"WELCOME, DE LA ROCA." The Angel waved an arm at her, and the ground shifted in acquiescence. A grove of trees sprang up around them, and the air was suddenly heavy with the scents of flowers and citrus fruit.
She neighed in response, the long tongue and thick vocal chords unable to form the soft crispness of human speech.
The Angel reached toward her, his fingers a flickering bonfire. She flinched as he neared her skin, before realizing that he radiated no warmth. At first, she thought he would caress her, but when he pulled his hand back, she could see a massive tick in his fingers, the size of a fist and jet black. He squeezed it with distaste, the fire overtaking it. Minutes passed, until the tick's body was only a glowing ember. He blew upon it, extinguishing the flame. In his hand remained a lump of faceted crystal.
"THIS IS ONE. YOUR ENEMY HAS THE OTHER. THERE IS NO TIME FOR REST.
"AWAKEN, AND SEEK OUT THYRSUS."
Her eyes opened. She could see the first strands of dawn stretching across the horizon. As she moved to sit up, she placed a hand upon her side.
Her gun was warm.
Fifteen
De la Roca took a breath and felt the warmth of her gun, and just like that, she knew who she was, where she was, and who these people were.
It was the Angel. Through the dream, he had given her back some of her memories—but not all of them. She could feel empty spots, dead burn marks like the brown circles left behind by uprooted trees.
Did the Angel not want her to remember everything? Why not?
Indeed, by her estimations, she had just enough of her past to make her angry, without giving her any answers.
With the same hunter's instinct that had aided her in her kill of the lamprey, she placed her rage and her desire to exact revenge aside. She needed more information.
I'm going to have to act like everything is the same and watch these guys. She didn't know which one was the enemy the Angel had referred to, and both of them were clearly hiding something. Laufeyson had lied about being her lover, and the Mademoiselle had been gone for almost a full day now, without any clear explanation.
De la Roca and Laufeyson were putting out the fire when the Mademoiselle returned. Lines were etched in her face, and shadows bloomed under her eyes like dark hothouse roses. Strangely, although her body showed clear signs of needing rest, her eyes glittered with a strange light.
As soon as she was within speaking distance, she asked, "De la Roca, do you remember the last demon at all?"
"No."
Alsvior whinnied shrilly then, rearing up and stamping his front legs down hard. The Mademoiselle's face brightened, her smile melting away the weariness that had been etched there.
"You remember, don't you, Alsvior?"
The horse nodded. De la Roca surged with pride, but she pretended to be amazed at the horse's sentience. "It understands speech?"
The Mademoiselle fixed her with a hard look. "He does. If he had merely the right tongue, he would speak as easily as any one of us, but his punishment was not so lenient." She stroked his neck and he nuzzled her chest, a gesture that made the outside edges of De la Roca's brain tickle inside of her skull. His punishment?
The Mademoiselle let her fingers trail over his nose. "You were burnt when you returned, I remember that. Alsvior, was there a fire?"
He held his head sideways, as if thinking.
"Alright, so that's a so-so?"
The horse nodded and whickered.
"Did it take a human form?"
He shook his head.
"An animal, perhaps?"
He nodded.
They continued on like this, a series of yes-or-no questions that seemed to go on interminably. Out of the corner of her eye, De la Roca noticed Laufeyson. He was sitting at the edge of the extinguished fire and watched the interactions carefully. It was clear from the expression on his face that he found the story fascinating. And why might that be, I wonder? His green eyes were stormy, troubled, and there was the briefest hint of confusion on his chiseled features.
Something amiss? Serves him right, whatever it is.
* * *
Laufeyson waited for what seemed like forever. Eventually, the Mademoiselle held up her hand. "I think we will stop here. I doubt I will be able to gather anything else. So, to summarize, the demon was large, a bird, and possessed the capability of fire. It was beautiful, and it did not speak. At least, not out loud, though we cannot rule out the possibility that it spoke directly to you." She waved at De la Roca.
"Given the fact that it was powerful enough to either manifest or take over a pocket to hide in—and the size of that world, I think we can assume it that this matter is much more serious than we originally thought. I am sure that the demon De la Roca met was the brother Muninn."
An alarm bell went off in his head. Muninn? That was not a part of the plan. "Are you sure?" He glanced at De la Roca, but her face was blank.
"Well, it definitely makes sense. The Eye of Muninn is rumored to manipulate memories, adding, changing, and erasing them as the demon sees fit. His brother, Thyrsus, has a similar ability, although he works more in madness.
"If De la Roca touched one of the Eyes of Muninn while in combat, it would have destroyed the kevra stone that was currently inside of her. Losing the Eye of Muninn, after already initiating the link, could easily affect the flow of her memories.
"We should be careful though—a mind recently erased is most impressionable. Although, on second thought, I would guess that you already knew that." She gave him a razor-sharp glare, and his stomach flopped. And what do you know, I wonder?
"So I touched one of his eyes?" De la Roca seemed confused by the flood of information.
"Yes. Although it still strikes me as strange, because they were not found anywhere near you." The Mademoiselle gave him another glance.
He blinked rapidly. One of his eyes—he had searched the area carefully, but he had not seen a second stone. Of course, he had not been looking for it.
Do I have the wrong stone, then? What if it is useless?
"Thyrsus," said De la Roca, an odd note to her voice. The air was suddenly filled with the scent of flowers and the sweet notes of citrus.
"I think you know what happens next," said the Mademoiselle.
"We seek out Thyrsus," said De la Roca. "If his stone works the same, I might be able to remember who I am."
"Absolutely not!" Laufeyson jumped up with the exclamation, kicking sand upon the ashes of the fire. "It's too dangerous!" It isn't part of the plan! There is no time for an extra hunt. And what if she is killed?
The Mademoiselle gave him an unwavering stare, and he suddenly had the feeling that she could see through his flesh, his bones, down to the very spirit of his kevra. Disconcerted, he nonetheless returned it the best he could, but when she looked away, he was overcome with the feeling that he had lost somehow.
"I agree with De la Roca. It may be the only way for her to recover her memories." She pursed her lips, the expression cryptic.
"And if she dies?" Laufeyson couldn't help the snarl.
The Mademoiselle gave a flippant shrug. "It is her choice."
"Damn straight." De la Roca stood. "I'm going." She unholstered her guns and examined them before sticking them back to her sides. "So, Mademoiselle, where do we start?
* * *
The journey back to the Cantina was not a difficult one. They progressed mostly in silence, the Mademoiselle in the lead, with De la Roca tight on her heels.
Laufeyson hung back slightly, threading through his thoughts. The situation had spun completely out of control, but how? The second demon should have been a younger one, and certainly not Muninn. His orders had been clear. He had created that realm, the small pocket of plane through the Phoenix Well himself. Had they been found out? Was Muninn been a trap, placed in that realm by Golden's minions?
If so, how had she survived? Did I underestimate her? Muninn was older, perhaps, than the earth they stood on—older even, than h
is brother Thyrsus. Even with the aid of Bluot, there was no way that De la Roca should have been able to kill him, yet Alsvior had dragged her through the well relatively unscathed.
There was some other process at work here, and he didn't like it.
By the time they reached Pico, the dirt clinging to them and the stink of horse-sweat staining the air, he had not reached any answers. The many cigarettes he had manifested during the ride did nothing to calm the circles of his raging mind.
They dismounted, and the two women began an animated conversation regarding supplies. The temperature had started to fall, and a smattering of clouds was gathering in the sky. He tried to eavesdrop on their hushed whispers, but the Mademoiselle was cloaking them somehow. Occasionally, De la Roca would glance back at him, and he felt his apprehension growing. Soon, the two women walked into the Cantina, leaving the horses by the door.
He waited for as long as he felt was prudent, and then as stealthy as any cat, he strolled over and peeked in the door. The first drops of rain had already begun to fall. Alsvior was watching him intently. Startled, Laufeyson felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Something was wrong here, something important.
It was dark in the Cantina, the clouds blocking out the sunlight, the electric lights still off. Still, he could see fairly well, and this much was clear—De la Roca and the Mademoiselle were gone.
He dashed inside, alarm bells ringing in his head. Suddenly, there was a whoosh, as if the air in the room had become pressurized. Lightening flashed, flooding the room with brightness.
His heart sank. This isn't the Cantina. It was a good façade, true, but the edges were too crude, the fiction lacking and threadbare in places.
He sat down and flicked his fingers to manifest a cigarette, but one did not appear.
Damn.
Sixteen
"I fell asleep thinking that he had been my lover, but then I dreamed about the Angel. When I awoke, it was as if his seed has been uprooted. My memories were recovered, at least partially." She stared at the ground, her expression heavy. "I suspected that you had stolen the other stone, at first. That was incorrect."
The Mademoiselle nodded sagely. If she was offended by the implication or the lack of apology, she did not show it. "I thought Laufeyson might try something, though never something as drastic as this."
"But why?" Her torrential frustration threatened to overcome her. How much longer will I be kept in the dark? Forever?
"I don’t know." The Mademoiselle was quiet, almost contemplative. "I have not returned to Hell for many years. All I can tell you is that there are strange forces at work, and I doubt any of them have your best interests at heart."
She looked around the room. De la Roca watched as her gaze pause on the artifacts of her earthbound existence—the liquor bottles, the polished glasses, the many stools stacked upside-down on tables. "When I was first ordered here, I railed against it. My infraction had been so minor, yet the punishment so severe!" She sighed. "Yet after much time passed, I realized that I had grown fond of this place, of the weary travelers and the simple pace, of the smiling faces of humanity."
Her wave was airy, almost dismissive. "As for my God, my angels? I have not heard from them for many years now."
"Perhaps," said De la Roca, her fingers trailing over the rim of a glass, "They have no use for you now." It made sense to her, but she had not expected the Mademoiselle's face to crumple.
"If that were true, I would very likely be dead." Her voice was steady, but De la Roca could hear a dark current of pain underneath, an undertow to a lake that appeared placid.
De la Roca sat in silence for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Finally, she just decided to change the subject. "What did you do with him?"
The Mademoiselle smiled, cat-like. "He is on another plane, one gifted to me a long time ago by another demon. I have saved it carefully for such a time as this. It won't hold him long, of course. He has very powerful friends, and an Eye of Muninn besides."
The Mademoiselle cast her eyes to the floor, and De la Roca became aware of a weight in the room, a current that had flowed unnoticed. It was tangible, thick and hungry, and now that it had been exposed, it would not be ignored. She could feel her brows coming together, her jaws tensing. "What is it?"
The Mademoiselle met De la Roca's stare. The mercenary was shocked to see that the expression had bled completely out of her pretty face, leaving behind a visage that was white and deathly.
"The gun. Can I hold it?" Her voice rustled like leaves.
De la Roca's hand moved toward the holster, but in the end, she could not bring herself to hand the Mademoiselle her revolver.
"No." She shook her head. "I am sorry."
The Mademoiselle nodded and changed the subject, seemingly without effort. The rush of tension that had overtaken the room suddenly lifted, leaving De la Roca to wonder if she had just imagined it.
"Muninn should have killed you. His self-immolation frightens me, as does his mention of his brother. To be honest, I doubt you'll come back from this alive." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "If you do, you will most likely not be the way you were when you left."
"What do you mean?" asked De la Roca, an eyebrow raised.
"I don't know. Nobody has visited him in a millennium, and the tales from that time are garbled at best. I remember reading once about an adventurer that thought visiting Thyrsus would be the key to great power. When the man returned forty years later, he had forgotten how to speak."
"He was human, then?" She made no attempt to hide her scorn, her lip curled into a mild sneer.
The Mademoiselle cocked her head. "Yes."
She squinted, and De la Roca got the feeling that the woman was seeing past her. "You need to understand this. For all that you think of them as weaklings, for their mortality and their vulnerability, you still have a lot to learn about the human race. They have the unique quality of being able to turn select weaknesses into strengths, and they have levels and depths to them that we are not instilled with."
De la Roca was not convinced.
The Mademoiselle considered the matter for some time before continuing, her hands clenching and unclenching as she processed her thoughts. "It's as if we are lakes, and they are wells. From overhead, we are impressive, turbulent, fantastic—even beautiful. But dive into us, and all too soon, you are limited by the dark mud of the bottom. A demon like Thyrsus, or perhaps even Laufeyson—they become focused on one quest, one motive, and it grows to consume and destroy their world."
She smiled wryly, and like a blooming flower, new beauty overtook her haggard features. "But a human? A human cannot live like that. For them, it is madness. Instead, their currents, while small, run deeper, through rock, through sand, through mud and clay."
She illustrated each stratum with her hands. "Each layer has its own quality, its own uniqueness, but ultimately, they are united into a single tunnel in which they drop their bucket. In the end, if they are lucky, they reach the life-spring of their purpose, and bring it through all of the layers to the surface. Do you understand?"
De la Roca nodded, unwilling to admit her confusion.
"You might be different though, as I am. We are—" She paused again, searching for the word. "We are in-betweens."
The question was not vocalized, a mere tilt of the head and a squaring of the eyes, but the Mademoiselle saw it and answered it easily. "Yes, I, too, was human once." She sighed, heavy lines suddenly appearing at the corners of her eyes and mouth. The demon's eyebrows knit together, an expression of remembered pain.
De la Roca had more questions, but she doubted they would be answered.
"It is time," said the Mademoiselle. "I am ready to bridge the gate. Go get Alsvior."
* * *
The process had been explained to her twice, but something did not add up to De la Roca, and she asked her questions again. "So you are going to put me in another plane? And Thyrsus will be there?"
The Mademoi
selle sighed and rubbed a temple with her fingertips. The gesture struck De la Roca as familiar. Knowing now of the Mademoiselle's human past, she was surprised she had not realized it before. "Again, no. I will have to bait him."
"How will you do that?"
"I'd rather not explain."
"Fine." De la Roca's tone that belied the word. "If you know where he is, why not just send me to him?"
"That would be an excellent way for you to die, following him into a world of his own making. It was a mistake the first time, and I doubt your survival was a result of your own skill." Her voice was growing louder, and De la Roca could not remember when she had seen the Mademoiselle so agitated. "We will not be so foolhardy. In his own plane, he is the strongest he could ever be. Worse, he may have rewritten certain rules. What if Bluot will not fire, or if gravity does not exist? How will you fight him then? In a third plane, you will at least have the advantage of knowing the playing field and working with familiar tools."
"But what—"
"There is no more time for questions! Either I send you now, or you find your own way!"
"Fine," said De la Roca, her voice a blade of ice. "I will do it as you wish."
"It is not as I wish. It is the only way to do it." Immediately, the Mademoiselle sat. Clouds started to gather over her head, swirling around with a velocity that spoke of their master's urgency.
De la Roca watched them form. Strange, how something that was once so extraordinary is now commonplace. She waited until the rain fell. The cold drops stung, and she wondered if the change in temperature had more to do with the destination or the rainmaker's state of mind.
The door opened, a circle of light that leapt from the floor and spun with wild magic.
"Go on, I will not be able to hold it long!"
De la Roca mounted Alsvior, and together they stepped through.
* * *
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