Dirty Eden (5 page)

SNAPPING THE REINS, THE carriage wheels squeaked and turned. We took the outskirts route, keeping near the edge of the forest and savoring what shade it gave us while it existed.

There was little discussion between any of us. Tsaeb was too busy looking through Gorg’s things, adamant about finding something of value. I sat as if a child punished in a corner, not wanting to accidentally touch anything, or be hit in the face by any number of grotesque swinging objects. A shrunken head looped through one nostril swayed back and forth near my shoulder. When the carriage hit a bump, the head jerked close enough that I could feel the straw-like hair prickle the side of my face.

I could see Gorg through a small window, guarding those wings as though worth more than his life. He had wrapped them carefully and tied them to the seat underneath his legs. I thought about the wings
—
could I have traded something for them? The creature did say that I could trade for ‘anything’ I saw in the giant hollowed-out tree. It was strange, the way in which she urged me, the enigmatic smile, almost as if trying to influence my decision. Felt like déjà vu all over again with the woman from the alley.

“We’s bout to enter the field!” Gorg shouted.

Dodging the swinging head, I moved to the window and pushed aside the dingy and torn makeshift curtain.

“Duncha wanna see?” said Gorg. “Come on out! The forest ends jus’ up ahead!”

I peered through the window and over the front of the carriage.

“Let me see.” Tsaeb squeezed his way up, pressing his blond head through the opening.

I pushed open the carriage door, leaving Tsaeb to the window and stepped out onto a thin rail, carefully moving to the front to sit next to Gorg. Just as we passed the last wedge of trees, my eyes grew wide with awe. It looked like the end of the world, the horizon layered by red-tinted clouds hovering over a dreary and lifeless landscape. Still no sign of a rock, a tree, or even a vulture circling overhead waiting to pick the bones of some unfortunate traveler.

“Six days across,” said Gorg looking over.

I was horrified.

“Yep, six days of nuthin’ but...” Gorg laughed, “...well, nuthin’!”

“And you travel this field often?” I could find no reason acceptable. Only a crazy person would brave this treacherous route more than once in his lifetime, but then Gorg hardly seemed sane.

“Been doin’ it for nine hundred years, three months, twelve days and some hours tossed in. Thur’s six of us drivers, but I promise you and the ruffian got the best one.”

“Why are you the best?” The question was an absent one; Gorg’s age held my thoughts the most.

“Well, the old man Milton stinks worse than my horse’s shit.” Gorg looked over at me once. “And he’s been known to toss travelers out in the field on their bee-hinds
—
yep, he has; I’s no storyteller. And Davis, he’s crazy as a loon, he is.”

“And the others?”

Gorg snapped the reins and the horses picked up speed. I held onto the wooden box seat tighter as the carriage pulled and jolted.

“Well, they’s dead. Nuthin’ but bones and tooths under their robes.”

Tsaeb snickered from behind, his head peeking through the window. “Sounds like they’d be more interesting.”

“Bah!” said Gorg. “They dun’t even talk. They jus’ stare atcha with big hollow eye sockets.”

Another hour passed. The forest had long since disappeared on the horizon and the heat was unbearable. My dress shirt was in my lap. Sweat dripped from every pore and it was getting harder to breathe. Flies fluttered drunkenly around me, only adding to the discomfort. I longed for the night to come, dreamt about when finally the moon would replace the godforsaken sun. I dreamt of a freshwater stream and of a breeze and cool, dry clothing. I was tired, utterly exhausted by the heat, but I could not sleep. I leaned against the carriage and managed careful breaths until eventually the sun did fall and the darkness brought with it some relief.

I basked in the comfort of the night, treasuring the cool wind on my face and through my hair. Five more days of this
—
I didn’t want to think about it.

“What’s that?” Tsaeb pointed out into the field.

It was the first thing other than miles of dried grass that we had seen. And it mattered little to me that I had yet to know exactly what it was. I was just glad to see anything at all.

“Looks like a wrecked carriage,” said Gorg.

I peered out ahead through the darkness. A little blazing lantern mounted on the side of the carriage cast a moving orange glow beside us.

“I’ll go have a look,” said Tsaeb. He jumped off the carriage and headed toward the wreckage.

Gorg pulled on the reins and the horses snorted and whinnied before coming to a halt.

“Tsaeb!” I shouted. “Get back here! What are you doing?”

“Ah, let him have a look-see,” laughed Gorg. “I’s curious if it’s one o’ the others.”

“Well, then let’s ride that way to get closer.”

Gorg looked at me with a wary raised eye. “The carriage goes off course, it’ll
stay
off course,” he said, as if I should already know this.

I saw Tsaeb’s figure moving back and forth through the darkness, but could not make out anything solid.

“It a wrecked carriage, or no?” Gorg shouted.

“Yeah, there’s a dead guy but no horses!”

Gorg stood, put his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Wut’s the dead man a’wearin’?”

I leaned forward, trying to pierce the darkness with my eyes.

“He gots skin?” Gorg added.

“Yes, he’s got skin, but not for long!” said Tsaeb. “He’s wearing
—
what the hell does
that
matter?”

“Just tell Gorg what the corpse is wearing, will you?”

“Alright, it looks like a yellow robe...and he has a
fortune
of rings on his fingers!” His voice went up about three octaves.

Gorg fell heavily onto the seat and shook his head. “Thut’s Davis,” he announced with a sigh. “Poor old coot
—
I’s knew it would happen eventually.”

“What happened?”

“Field bandits.”

Gorg was suddenly looking all around him rather than at me and this made me uneasy.

“They’s come slitherin’ through here, robbin’ carriages and killin’ anyone on ‘em.”

A lump lodged in my throat.

“I hit the jackpot,” Tsaeb said running back up and giggling wickedly, his fingers adorned with oversized rings. He held a bag full of golden trinkets, silverware and other sparkly things crammed deep inside of it. A silver crown with tiny diamonds sat lopsided on his head.

“You robbed a dead man?” I had a bad feeling about it already.

Tsaeb slung the heavy bag into the carriage with a
crash
. “I don’t think he’ll need any of this stuff anymore,” he said, climbing back in and shutting the door behind him. The carriage clanked and pinged inside as he rummaged through the bag.

“Thut ruffian will regret it later,” said Gorg, snapping the reins.

I was more worried about the field bandits than the property of a dead man. I shifted in the seat, unable to keep my eyes off the blackened field all around me. I listened for any signs of bandits
—
whatever they were supposed to sound like
—
and started to wonder what I might do if confronted by any. A lot could happen in five days.

“Why didn’t they take any of the things Tsaeb brought back?”

By now, the horses were moving more rapidly; labored breathing and the heavy grinding of hooves against the earth.

“They dun’t care ‘bout riches. They like warm blood.”

“Vampires? You’ve got to be kidding!” laughed Tsaeb from inside the carriage. He was too busy with his goods to poke his head out the window this time.

“No, not vampires, you dimwit,” said Gorg. “Snakes.”

I froze. “Snakes? What do you mean, snakes?”

“Jus’ like I said: snakes
—
you two are the deefest ones I’s met yet.”

Gorg focused out ahead.

“They’s live underground, but ain’t many of em’
—
‘bout two or three tribes left anymore.”

“And what happens if they come after us?”

“Gorg’s horses are the fastest in the field. We outrunned them lots o’ times, but we should be fine.”

Should
be? I shifted on the seat. I hated this place, this dreadful field, the stinking carriage, the greedy, thieving demon in the back, the shrunken head, jewelry and trinkets made of bones, teeth and flesh. I hated the Devil for sending me here. But most of all, I hated myself for going through with it.

The days moved uneventfully forward and the bandits were mostly what I thought about.

By the fifth night, I began to realize that I was no longer myself. My vision was blurry and the distant red sky appeared so close. The voices of Gorg and Tsaeb sounded sluggish and heavy. The neighing of the horses and the grinding of the carriage wheels seemed to blend into one another.

I began to hear strange whispering voices, clearly not of my company.

“You’s alright there?” said Gorg from the side.

My head began to spin. The sky swirled furiously in my gaze. The buzzing of flies sounded like wasps inside my ears. I gripped the sides of my head, my fingers pressing aggressively against my scalp.

“No! I’m not!” I managed to scream under the gritting of my teeth. “The voices...the bugs...the....”

I hung my head over the side of the carriage, helpless to hold back the vomit.

“Field’s a’gettin’ to you.” Gorg pulled on the reins to slow the horses. “Hey, dun’t get any of that on my carriage!”

I fell off the moving carriage with a
thud
. My body rolled before it came to a stop. I thrashed about, gripping my head, screaming as the voices become louder, more recognizable.

“It was once perfect...,” said one voice.

“Temptation. Curiosity. Greed,” said another.

The door swung open as the carriage came to a stop. “What did he fall off the carriage for?” said Tsaeb, laughing.

I could hear the pumping of blood like thunder in my head, but not even that could drown out the voices. I could not feel Tsaeb’s hands on my arms, attempting to lift me to my feet, or hear Gorg shouting at Tsaeb to be quick about dragging me back onto the carriage.

I mean, yes, I could feel them and hear them...yet I could not.

“She ate the Forbidden Fruit....”

“One evil then tempted another....”

And just like that, the pain was gone.

I lifted my head and the sky was completely red as if the distant clouds had finally covered me. There was no carriage, or Tsaeb, or Gorg and his two white horses. The air was humid, sticky like a summer day before a storm. What was once yellow grass under my feet was now black, charred and smoking as if it had recently burned. The stench rose up in my nostrils, choking me. I could feel the soles of my shoes warm and slowly melting against the ground.