They were nothing if not fierce. The crowd had closed ranks by now, and he was the main attraction.
The Reverend glanced over their heads and spied a sorry-looking elephant grazing amongst a herd of camels and horses. The skin on the enormous animal sagged miserably, and the Reverend wondered about the pathetic life the once magnificent creature had endured here with these barbarians. Then his face went hot as he allowed himself to consider what his boy had suffered in their midst as well.
The Reverend lifted his arms again, and the crowd stepped back a pace. His first instinct was to reassure them, but instead, he forced himself to make a fearsome face.
"Listen to me!" he began.
His powerful voice did nothing to set their worried brows at ease. If anything, hearing him speak their tongue only rattled them more. He thought he heard a fearful shriek from the back of the audience, although perhaps that was only the sound of the wind whipping up and over the cliff. The Reverend glanced at the sky and noticed a cloud bank approaching from the west. The weather on the steppes was notoriously unpredictable, and he hoped they were not in for a sudden storm. Although the quickly approaching shadows helped magnify the unsettled mood, which could work nicely in the Reverend's favor.
"Give me back my son, and I, the Ghost Man, will leave you in peace!"
Ahcho moved closer, and the Reverend could tell that even his skeptical number-one boy was impressed by his alarming tone.
"He is small." The Reverend lowered his arm toward the ground and put his hand at just the height where dear Wesley's head would have been. "And his hair," the Reverend reached for a hank of fur from the wolf 's head atop his own, "his hair is the color of the sun!"
The crowd let out a gasp.
"Bring him to me, and then you may return to your festival."
The crowd stirred, and several of the burly, half-naked wrestlers marched off. The Reverend felt certain they would return in a moment's time with his son's hand in theirs. He waited and forced his expression to betray nothing of his excitement.
After a few long moments, the crowd parted, and the Reverend could not help the broad smile that overtook his countenance in anticipation. The people whispered, and several even clapped their hands, for everyone, except perhaps Ahcho, who remained as sternlooking as ever, knew that a miracle was about to take place before their eyes.
The row of grandmothers and grandfathers at the front of the crowd bowed and stepped aside. The children scurried off. Then there, before the Reverend, appeared a blond head, so blond as to be freakishly white.
The Reverend staggered back.
"Are you all right, Master?" Ahcho asked and reached under the hide to take the Reverend's arm.
The Reverend did not speak.
A stout form waddled toward him. It was not a child's face but a man's, pink and with pink eyes. He blinked wildly under no eyebrows or lashes, as if it hurt him just to see. The small creature looked painfully raw and unfinished, and the Reverend could not help but think that the Lord had left this lump of clay only half molded. He looked away in disgust. He had never before seen a more hideous human being.
"Great Ghost Man," the albino midget said, his high voice shaking. "You have come to save me!" He threw himself onto the ground and began to kiss the Reverend's boots.
The Reverend stepped out of his reach and shouted, "Stand up, man. Do not grovel like an animal!"
The midget rose and wiped tears off his cheeks with his thick arm clothed in a colorful tunic. But his tears kept coming, and the Reverend saw that the hideous fellow was unable to control himself.
"Whatever is the matter?" he asked.
"My misery will soon end," the man whimpered. "You will kill me, and I will finally meet my ancestors. I should never have been born, and now my time on this earth will be over. I am most grateful to you." The man let out a sob and raised his head and shut his eyes, as if expecting to be smote down by the Reverend in the next instant.
The Reverend swallowed. Could those be his own tears rising up
behind his eyes? He had become so resistant to allowing his grief to reveal itself that he hardly recognized the sensation. There was no mistaking, though, that the man before him was wretched to his very