Beyond the Horizon by Ryan Ireland

rumors circulating about you two,’ the man said. ‘People saying all types of wicked things, terrible things, things that no human could ever possibly imagine.’ He stopped and frowned. ‘But yet here they are, these settlers, spewing off falsities as if they were true. The mind is a dark place.’
    â€˜Who are you?’ the father interrupted.
    â€˜You buy people?’ the boy asked.
    The question seemed to surprise their visitor, although his inquiry, in reality, had no such effect. ‘Now why would you ask such a thing?’
    The father squeezed his son’s shoulder. No one spoke until the visitor decided to continue speaking. ‘It’s because you saw humans bought and sold, yes?’
    â€˜What sort of man are you?’ the father asked again.
    The visitor sighed, smiled wearily. ‘Thats a more difficult question. To a seafarer like yourselves I might be called a witch doctor—’
    â€˜A witch doctor.’
    â€˜Yes. I know, I lack the usual appearance—the adornment of bones, the nose piercings… I dont live in a hut.’ He chuckled. ‘Indians might call me a medicine man.’
    â€˜You dont look like a savage.’
    â€˜You do. Thats why I am here. I’m here to judge you.’
    â€˜Hows that?’
    â€˜Guess you might rightly call me a judge.’
    â€˜Dont look like a judge,’ the father said.
    The doctor said, ‘And what are you supposed to look like, sir?’
    The boy’s father stood dumbfounded.
    The doctor continued. ‘These people will make up stories about you and arrive at the inevitable conclusion that you should die—a creative conclusion, certainly. But I decided to intervene. I will change the end of your story if I see fit. They believe my stories over their own eyes… Can I examine your son?’
    The father let his hand slip from his son’s shoulder. The boy took a step forward and knelt down before the witch doctor. The doctor grabbed either side of his head and stared into the boy’s eyes. He did not lock gaze with the boy, rather he looked past whatever anguishes were housed there. He pried the boy’s mouth open and examined his teeth. Then he groped at the boy’s body as if inspecting him for concealment of a weapon. He held the boy close and asked if the boy ever saw someone bought and sold. The boy replied that yes, he had.
    â€˜Thought so,’ the doctor said. ‘But you all werent slave traders. No.’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘You were scavengers of a different type. Wheres the rest of your crew?’
    â€˜Dead,’ the father said.
    â€˜All of them?’
    The father nodded.
    â€˜Perhaps,’ the doctor said, ‘it would be best for you to tell me the entire story of how you came to be here.’
    The man formulated plans in his head of how to confront the Apache as he searched the village for weapons. But there were no weapons to be found. He took the shiv from his pocket and squatted by the doorway of a rectangular tower. He figured he could kill the Indian who came through the door first, yoke the body up in such a way as to deflect the blows from the Indian who came in next. He imagined he could commandeer a weapon, fight his way free.
    He squatted by the threshold for some time, until his legs burned. He stood and knew it was futile. He placed the shiv into his pocket and stepped out into the alley. As he walked the narrow path between the bricked buildings he picked up stray pieces of driftwood, the occasional bundle of brush.
    The man found a large stone pit, a place excavated into the ground and paved with cut stone. In the center of the round pit there was a hole in the floor. The man built his fire there. He struck a rock against the shiv and the sparks set the brush aflame. He knew the skeleton man on the white horse would see it. That the Indians would come here, to this place, and cut him into pieces. He did not