty of earthly delights. At joys passing, I hopped into my clothes and ran jubilant down the stairs, past my brother and out the brothel door.
“Slow down, Marcus. You sure been up there a long time.”
“I love Cindy.”
“Who’s Cindy?”
“The girl wrapped in a rainbow.”
“She’s a whore. Them colors are but charms.”
“I promised to return some day and marry her.”
Little Brother kicked me in the seat of my pants.
“’Twas a joke,” I said.
He didn’t think it funny. No one of proper upbringing would consider the possibility. Though in secret, I had.
* * *
The glow in the desert emanated from an opening in a dome-shaped structure, about fifteen cubits across and barely the height of a man—nothing I’d ever seen before.
“Are we dreaming, Brother?”
“If we are, seems two can dream the same dream.”
We crossed the threshold and headed for where the light shone brightest—a stairway that spiraled down beneath the desert floor. Brother pointed to a flickering shadow at the landing and we descended. A woman stood dressed in a long gown and veil. She held a lantern and gestured to follow.
“The lady seems harmless and likely not ugly,” said Little Brother, smiling. “Cast away your fear. We’ve come aboard a ship of good fortune.”
“What good fortune moors in such strange harbors? And what of those knives hanging from her hips?”
“Them blades are prolly common trinkets on the vestments of desert dwellers.”
“What of the veil? It’s Augur’s domain, I tell you. Let’s turn back, now.”
“We’ll do no such thing.”
Little Brother tightened his grip on my arm, preventing any chance of resistance. In an underground chamber, a harem of similarly clad women greeted us. Our attendant led us to chairs; their soft cushions offered relief from the long days perched on our saddles. The women soon departed, except our attendant. She lifted her veil. In the lantern’s soft glow, we gazed upon her beauty. Her dark hair flowed down the contours of her body like a placid river, and her red lips were as newly painted roses upon cheeks of aged ivory. She studied us, then approached Little Brother and guided his lips to hers. His pleasure acknowledged, she departed, having left her mark on his heart. She returned with vittles of savory flatbread and dried fruits. Sated by our unusual but tasty meal, we followed her into a room where comfortable beds awaited.
I awoke during the night to the desert incantation. Little Brother slept peacefully. I dressed and left our quarters to search for the source of the drone. At the end of the hall, a door stood ajar, its entrance illuminated by torches. Inside, lifeless bodies lay on slabs. The veiled women, such beautiful creatures of a strange world, stood at the center of the room, chanting as they carved open one of the men. Blood flowed down sluices and collected in vats. With great precision, they removed bilious green and blue entrails—a rainbow of innards—then dropped them into buckets. They drove prongs into his eyes, then pulled sideways, tearing apart a face once recognizable and likely loved. The sound of cracking bone sickened me as the skull split like a soft-shelled nut. Broad knives slathered brain onto metal plates as if it were a delicacy of this moonstruck land. I gasped in horror, then shouted, “No, this cannot be!” The women paused and glanced in my direction, then resumed their atrocities as if I didn’t exist. They stuffed the empty body with sawdust and pungent oils and sewed it together, then hung it on suspended hooks. These were the cruel women of the desert—the terrible society of which Augur spoke.
I hurried to our room to wake Brother and tell him of the abominations witnessed, and that we should quickly leave. He was gone. I sat thinking what to do when amorous moans and laughter penetrated the walls. I recognized my brother’s voice. He was safe, romancing one of the women. Shortly thereafter came a knock on the door and our attendant entered. I told her what horrors I saw.
“They are the visions of weary desert wanderers,” she said.
“’Tis not true. I saw clearly.”
She offered a potion to soothe my nerves. I feared it to be poison and refused. She lifted her veil and drank from the cup, then placed it in my hands.
“No harm shall come to you.”
I awoke the next morning to the sound of sickly groans. Little Brother lay salivating in his bed. His condition rapidly deteriorated—lips parched by fever and limbs rendered useless by some sudden and terrible malady. Our attendant knelt beside his body.
“Help him!” I cried.
“There is nothing to be done.”
Within the hour, Little Brother lay dead. The attendant left me alone to grieve, during which time I searched for his pistol. It was nowhere to be found. I lifted his body, only to collapse under its size and weight. I must have fallen asleep, for when I awoke, Brother was gone again. I hurried to the charnel room, certain he’d been taken there.
His body lay upon a slab surrounded by the women. One held a vessel of burning incense. Some stroked his once powerful limbs. Others wept and kissed his lifeless lips.
“Why did you not take me, as well?”
“It is not your time,” our attendant replied.
“Take this gold nugget and give me my brother!”
“The nugget has no value here. It is part of you.”
She pointed to the bodies lying on slabs. “All were good men, their tormented souls now released. Your torment has yet to begin. Leave while you still have your wits.”
“Not without my brother.”
The women unsheathed their knives and slowly approached, making their intention clear. I groped my way through the halls and climbed the spiral steps that led to the opening of the dome, then lumbered through the night, clawing my way up the sandy mount to which Little Brother had pointed.
Dawn broke as I reached the top. I sat upon a desert throne, looking down at journey’s end, where the rising sun unveiled a great rainbow arced across a glittering sea.
“Woe is me!” I cried, raising my arms in false lamentation. “What comes our way no longer will be shared, my brother. Riches destined for both shall now be mine.”
A city ran along the coast. Its rooftops shimmered like divine fonts upon a sacred temple. I descended the hill, wary of possible new terrors in the west. I told the people about the desert women and the fate of my brother. They knew nothing of such corruption. These kind strangers prepared a feast as if my arrival were a homecoming. Angelic children danced in circles, cackling in harmonious delight as they gazed upon the gold nugget.
Then I held it up for all men to see. To each I offered a pittance of the spoils, but none agreed to join my search.
“Abandon your plan. Stay with us,” they pleaded. “Do not wallow in thoughts of the bitter past or the impatient future where Death dwells.”
“Idiots!” I shouted. “No bitter past exists in golden morrows.”
* * *
Many years I toiled in solitude, seeking my father’s treasure abandoned at the end of the rainbow. Each night I tumbled through whiskey dreams that promised shouts of ‘Eureka’ upon awakening. I grew old waiting for that word as I spent my life foolishly traversing a colorful arc of delusion. The reward at rainbow’s end yielded a trough brimming with golden despair. Yes, Brother, torment does lay quiet, but only for so long.
I committed to ending this travesty. I ambled along the shoreline, gazing into the distance—the edge of the world, as Augur put it. I held the nugget up to the night sky and watched it throb. It was then I realized the cursed rock had led me into the dark and unspoken precincts of my father’s singular tale.
The rumbling sea wrapped me in its starlit cloak. Waves crashed against my addled thoughts. About to cast the nugget and myself into the sea, I heard the melody of my long-lost spirit girl. Had she returned to bid farewell to this shameful lout? I followed the sweet sound which led to an open door of a red house. Tallow candles hung above a balustrade, illuminating a winding staircase.
“Cindy. Is that you, girl?” I called in broken cadence, my throat choking on the cobwebs of age.
“Oh, Marcus, you’ve come back.”
“I hear, but cannot see you.”
“In the room, at the top of the stairs.”
I climbed the staircase. A door stood ajar and I entered. A lantern sat upon a table. Its flickering light threw shadows across an empty room. The flame soon steadied and my spirit girl arrived from the world I’d left behind.
“Face me,” I said. “Let me gaze in delight.”
She turned and I recoiled in fear, for she wore a gown and veil like those of the desert women.
“Why are you afraid?”
“This cannot be! Take off that hideous mask.”
“Of what deception do you speak?”
As she stepped closer to the light, the veil slowly vanished—her face now free from the shadows of memory. Her face glowed with expectation and her motley frock dazzled with the radiance of youth.
“What do you hold in your hand?” she asked.
“The cause of my woe.”
“Sit beside me,” she said. “Confide your sorrow.”
I recounted the details of my hapless wanderings. Cindy quietly listened. At story’s end, desire glowed in her eyes.
“In the telling of misfortune, grim thoughts are released,” she said. “You shall be safe in my arms. Tell me, Marcus. Did you really mean what you said ’bout marrying me?”
“’Course I did,” I sighed. “Though that be long ago, for little hope now resides within this fallible soul.”
She pressed my hand to her cheek and slowly we strolled upon a starlit aisle toward an altar of satin and down. We took our vows in which love whispered softly, but unrestrained. My eyelids closed and I floated above a simple melody as I lay upon her bed. Wasn’t long after my feet left the floor that her kisses pierced my heart, and the gold nugget fell from my hand.