“It’s all fucked up,” I mutter. I don’t even feel the initial horror at saying the word fuck, like it’s a word I would have used every day had I been Lizzie. Had I been Lizzie… I’m not Lizzie anymore. I stopped being Lizzie the day I first passed through the Black Gate. Then I became some disembodied, sexless being. It’s not supposed to matter what we return as yet we cling to that initial gender. Once a woman, always a woman. Purity. Men are fire, air, active. Women are water, earth, receptive.
What does that make me who partakes of both? The all, the nothing?
And what’s the point anyway? What’s stopping me from walking away from all of this, giving up now? Play the barman, maybe study something and get a real job as a doctor or a soldier or a mortician? Then, one day when I die, I’ll die. I’ll forget any of this ever happened. This would be the easy way out.
How long I stand there with my hands balled into fists, I don’t know. It’s cold. I breathe. I lose myself in the forlorn mourning of the wind through the ruins. None of what has been, is and will be, matters. Everything hangs suspended in this bottomless moment, the sky darkening with an incipient storm, loose pieces of hair whipping across my face to get stuck in my mouth.
That’s when I feel my angry ghost. I can’t see him but I know he’s here, with me. He frets at the edge of my awareness. Maybe making himself visible earlier at the burnt-out church cost him too much of his daimonic power, but he’s not leaving me any time soon. Can I face the next forty or fifty-odd years with this sort of daily interference?
“Yes, Ashton, I’ve taken your life, through no fault of my own. I did not steal your life. I’m as much a prisoner here as you are.”
I stand a while longer but then, out of nowhere, the anger bubbles up and I start yelling. “Do you think I asked for this? Do you think I saw your fucked-up life and wanted it? Come on! Be real! Look at you! Look at me! You were in a hole and you knew it, but instead you didn’t stop digging, did you?”
The last syllables die away, echoing on not only off my surroundings but on an aetheric level, and a small twinge of pain deep in my sinuses reminds me this probably isn’t a very wise idea, to lose my temper. He’s just a damn ghost, and I’m the one who’s here, now. If anything, the sense of Ashton hanging about has gone. It’s just me and this empty place. Angrily I dash away the small trickle of blood that forms in my left nostril.
People always say cemeteries are full of ghosts and spirits. Their preconceptions couldn’t be further from the truth. These fields of granite and marble markers are sterile. A person’s Ka may hang about a bit until the Ba is reborn, but I don’t pick up anything here. Not at this moment. Apart from the troublesome ghost that appears to have latched onto me, that is.
With nothing better to do, I clear a granite slab of pebbles and sit, weaving chains from grass stems. I close my eyes, opening myself only to the beating of my heart and the incidental sounds around me. It’s a gradual spreading of awareness, the gentlest of our daimonic abilities. Slow. Breathe deep. Feel the earth upon which I sit; the exact temperature of the air and the way my muscles tense when I shift ever so slightly. My emotions, a welter of anger, desperation, fear. These act together on my intellect, making it difficult for rational decisions.
I gain an apprehension of my environment. Here a rat rummages through the remains of a discarded sandwich. The creature’s entire being is focused on the mouldy bread, and I soon lose interest. Two stray dogs trot along the railway line, intent on the scent trail of a bitch in heat. Nothing is amiss.
I was drawn here by the old man but for what reason? Am I a fool? What if this is a trap? Hunt the Inkarna of House Adamastor down one at a time, they’re easy pickings, they just walk right into a situation without considering the dangers. After all, they’re immortal. They’ll just keep coming back.
I break my meditation with a muttered curse, wiping experimentally below my nose. The skin on my wrist comes away clear. Good. I cast about, checking my environment, but there’s no sign of human life save for me. The thick cloud cover won’t reveal the sun’s exact position but I reckon it’s as close as it will get to midday.
This has all been some sort of cruel joke, a misunderstanding. Maybe I wanted to read too much into the old man handing me that paper. I wanted something to happen today, some clue that I’ve not become completely deluded. What if I really am Ashton? What if the Inkarna are all just some fever dream made up during four months of being comatose?
That doesn’t explain why I have these powers, or why Marlise shared my experience of Ashton’s pitiful attempt at striking fear into me. My laughter sounds bitter to my ears as I rise, jamming my hands deep in my pockets.
Stupid. This whole episode is a glorious waste of time. What am I doing here?
I’m five paces away, intent on returning to the train station, when I grow aware of the human presence not ten metres behind me, standing at Richard’s memorial. It’s slight, on the edges of my senses, but it’s there, nonetheless—the slightest whisper of watchfulness.
An older woman speaks. “Seeker, what are you looking for?”
All my muscles freeze. It’s her, Leonora. I’ll never forget her voice.
Slowly I turn, my heart clenching in my chest, to face her. I can’t equate the bent old woman dressed in a khaki army-issue parka and jeans before me. Still the same, round face but her skin is so lined. She clutches an ibis-headed walking cane, much like the one yesterday’s messenger possessed.
Her eyes, however, these are still the ones I remember, the last vision I beheld before Lizzie closed hers for the last time. She has a beanie jammed over her head, and a few white strands escape to blow about her ears.
“Leonora?”
“This isn’t right.” She shakes her head vigorously. “This cannot be!” She’s suffering from the same denial I had.
“Lizzie’s dead. This is who I’ve become. I’m sorry. Something went wrong.”
She sways and, scared that she’ll collapse I rush forward to support her, uncomfortably reminded of that day in 1966 where our roles were reversed. The dichotomy of our present physical states strikes me hard. Her frame is so light, her bones birdlike as she clutches at my jacket.
“You came back. I’m so glad.”
“What’s happened?”
“We can’t talk here.” Her eyes are bright, searching mine.
“Where can we go?”
“I’ve got a car in the parking lot not far from here. We must leave immediately. I’ve taken a massive risk with this meeting. They might be watching.” She casts about and I feel a hum of daimonic power, so strong compared to my fitful attempts.
I don’t ask who they are, intent only on helping Leonora to the car, an ancient Volkswagen Golf so rusted I’m surprised the engine purrs into life when she turns the key in the ignition. Once behind the wheel some of her old resilience becomes evident as she noses the car into the bustle of Voortrekker Road. A minibus taxi almost ploughs into us from behind but the old lady rolls down her window to pull a zap sign at the speeding vehicle. The driver hoots and gesticulates wildly before he roars ahead.
“Damn taxi drivers. They think they own the roads.”
“What’s happened?” I ask. I try to hide the smile at seeing her give as good as she gets on the road.
Leonora spares me a glance then keeps her gaze fixed ahead of her. She’s so tiny she can barely see over the wheel. “Goodness, where do I start? In brief, you passed away and I carried on. I studied, nurtured the investments, took on two initiates. Things were looking good. Those were golden years. It really appeared that House Adamastor was going to grow, become something.
“We of course didn’t know when the next Inkarna would return. I mean, how could we? A new incarnation every fifty or so years, that’s what the journals recorded. We hoped if we worked hard we could somehow grow that knowledge and power base. After all, the other Houses have greater strength. House Adamastor has always been so precarious in its existence.”
She steals a glance at me. “Things are shifting, or rather, have been. During the eighties, when our country was going through some of its worst turmoil, the local Houses had their last annual general meeting. There were…tensions. House Malkuth severed ties with its chapter houses in Europe and the States. They went underground. I haven’t heard from them since. It’s like they never were. I suspect they may be founding a new House, but they have not resurfaced.
“House Montu…” She sighs. “House Montu started making overtures, stating that with the coming troubles, House Adamastor should align, meld even. Although tempted, we did not like it at all. That’s when…” Leonora goes silent, biting her lip while she indicates and noses us into the stream of traffic heading south on the M5. “To make a long story short, I had a visitation from a man about five years ago. He called himself Siptah.”
A cold claw of shock tears through my system. “Richard! Did he say anything, tell you where he was?”
“He came one night and warned me about a stele hidden in our ritual chamber, beneath a false tile before the altar. ‘Don’t look at it,’ he told me, ‘just hide it in a very safe place. They’re coming. Tell the Inkarna—’ Then he vanished, just like that, as if his daimonic powers gave out before he could pass on the rest of the message, but at the same time I picked up on his fear. Very great fear.
“I was, naturally, rattled, but followed his instructions to the letter. I made arrangements the next day to shift some of the finances into an account not linked to the House’s, and took rooms outside of the chapter house, close by. While Siptah had not been able to communicate the full message, that deep, gut-wrenching fear like I’ve never known spurred me on to greater caution.
“They came for us a week later. House Montu. We were no match for them. They are warriors, after all.”
“How did you escape?”
“Quite by chance, really. A bird had flown into the window, one of those red-eyed pigeons. I went outside to see if it was all right and there I was, crouching in the back yard behind the lavender bushes prodding at a dazed bird, when I heard the first sounds of commotion coming from inside. I drew upon concealment and snuck back in, but it was hopeless. Three of them, one Inkarna, I’m sure, and two initiates, had forced open the door.
“They made quick work of William. Sara still put up a fight but they took her down within seconds.” Leonora’s sigh is bone weary. “They hadn’t even attained full initiate rankings yet. I don’t hold out much hope for their souls once they’ve passed through the Black Gate into the Hall of Judgment.”
“You mean to tell me they came in killing?”
She nods. “It’s like they knew exactly where to go, where to find us. More than a century of compulsions laid on the chapter house and they swung through as if none of that mattered one whit, as if someone had provided them with insider information. What I don’t understand is the sudden change in attitude. I mean, it’s not like we were ever sitting with an open-door policy. To attack out and out…”
A chill passes through me. “I was supposed to punch through five years ago, into the body of a young girl by the name of Catherine van Vuuren.” I give a wry laugh. “It’s obvious that there has been some sort of miscommunication somewhere along the line.”
Leonora glances at me. “Yes, not quite what I was expecting, but it’s good to have you back.”
“Not quite the blink of an eye, though. What else can you tell me? Obviously the chapter house is standing empty, so someone must have laid claim to the library and all that.”
“I watched…” Leonora sighs. “It was terrible, what happened to our attorneys. I tried to get hold of them, but they were placed under liquidation the same day of the attack. It was like it was all orchestrated before the time. I was too scared to call them after that but followed in the news. It was all over the papers. All our assets were seized and a company called Maverick Enterprises bought the chapter house.”
“But it’s still standing empty.”
“They’ve left it empty. Bait. A trap. They know one day one of the House Adamastor Inkarna will come. Like you did.”
“That means…” News of the attack hadn’t filtered through to us in Per Ankh. Leonora would have had no way to communicate it to them because her link hadn’t been established yet.
She sniffs. “They’ve grown slack. They expected a reprisal early after the hostile takeover. When all answer to their action was a deafening silence, they now send a chap ’round maybe once or twice a week. He casts about for clues but then he leaves. Ha! They used to practically camp outside, as much good it did them.”
Five years in limbo. Five years wasted while all this transpired. Of course I’d have no way of knowing and, it would appear, my brethren have given me up for lost.
“What do we do now?” I ask. “And where are we headed?” We’ve reached Sunrise Circle in Muizenberg, and Leonora has the car pointed toward the mountain again.
“Well, Simon’s Town, of course. They’d never have expected me to hole up right under their noses.” She gives a wicked cackle. “But you may as well tell me what your story is, so we can be up to speed. Where were you?”
“I don’t know. It was a nothingness that may have been Nun.” Even recalling the Sea of Nun gives me cold thrills of fear.
“You can’t remember anything?”
“Just complete absence of any sensory input and a terrible need for…physical manifestation. Remember those times during the mid-fifties when we experimented with isolation tanks?” She nods. “It was like that, but it never ended. The next I knew, I woke in a hospital bed. It was two thousand and twelve, and I’m here, in this body.”
“What did you say the name of the Kha was? The one you were supposed to inhabit?”
“Catherine van Vuuren.”
Leonora gives a low whistle. “This is not looking good. I’ve done some careful investigations when the almighty paw-paw hit the proverbial fan. One of the men on the board of directors for Maverick…his name is Christopher van Vuuren. It’s too uncanny.”
“How old is he?”
She shrugs. “Late forties maybe. I’ve looked at all the major players in that company. They’ve connections to government arms deals. They’re not small fry.”
“Sounds like something House Montu would be involved in.”
“Just the fact that of late the government’s been sending in more troops to central African countries, the hostilities there… There are other Houses there, as warlike as Montu. Everything’s in turmoil, all the trouble in the Middle East, South Africa sending so many mercenaries up there. I fear it’s all connected.”
“Shit.”
She gives a soft chuckle. “You know, you’ve changed, hey?”
At this I laugh, possibly the first real laughter that’s escaped me in days. “Oh, hell, I know that.”
For the rest of the drive I fill her in on Marlise, Ashton’s parents and his angry ghost. Leonora’s concerned about my continued nosebleeds and we both agree it must have something to do about the Kha’s maturity. It’s not natural for Inkarna to take over a body that has never, until now, been forced to lean on daimonic powers.
“I suggest taking it slowly. Practice a bit. Remember those exercises you made me do?” Although Leonora hadn’t ended up with nosebleeds, her migraines had been legendary as she had learned to access her daimonic powers. She had been eighteen when she’d started.
She pulls the car up inside the subterranean parking lot of a three-storey apartment block directly behind the old chapter house. Eschewing the archaic lift, we trudge up three flights of stairs and make our way along a walkway to the apartment overlooking the chapter house.
“Right under their noses…” I stare down on the back yard. Where our outdoor ritual ar
ea was, a mess of port jackson and wattle strives, tangled with verdant weeds.
“Sometimes the most obvious hiding place is the best.” Leonora leans on the railing, gazing down.
She unlocks the security gate then the door, and a frisson of a compulsion tingles through my being as we enter. Leonora is not without her defences. If I had not been accompanied by her, I’d probably have walked right past this apartment.
Her home is cramped, a one-room unit. Every available bit of wall space is filled with books, some new, some clearly ancient in their leather bindings. Her neatly made single bed is almost hidden behind crates. A small table stands near the window, also piled with books. The only life form here is a giant peace lily, its bladelike leaves spilling over its terracotta pot.
“It’s not much,” Leonora says. “A bit of a come-down from our previous illustrious quarters, but at this point in my life, I feel it would be better to err on the side of caution.”
I recall my mysterious visitor from yesterday. “Who was that man, the one who came in to The Event Horizon to deliver the note? And how did you know to find me there?”
“Oh, that was Bill. He lives on the first floor.” She gives a conspiratorial wink. “I think he has the hots for me.”
“He carries the same walking cane.”
“I lent him mine. Thought it would catch the eye. As for finding you, I did a bit of snooping after I wrote down your car’s registration number. I may not have material wealth but I still have a few contacts here and there in various departments. Doesn’t take a brain surgeon, you know. Some of those students at Marlise’s college are quite chatty. It’s not that hard to find someone if you know what to look for and what questions to ask the right people. You’re just lucky I covered up the evidence of your visit. If House Montu knew you were back…” The warning is abundantly clear.
I try not to let my surprise show. “And now?”
“And now we have tea. Earl Grey?”
I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips. If there’s one thing that’s certain, Ashton would sooner curl up and die than drink tea. “Two sugars.”
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