Bridge

by JC Andrijeski

  “May I help you?” she said politely. “Most venerated sister? What is it you need?”

  Tarsi grunted. “Venerated, huh? Embalmed, you mean.”

  Anale smiled, but only just. “Is there something you wished help with, aunt?”

  The voices rose in Tarsi’s mind, pulling her attention off the room. Both of them, really, arguing like children, using Tarsi’s light as some kind of playpen.

  “Quiet,” she muttered.

  Anale blinked at her, but didn’t speak.

  Seeing the other female’s expression, Tarsi sighed a little on the inside. All these damned youngsters probably thought she was senile anyway.

  “Yes, there is something I needed, sister,” Tarsi said, deliberately ignoring the discussion going on in the higher reaches of her aleimi. “Need you, specifically. Need your help. Need to talk to you about something, first.”

  “Of course, aunt,” Anale said, bowing again.

  “Good. How you feel about working for me?”

  Anale blinked. That time, she had less success hiding her surprise. Her mouth twisted faintly, stuck between humor and confusion.

  “For you, sister?” she said. “Do I not serve you already?”

  “Yes, yes,” Tarsi said, impatient, waving a gnarled hand. “I mean for real work for me. Instead of my confounded nephew. I might need you, before this thing is over. I need to know if you’ll follow me if I ask. Even if my nephew tells you something different. Even if brother Balidor tells you something different. Can you do that, sister Anale?”

  Anale stared at her. Her eyes looked wary now.

  “Can you do that?” Tarsi asked.

  “Do they know you are asking me this?” Anale said, eyes narrow.

  “No. Course not.” Tarsi snorted. “Would I be coming up here, in secret, asking if you could disobey their orders, if they did?”

  Anale’s stare grew more intense. Her dark green and blue eyes widened perceptibly as Tarsi said the last bit, and now Tarsi could feel the fear on her, woven through her light.

  Tarsi understood. Chain of command was one of the first things they taught young recruits in the Adhipan. Anale was Adhipan.

  Had been, anyway.

  “Don’t get yourself all worked up,” Tarsi said, clicking mildly as her lips frowned. “Not turning on my nephew. Not turning on brother Balidor, either. You won’t even be violating the chain of command. Technically.”

  Another silence fell after she spoke.

  In it, the other voices grew louder. That, or Tarsi had a harder time ignoring them while the Adhipan seer in front of her pursed her lips in a frown. One voice grew especially loud––the same one that had entered her light most recently.

  That voice showed up the same day her nephew called her, and told her he planned to come to New York. On that same call, he told her what young Jon had done.

  Brave boy, that Jon. She would make him another cake, when she saw him next.

  The thought made her chuckle.

  We can’t let Revik know, the voice insisted in the background of Tarsi’s light. She was speaking to Tarsi, but also to Vash, the voice that had been with Tarsi for a good deal longer. The plan will never work, if he finds out what we’re doing.

  I understand that, the old man said patiently. I simply think you are risking a lot. If you run two chains of command, you risk getting people killed.

  We’ll keep it small. Just a few of them.

  It is still a risk.

  I know that, but––

  He’s right, Tarsi chimed in. He won’t like it, either. My nephew. He’ll be pissed as hell, he find out what you did.

  I’m trying to keep him alive, the other voice said coldly. Frankly, I don’t much give a damn what he likes. As it is, it’s going to be touch and go. He’s practical. He’ll understand.

  Practical. Tarsi snorted. He’s a big baby. Especially when it comes to you.

  He is not––

  But Tarsi’s mind got pulled back into the immediacy of the physical room.

  The seer standing in front of her had finally broken the silence. By then, Tarsi had to remind herself what they’d even been talking about.

  “I won’t be violating the chain of command?” Anale’s eyes grew skeptical. “Really, respected sister? And how is that?” Her voice turned even more wary as she seemed to be thinking about her own words. “I answer to Declan, sister. Declan answers to Adhipan Balidor. Adhipan Balidor answers to the Sword. Therefore, I answer to the Sword… and to Balidor. Both of whom you just told me I would have to disobey.”

  “We all have many masters,” Tarsi muttered, still half-listening to the argument in her light.

  “Sister,” Anale said, her voice patient. “As I said, my chain of command is clear. At the end of the day, the Sword is who I answer to––”

  “––and I answer to the one the Sword answers to,” Tarsi broke in, sharper.

  Could have fooled me, a voice grumbled in her mind.

  Tarsi chuckled, then did her best to turn it into a cough. Focusing back on the seer in front of her, she realized that laughing right then probably only made her look unhinged.

  Now you know how I feel, Vash said cheerfully.

  Quiet, old man, Tarsi grumbled at him. You’re undermining my credibility here. If that’s even possible anymore.

  The other light laughed, and Tarsi fought not to smile a second time.

  When she refocused on the younger seer standing in front of her, she found that Anale hadn’t taken her eyes off her face. Moreover, the youngster had begun to scan Tarsi’s light surreptitiously, probably looking for any threads or links to Shadow, if not out and out resonances with the Dreng.

  As she did it, Anale’s stance reverted to more of an infiltrator’s stance, likely subconsciously, her hands held out in a tense, ready position, as if preparing herself to fight.

  Her eyes grew more wary as she attempted to penetrate Tarsi’s light, and failed.

  Children, Tarsi murmured to the voices. Aren’t they cute?

  Maybe let her see a few things, Vash suggested. Reassure her.

  As if anyone can see anything on you, the other voice muttered. She’s a fool to even try it.

  When Anale clicked out, a few seconds later, her lips turned in a frown.

  “That’s not possible, sister,” she said flatly.

  “Isn’t it?” Tarsi laughed again; she couldn’t help it. “Well, that’s certainly a relief. I’d prefer senility to having to listen to this crap all day.”

  Another spate of laughter trilled the higher levels of her aleimi.

  Anale’s mouth puckered in a deeper frown, even as her hands went to her hips.

  Puzzlement stood in her eyes now, woven into that denser wariness. The girl had wised up a bit, though, Tarsi noted. Remembered who she was dealing with.

  A crotchety old seer who won’t let anyone see she actually gives a damn? one of the voices said sweetly. Or were you thinking she will trust you, when you death stare her like that?

  Tarsi grunted.

  She keep the bulk of her attention on Anale, though.

  She could almost see the other seer thinking that Tarsi had too high of a sight rank for Anale to accurately assess her loyalties on her own. If the power had been up, Anale probably would have signaled Declan, her superior officer, already. As it was, she probably intended to stall Tarsi until a team could wrestle her to the floor, maybe collar her for a few weeks while they took turns looking at her light.

  Maybe that’s why the voices urged her to come up now. The power being out was actually useful for a change.

  Well, d’uh, the newer voice said.

  Sighing a little, Tarsi realized there was only one option open to her now.

  The power could come back on any minute.

  With another, longer sigh––mainly because she knew this approach wasn’t without risk, either, not the least of which being that Anale could be read by Balidor or the Sword––Tarsi let the young female see
r into her light.

  It was the only way.

  Tarsi just stood there, her light completely open, watching Anale’s face.

  For a long moment, that harder expression on the woman’s features and light didn’t change.

  Then, slowly, that lovely, oval face began to open. Tarsi watched as wonderment bled over her features, contracting her pupils, loosening her jaw as she stared up above Tarsi’s head.

  Slowly, Anale’s blue and green eyes widened as she listened.

  15

  NECROPHILIA

  BALIDOR SAT ON the edge of an antique and very expensive-looking, Victorian-style couch, complete with hand-carved, cherry wood frame and a round sun-like circle cushion on the backing.

  That sun symbol was a peculiarity from the time period, Balidor knew, not a reference to the Sword, unlike what some of the younger seers thought. It stood at the top of the frame, embedded in the wood and surrounded by hand-carved designs of roses and vines.

  He remembered the style from when it was around the first time, and decided the piece was likely a refurbished original, or else a hand-made copy done by someone with real artisanal talent, since the flower and sun carvings didn’t look machine-made. He could see and feel the tiny imperfections on the wood where he stroked it with his fingers.

  Unfortunately, the couch was as uncomfortable as he remembered the originals being. Those damned Victorian humans seemed to do everything to spite the body, including putting next to no padding in their needle-point decorative cushions.

  He had to admit, though, the burnished sunset colors of the embroidery must have been beautiful when they were made.

  Focusing on the couch was only a distraction, though.

  He fought to keep his mind on the conversation, but went back to the couch, perhaps because it had more of a visceral reality.

  Truthfully, he preferred to focus on anything but the physical body or light of the woman sitting on the opposite chair, wrapped around the reclining figure of the Sword.

  Balidor did listen to the Sword’s words, however.

  “…So give me your opinion of this approach, ‘Dori,” the Elaerian said, his voice holding not a trace of a question. “I need your honest appraisal. Now, before we go any further.”

  Balidor fought his eyes off where Allie’s fingers massaged the Sword’s chest, her hand and part of her arm inserted inside the half-open collar of his shirt. Balidor couldn’t avoid entirely the flush of pain that left the Sword’s light, or the other flickers and sparks arising from the contact between the two of them.

  Gods. He wasn’t actually sleeping with her, was he?

  Balidor knew he wasn’t the only one to wonder.

  Then again, a lot of people had wondered about the Sword’s sex life of late. There were those weird rumors about Jon, and whatever had taken place between them that one night. Now, with Allie conscious…

  Well, more or less conscious.

  Balidor refused to follow his observations to their logical conclusions, unlike many others in the construct. For one thing, he didn’t want to think about it to the point where his mind might start producing visuals. He did know he hadn’t felt any actual sex in the construct between Alyson and the Sword, just a lot of pain from both of them.

  Then again, he also knew the Sword was significantly better at shielding than he often let on. Allie had been the one to warn him about that, years ago.

  Whatever the truth of the two of them these days, watching them together grew more and more uncomfortable, even knowing what he knew. Balidor kept the whole topic tucked deep in the recesses of his mind, and well away from his voice, however.

  In addition to his shielding abilities, the Sword often picked up more than he let on, too.

  Like a lot of people around here.

  “About which part of the proposed approach would you like my opinion, Illustrious Sword?” Balidor said politely.

  Tensing, he once more slid his eyes off Allie’s hand as she caressed the Sword’s belly through his shirt, just above his belt.

  As if he’d caught Balidor’s wandering gaze, Revik sharpened his voice.

  “Specifically, the issue of the construct,” he said, giving Balidor a slightly harder look. “That’s the sticking point. If we can’t crack that, especially without her, I’m wasting my time. I need some sense of percentages. I need to know what kind of opening you think you can give me, if we were to do it like I said.”

  “Opening, Illustrious Sword?”

  “Time, Balidor,” Revik growled. “How much time?”

  Combing his fingers through his chestnut-colored hair, Balidor receded into the uncomfortable couch, winced, and sat up straight again.

  “I’m afraid the news isn’t good,” he said.

  “Meaning?”

  Balidor exhaled, clicking a little. “Meaning… we still haven’t been able to discern the anchors. We looked at the construct over Manhattan, like you asked. We’ve been forced to focus most of our efforts on the one in Patagonia, however, since more of us can see that one.”

  Seeing the Elaerian’s eyes narrow, Balidor let his voice grow sharper.

  “Most of us can’t even feel the one in Manhattan, sir.”

  “My wife felt it,” Revik said, blunt.

  “I’m aware of that,” Balidor said, frustration leaking into his voice. “I am asking you. No, I am telling you, Illustrious Sword… we need your help in mapping that structure. None of us can see it. Even Tarsi claims she can only see the bare outlines, and then only well enough to know it is there. She tells me she knows this thing more by what it is not, than by what it is.”

  Revik’s jaw visibly hardened, but he only nodded, once.

  “Fine. And the one in Patagonia?”

  Balidor exhaled. “We are having somewhat better luck with that one,” he said, making a vague gesture with one hand. “Even so, most of what we’ve learned is descriptive––not structural in the way that you asked. We managed to trace a few of the pillars you mentioned, but really, only the ones we already knew about, or suspected.”

  Balidor counted them off with his fingers.

  “…Shadow himself. Salinse. Xarethe. We know there are others, but we cannot identify who they are, or even begin to map their light, not without knowing more about them. They blend too seamlessly into the structure of the network itself. We have not yet determined how to separate them out.”

  He held up a hand, almost a helpless gesture.

  “The design of this structure is different from the Pyramid in more than simply the location of its anchors, Illustrious Sword,” he added. “The upper levels actually comprise that structure. They are not simply attached, as before. They are inextricably linked.”

  Revik nodded. “Is it enough? To know the main pillar? Do you need to know all of the secondaries, too?”

  Balidor gave him a grim look. “You mean Menlim, I presume?”

  Revik flinched at the name, but nodded. “Yes.”

  Balidor shook his head. “That is precisely the problem, Illustrious Sword. We do not think Menlim… Shadow… is the main pillar. He appears to be a secondary, too.”

  “What?” Revik stared at him, visibly tensing. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Balidor hesitated, feeling the charge expand sharply off the other’s light.

  Allie seemed to feel it, too.

  Balidor couldn’t help watching as her light wrapped deeper into his, surrounding and separating the strands, as if pulling him back. The Sword let her do it. More than let her, Balidor realized; he seemed to have little ability to resist her. She diffused that anger and its charge almost without Revik himself seeming to notice.

  Balidor let out a slow breath, trying not to think about the implications of her still having so much control over his light, even now.

  “Exactly what I said,” Balidor said, cautious. “We have identified someone else at the head of that structure, Illustrious Sword. Whoever it is, they are more densely masked than any o
f the others. We cannot see whoever it is in terms of identity at all, and have yet to pull a single light signature. Well, none that originated from this side of the Barrier, at least. It is possible the person we have labeled ‘Shadow’ isn’t really Shadow at all. It is possible that Menlim works for him, just as the others do.”

  Frowning, Revik stared out the nearest window.

  His light had more or less returned to normal.

  Allie’s head rested on his shoulder. Balidor watched as she lightly traced the outline of the scriptural text written on the Sword’s upper arm with her fingers.

  Once he’d torn his gaze off her, Balidor followed the direction of Revik’s stare. That particular window faced the backyard of the house, where he could see a group of seers, along with Jon, sitting around a fire pit.

  None of them appeared to be talking. Jon, more than any of the others, still seemed to wear a cloud of isolation around him.

  For a long time, Revik only stared at that fire, too.

  Balidor could almost feel him thinking. He kept his own light still, even as he tried to rearrange his legs and butt on the hard couch, looking for a softer spot that didn’t exist.

  He glanced at Wreg, who sat in the nearest chair.

  Wreg also watched Revik’s face as he stared outside. The muscular, Chinese-looking seer appeared utterly blank, his expression as silent as his voice had been throughout this meeting. Balidor couldn’t help thinking how strange it would have been, that silence, back during one of their planning meetings in New York, where they often argued strategy for hours.

  Then again, Wreg didn’t talk a lot these days, in general.

  Balidor tried not to think about how Wreg must be reacting to Allie’s resurrection, given everything. He knew the seer had been drinking a lot, even compared to before––even compared to when Jon still lived with Dorje.

  Truthfully, Balidor had been expecting some kind of violent confrontation between Wreg and the Sword for weeks now.

  But that fight never materialized.

  Balidor could only suppose Wreg’s allegiance to the Sword got in the way, perhaps even his religious beliefs. That, or he and Jon had discussed matters on their own.