“When?” David yelled.
“In her dream David. In that brief glimpse I saw, she wasn’t here with you, and neither was I.”
West recoiled, “You’re staying up there with the child?”
David reared on West now, “She has a name. She’s not just some kooky little kid with freaky eyes.” He punched the wall, tearing up immediately.
“She isn’t supposed to be here.” Stanwick’s tone was firm, but she didn’t rise to anger, “There is a battle, and her part in it is up there.”
David sneered, “Oh that’s great.” Stanwick came towards him, trying to comfort him, but he backed away, “No, seriously. It’s marvelous. There’s a war coming to us, right here, because you invited them, and now you’re saying that it’s going to be you and my seven year old daughter on the front line?”
Stanwick pointed towards the hatch that had lowered them into the room, “Me, your seven year old daughter, and Dannum, the first and last king of Allim, one of the true beasts of the Mythologue.”
Throughout most of the flight, Tiernan stared at a photograph of a Mexican athlete he’d kept in his billfold for the past couple of years. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but having a point of focus helped. He made a couple of calls from his father’s cell-phone; first to Prime Minister Arthur White in the UK, then to President Xiao Hong Zhuang in China. Neither of the premier’s had been able to offer any concrete promises, and both had implied that it was an impertinence that he would even suggest that their problems were any less pressing. He had been tempted to throw Lucas’s phone out of the helicopter’s window.
Lucas Miller eyed his phone, watching his son’s twitchy hands,“You don’t think Arctum will be enough?”
“Two things. Firstly, it’s not about winning some pissing match, it’s about sending a message to the world that this is how we will deal with anyone who opposes this administration. Secondly, are you fucking joking Lucas? Why would Stanwick throw down the gauntlet if she wasn’t ready? When have you ever known her to miscalculate her strength?”
He looked out of the window and attempted to catch a glimpse of the hangers of Arctum’s advanced training facility. Nestled in dense woodland outside of Shippensburg PA, from the air, there was hardly anything worth looking at. “I’m telling you,” he continued, the muscles of his face filling out as he focused his energy on the photo, “Arctum may be able to provide a battalion, but there’s no way of knowing what that little bitch has up her sleeve.”
Miller rested his head back into the leather padding, and turned the volume down on his headset. His son’s voice had such a way of sawing through to the bone when he was anxious. And Tiernan was clearly anxious. Miller had already resigned himself to the thought that his son would order him back to the hill as soon as they landed. Through everything, no matter how many times he had served at his sons side, the little shit still resented his presence on the battlefield.
The helicopter touched down hard, bounced, then touched down again gently. Tiernan leaned forward in his seat, “Father, I need you back in DC. The cabinet’s in turmoil. At the very least, Jo Faraday is ready to call for a vote of no confidence.”
Miller raised his eyebrows, “I’m pretty sure you talked him down. The meeting went well. You underestimate your ability to persuade.”
Tiernan looked unsure, “I really feel like it would be beneficial to have you back there.”
“Why did you even bring me?”
Glancing up from the photo of the athlete, Tiernan smiled and tossed his father’s phone back into his hands. He stepped out onto the pad wearing the body and face of Paulo. Some of the body. He would need food. His people in Arctum knew him no matter how he showed up. There were a number of faces that he wore. Paulo was one of his favorites.
Arctum, and by extension, the employees of Arctum usually kept a low profile. If they were officially sanctioned, or even if they were accidentally sired by a member of Arctum staff, newborn Blood-Bastards would usually train at the Shippensbug base - the ringer. The New York facility was mostly dedicated to research and development, administration and outreach. Arctum had many other training facilities throughout the world, but at some point, everyone passed through the ringer.
Tiernan was greeted at the pad by Wyatt Mosier (nee Toan Kith Mansur) a man who had fought beside Tiernan on the battlefield of the Leechborn Wars and the Mythologue. He towered over Tiernan. His facial scars which he had worn proudly since his first combat in Allim still glistened black on his naturally dark skin. He didn’t smile.
“Lieutenant Mosier.” Tiernan offered his hand in friendship.
“Ahken, cut to the chase, and let’s dispense with the new world bullshit. It’s Toan. It has always been Toan. You might like to parade around with the face of a prettier man, but I will always be as you find me. You want to address me by rank, then it’s Kith Mansur, First Tier, East Tirtiary. I’m sure we’d both prefer if you stick with Toan.”
Tiernan smiled, “Would you prefer us to revert to the mother tongue also?”
Toan cracked a thin lipped smile, “I’ve had enough of your mother’s tongue to last me a lifetime.” He laughed, leaning in to hug Tiernan, “How is Petra?”
Tiernan grunted under the weight of Toan’s arms, “You know my mother; same as ever.”
“She’ll always have a place in my heart. Constant. Unyielding.” Toan tilted his head towards the deep blue glass wall of the nearest bunker, “Should we head down? I’ve pulled together a strong battalion. Very few young bloods in their number.”
Tiernan nodded and the two men walked together, Tiernan taking two paces for Toan’s one, “I should probably eat something.”
Toan agreed, “We’ll stop by the mess hall on twelve. You look like you need a good thirty pounds?” He pressed his hand against the blue glass and a previously invisible seam in the wall parted to welcome them in.
Tiernan walked up to the security clerk’s desk, smiling amiably at the woman who sat behind the bulletproof screen. A needle pushed out from the surface of the desk. Tiernan slammed his hand down on the needle, then listened to the mechanical hum of the centrifuge and he waited for …
“Good to see you President Tiernan,” the woman offered rigidly, “here’s your badge.”
A blue glass panel to the right of the security desk slid aside and Toan led Tiernan towards the elevator at the back of the bunker.
Tiernan glanced at Toan’s chest, then his eyes wandered up in the direction of his face as the elevator door pinged charmingly, “We need to be wheels down in a few hours. I’m not sure there’s enough time to bulk out thirty pounds, brief the men, gear up and load out.”
Toan leaned away from Tiernan, “You should talk less around the men. You’re trying too hard.” He eyed the number twelve on the small graphic of the building’s floor-plan and waited for the elevator to announce the destination in her somehow distractingly alluring voice, “Mess halls one through six and maintenance. Floor twelve.”
Tiernan sat hunched over the metal topped table, biting each egg in half before swallowing it down. Between eggs, he chugged half-heartedly from a pitcher which contained a delicious mix of whey protein, blended nuts, greens, cottage cheese and raw ground beef.
Toan leaned his head on his knuckles, elbows on the table, all the time watching for that telltale sneer of disdain that he often saw on Tiernan’s face. Three thousand lifetimes, and Tiernan still felt like he was different. Toan had talked to him about it many times over the years, hoping to get some magnificent profundity from great man. Tiernan had admitted that he had a bias that was difficult to shake at first and that other things went beyond actual bias, becoming social ticks or spasms of muscle memory. Toan had, on many such occasions, expressed his opinion that Tiernan was full of shit. He never backed down from the conversation though, which Toan respected.
“There’s really nothing on file for this Stupins Institute. No building plans, no code inspections, nothing from the utilities companies.” Toan talked to himsel
f, not caring if Tiernan listened,” I’ve had a team skimming the rills, looking specifically at the vicinity of the building, scanning over the past century and a half. There’s a gap which coincides almost completely with the largest gap in Thrass’s record. Then the building just appears fully formed in 1906. Best guess is Thrass built it.”
Tiernan took a pause from the eggs and looked up. He thought about berating the man, but there really wasn’t time. He was doing his job. Actually, Tiernan thought as he stuffed another egg into his mouth, Toan wasn’t even doing his job right now; he was going above the call of duty. He was attempting to bore the leader of the free world into a stupor while watching him cram eggs into his face… “so by the time we touch down,” Toan continued, “there should be very little to see”
Tiernan grinned broadly, egg whites creating the illusion of a confusing abundance of teeth, “You realize you’re going to have to go through all of this again in a minute?” He glanced at the bowl of eggs and the two pitchers of shake he still had left to drink, “You want to shut up and help me finish this? Seems a shame to waste it.”
Stephanie felt the weight over her eyelids and the bridge of her nose, felt the touch of soft fingertips on the skin of her face.
“Follow me,” Stanwick whispered, “All of you.”
Down the grand staircase, Stephanie’s finger’s slalomed.
“In a moment, I want you to think about what you dreamed last night. Remember it. Let it pour out of you.”
A minute between heartbeats, a hundred lifetimes lived between.
In the sweet, heady rush of infinity, Stephanie felt him … saw the breadth of his reign.
“I didn’t mean for you to see that.”
“Don’t lie to yourself.” Stephanie replied.
“Whats wrong?” Stephanie’s nose wrinkled, her lips pursed to form a perfect bow. She bowed her head, touching Stanwick’s chin with her small fingers. She hadn’t really meant the words. Not how they had sounded. She wished she could take them back.
Somewhere she hadn’t said them.
Somewhere she would never say a word that would cause Stanwick pain.
It was a subtle shift. Stephanie saw it first as a play on light; the vanishing traces of ghosting images, with Stanwick’s bent over form twirling and pirouetting, each one of a hundred reactions dancing through phases of uncertainty, illuminated by a cluster of stars that never came to be. Then there was one, and Stephanie could see the change in Stanwick. She looked into her eyes and she knew. She knew that she had caused a change, because there, kneeling in front of her was a version of Stanwick who had never heard those hurtful words.
Not a shadow. Really her, like looking glass Alice had stepped through and left a universe of possibilities in her wake.
Stanwick hugged her, squeezing her tightly, shattered and afraid, because as she held her, she could see her first glimpse of the woman that Stephanie might become.
Stanwick gasped, “What just happened?”
Stephanie squinted, a lie of omission forming on the tip of her tongue. Knowing full well, she asked Stanwick, “What do you mean?”
Stanwick took the child’s hands in hers, “I just felt something. Something I’ve never felt before.”
As she felt the whispers of the delvers through Stephanie’s velvet soft palms, she started to see what the child had achieved. It was monumental. Unthinkable.
“Stephanie,”Stanwick spoke slowly, gently, “You can’t do that.”
Stephanie smiled and waited for Stanwick to return her smile. She blinked, her smile falling slowly. It wasn’t a game.
“I don’t understand what you did.” Stanwick continued, careful of her words, because she meant them, “I’m scared for you, because I should know. I’ve been around enough.” She looked at the wall behind Stephanie, the universe flashing past, and she felt so confused, “I should know it all by now Stephanie, and I don’t. I don’t understand what you did just now, and I’m not sure anyone else in the world would understand. But it’s not a game.”
Stephanie smiled. Just a step ahead. It was all she needed to be.
Stanwick closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Stephanie saw such fury, unlike anything she’d ever seen from her dad or aunt Han. She pouted, pearl blue eyes glistening with tears, “I’m sorry. I don’t realize I’m doing it.”
Stanwick shook Stephanie’s hands gently, “Don’t lie to yourself.” The words ricocheted around her head and her hands fell quickly to her sides. She wanted it so badly. It made her feel sick to her stomach. She tried again, marshaling her thoughts.
“You can control it?”
Stephanie nodded, then her head shook slowly, “I’m not sure.”
Stanwick took up her hands once more, “You must. At least until you understand it fully. I’ll help you.”
Stephanie thought about everything she had seen in her dream. There was too much. Unfathomable things she had witnessed, but she knew that Stanwick was right. She would always help her.
“Your eyes,” Stanwick leaned closer, “it looks like they’re healed.”
Stephanie shrugged, “They’re better.” She struggled to articulate what she meant, “I can see more. There’s less … It’s less fuzzy. There’s more to see.” Then she heard the call, the tongues twisting inside, “He’s waiting.”
Stanwick led her into the chamber, following a different path to that which she’d followed with the others. The twinkling lights spread out further with each footstep, glowing brighter by the second. Her mind reeled with the thrill of it; the thought of seeing him again, in all his horror and glory. She reached her hand out, touching the wall in just the right place.
Stephanie blinked, mesmerized, and one of Dannum’s immense eyes blinked in response. The slick rustling sound of his eyelid unfurling sending shivers down her spine. She laughed, then as the head moved, her laugher gave way to a squeal of fright. “Holy shish kebabs,” she whispered, running towards the head, reaching her fingers towards what she supposed in better light might pass as a lip. She had imagined she would be able to see him. Not like this. All of him. Now that she stood face to … well … mouth she guessed, it was clear to her that she’d have to stand a long way from him to actually see anything.
She looked at Stanwick, “Does he,” then realizing how impolite she was being, her eyes returned to the beast, “Do you bite?”
Dannum’s mind moved slowly, unpracticed. He had waited so long.
Stephanie smiled, leaning her head to one side, “You better bite. There’s an army coming.”
Stanwick stroked her fingers across a plate of metal on the floor, and a large chest lifted slowly to her touch.
When she had first started to build around Dannum, she had his voice in her head constantly. It was something that she grew oddly attached to. He was the most dreadful inner monologue. The voice that told her that he could devour the world while she took her lunch. The voice that told her he knew her every thought. That was rarely a convenient thing to hear, but she grew to love it. When he went silent, it was devastating, but she knew that there must be a way to hear him again. He had mouths. Two to be precise, but he never used them for talking.
She had drawn the silk from his delvers, and it had proved so much easier. With the silk of the delvers, she wove a blanket of glardium, large enough that she could sleep on his back, and cover herself, falling away into his memories, losing herself.
She pulled the glardium out of the chest and called over to Stephanie.
“You will hear him better with this.”
Stephanie ran her finger over the material, drawing a shooting star, “Is it a dress?”
Stanwick looked apologetic, “It’s just a blanket, but if we wrap it right …”
Stephanie took a corner of the weave in her hand and spun on the spot, wrapping herself up tight, “Look! I’m a caterpillar.”
“You’re going to become a butterfly then I suppose?”
“Mhmm.” She opened up t
he blanket and flapped the cloth, her arms spread wide.
Stanwick looked away, feeling herself well up with emotion. She chanced another look at her little butterfly, but it was too much. She choked up, laughing at how wonderfully silly she was. The girl Spiff. She wished she could stay like that forever. Dannum breathed in slowly, the sound of his lungs expanding, creaking muscles, skin tightening like so much stretched leather.
Stephanie inhaled, still flapping slowly, “It’s so warm in here.”
Stanwick nodded, “Dannum is warm blooded. Very warm blooded.”
“Can I touch him?” She looked into his eye, squinting, screwing up her face, “Can I touch you?”
“We need to get you up there.” Stanwick pointed towards the mountainous body.
“I can’t climb.” Stephanie confessed.
Stanwick shook her head, “There’s nothing you can’t do Spiff.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes, “Help me up. I’m serious. I suck at climbing.”
Then seventy foot of neck creaked and groaned into life, two lips pursed carefully about the glardium weave, and Stephanie was hoisted onto the back of the Beast of the Void.
“You’re bigger than I imagined.” Her voice quavered.
“I am nothing.”
Stephanie tilted back her head under the cloth and tried to mimic what she heard, her throat hurting as she reached for the correct guttural and glottal acrobatics, “I am Stephanie.” Dissatisfied, she tried again, gurgling the words, “I am nothing.” She wiped her drool on the back of her hand.
Two heads breathed out together, the muscles of his back arching over Stephanie’s head, “You are … the unwritten path. You are the celestial plan for those without hope. Once, they would say that when a soul passed, a star would be born. In the undrawn, in the unknown, such a star may be.”
Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams Page 38