Penult

by A. Sparrow

  “Nah. We’re all set for tonight,” said Olivier. “Why don’t you concentrate on getting some rest? But don’t you fade on us now. We already lost one gal.”

  “Lost?” My heart thumped. “Karla?”

  He shook his head. “One of the Frelsians. “She faded right after we landed. Hemisoul. She knew the risks. Who knows, maybe she’s a short-timer and we’ll still be hanging out when she gets back.”

  The night clamped down. With no moon, and just a smattering of those so-called stars, it became difficult to discern Yaqob and Olivier’s outlines against the shrubs.

  “It’d be nice to have a fire,” I said.

  “No fire,” said Yaqob. “No glow roots. Our enemies’ beachhead lies just beyond the bay.”

  “Just saying. It would be nice.”

  A man came thrashing and stumbling through the underbrush.

  “Yo?” said Olivier. “Who’s there?”

  The man chuckled. “I’m fucking lost.”

  “That you, Jasper?” said Olivier. “Follow my voice.”

  The man called Jasper pushed through a thicket of shrubbery and settled down beside us in the sand. “Hey all. I’m just back from the beach.”

  This was the guy who had been joking with Karla. I recognized his voice.

  “How goes it?” said Yaqob.

  “Well, no sign of any scouts. Spotted a couple falcons cruising way out by the point at sunset. But things are quiet.”

  “Jasper, you ever met James?” said Olivier. “He’s the man-shaped smudge to your right.”

  We tried to shake and missed each other’s hands in the darkness. After a couple of flubs, we successfully completed the ritual.

  “Ah! The James. Nice to meet you finally. I’m a fellow Lutheran, in case you didn’t know. Though, I didn’t follow Luther when he went back under.”

  “Lutheran?”

  “That’s what the Frelsians have taken to calling us underworld types,” said Olivier. “As if they didn’t hail from there, too. Like we’re disciples of Luther or something.”

  “It’s just a shorthand nickname,” said Jasper. “I don’t mind it. I grew up Catholic myself.”

  “Me too,” said Olivier.

  “I’ve … always been an atheist,” I said. “Still am.”

  “Still? After all you’ve seen here?” said Olivier.

  I weighed my response carefully. I didn’t want to offend anyone.

  “To tell you the truth, I can’t make heads or tails out of everything I’ve seen. If there is a creator or creators, they’ve got some serious problems. They’ve given me no grounds for determining they’re someone … or something … worthy of worship.

  “You can’t deny their power,” said Jasper.

  I scratched an unseen circle in the sand with the point of my sword.

  “Why not?”

  “Listen to him! Such a heretic,” said Olivier.

  “The thing is … from what I can tell, there’s nobody in charge of things here. Nobody who cares what happens.”

  “Why should they? We’re just garbage,” said Olivier. “We’re the lost.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, this ain’t exactly Heaven. Our souls are pretty much … damned.”

  “But why? What did we do? We’re not bad people.”

  “We refused a gift, for one thing. We gave up on life, did we not?”

  “I did at one point, but … that was a long time ago. I’ve … changed.”

  “Too late. You can’t return a gift and expect a second chance … unless you steal it back.”

  “You’re saying this is hell?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe something in between. Maybe it’s just the Liminality.”

  “Whatever this place is, who the fuck is minding the shop?”

  “Nobody,” said Olivier.

  “It wasn’t always so,” said Yaqob.

  “Oh?”

  “Something happened. Before my time. Long before. There was a … Caretaker. But something happened and the Caretaker is gone.”

  “Dead?”

  “Gone or lost? How? I don’t know. But the Lords of Penult, the Erelim, they came to fill the void. They believe they follow the Maker’s wishes. They believe Caretaker and the Maker are one and the same. They believe they are blessed. But … they delude themselves. They are no better than us. They are not virtuous, smart or just. They came first to the surface. That is all. They discovered Weaving first. Before us latecomers. Even the Old Ones are latecomers compared to them. But being first makes them believe they are the Chosen and that this is their Promised Land.”

  “But I thought … don’t some souls go straight to Penult … even now?”

  “Petros implied as much,” said Olivier. “I’m not sure I believe it. They’re tapped into some flow, that’s for sure. Otherwise they wouldn’t be wasting so many Cherubim. To be honest, I think they’re parasites. They’ve found a way to move between the lower realms and take what they need. Siphon off souls, modify them to do their dirty work. You saw them in the Deeps.”

  “How many realms are there?”

  “More than what we’ve seen, I’m pretty damn sure,” said Olivier. “Petros wouldn’t say. Just they not all were as wonderful as this place.”

  “Why so many?”

  “Why did Dante describe so many levels of Hell?” said Olivier. “To punish us, for various crimes and misdemeanors, I guess. Whoever … whatever used to drive it fell asleep at the wheel. So now the lunatics are running the asylum. Pardon me for mixing my metaphors, but that’s just how I see it.”

  “Shit,” I said. “That’s all fucked up.”

  “Yes. It is bad,” said Yaqob. “But … maybe someday … the Maker … or the Caretaker … will return.”

  I stared out into the darkness and thought about all those churches and holy men and women around the globe preaching and practicing their faiths with a level of certainty that seemed outrageously pretentious. The night ahead was only going to get darker and lonelier for me.

  “Sure would be nice to have a fire,” I said.

  “No fire,” said Yaqob. “I told you.”

  “Nope. Sure way to get our asses whooped in the morning.”

  “Just saying it would be nice,” I said.

  “Get some rest,” said Yaqob who thrashed in the sand, burrowing himself a shallow den into the side of a dune. “Soon we fight.”

  ***

  The forest roared with crickets. Yaqob was already snoring. I did not expect to sleep much knowing we had the enemy within walking distance and that we were flying across a strait to attack a hostile island in the morning.

  A cool wind came off the water. The sand felt damp and clammy. I kicked and scuffed around, trying to make myself more comfortable. What I would give to be back in a comfy bed in Stromness. If only I could fade at will. With my luck my next one would hit me in Penult and I’d be stranded there with all those killer angels.

  “Hey James,” whispered Olivier. “What’s the deal with that girl of yours? Why aren’t you with her? Why aren’t you two talking?”

  I reflected a moment before answering.

  “She’s … not my girl.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “She manipulated me. Made me think she was kidnapped … or worse. Just to get me over here.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  I sighed loudly. “We could have had a life together. A good life. But … no. She never even gave it a shot! I was in prison. I get out. We finally get together and … five days later … she leaves me. She’s not kidnapped. Not murdered, thank God. She just ran off without even leaving a note. I mean, what the fuck?”

  “It worked, didn’t it? I mean, you’re here, aren’t you. And I, for one, am grateful to have you here. Everyone—Frelsians. Dusters. Old Ones—we all respect you. Having you with us has been great for morale. I’m very sorry that you didn’t want to come here, but … now that you di
d … you just might be the difference between our complete destruction … and our survival.”

  “I think you’re vastly overestimating me. All of you. If Karla wanted to come back here so badly she should have left me out of it and come back on her own.”

  “How? You wanted her to off herself?”

  “No, but … that’s basically what she wanted for us. She wanted us to be Freesouls. Slam the door on life altogether.”

  “Not telling you what to do, kid, but If I were you, I’d cut her some slack. She’s Luther’s grandchild, isn’t she? From what I hear, she had a rough time of it growing up. Can you blame her, being disenchanted with this life thing? I mean, look at us. We’ve all been suicidal. That’s the ticket here, isn’t it?”

  “I got over it. Why couldn’t she? That family stuff was all behind her. We had nothing in our way. We had the whole world to ourselves. Fucking all expenses paid. Why couldn’t she give it a chance?”

  “Listen James. Some of us just never fit in … over … in that other place. Life … if what you want to call it that. Some lives start off fine and go bad near the end. Some turn to shit in the middle. Others of us were never even meant to be born and we realize it young. For those of us who feel that way, the Liminality is good news. Maybe Karla’s one of those. She’s meant for this place. It might be nothing personal. Didn’t mean you had to follow her.”

  “I fucking hate this fucking shithole,” I said through my teeth.

  “But here you are. Go figure.”

  “Once we do this raid. I ain’t ever coming back here again. I am done.”

  “That’s fine,” said Olivier. “If you can get happy and stay happy, the more power to you.”

  Chapter 56: Rendezvous

  Tree crickets wailed and droned in cycles that rose and fell, sometimes meshing, sometimes clashing with the slosh of the waves. Yaqob’s snoring was just as loud but much less predictable. His throat would seize and he would gag as if he were being strangled, before forcing out a raspy rumble like Harley Davidson with a rusted out muffler.

  “Are you sure he’s okay? I mean, he’s not gonna stop breathing on us, is he?”

  “He’s fine,” assured Olivier. “A little sleep apnea never hurt anybody.”

  “Should we … roll him on his side or something?”

  “Yeah right.” Olivier chuckled. “That’ll go over real well. Sometimes, kid, you just gotta let sleeping dogs lie.”

  Yaqob fell silent. The silence dragged on. He had to be turning blue by this point. And then he erupted, expelling all the stale air in his lungs in one huge gasp, before rattling in a fresh load.

  ”I’m sorry, but that just does not sound healthy.”

  “It’s nothing new. He always snores like this,” said Olivier. “My hooch was across the courtyard from his in New Axum. Coming from the Deeps, where breathing is optional, this is music to my ears.

  “Music.”

  Out of the darkness, a hand clamped onto my shoulder. I jerked around and lunged for my sword, grasping it blade-first, lucky that Victoria’s transformation had dulled it.

  “Stop. It is only me, Ubaldo. I am back from watch.”

  My heart was pounding in a panic. He could just as well have been a Cherub coming to slit my throat.

  Ubaldo settled down beside us on the sand, his body a dark pool in the sandy glade, lit only by the subtle glint of star light.

  “You had no problem finding us,” said Olivier.

  “Thanks to Yaqob.”

  “See? Isn’t this a problem?” I said. “Shouldn’t we muzzle him or something?”

  “Why?” said Ubaldo. “Pennies never roam on foot after dark. Though, a falcon did come down the shore after the sun went down. Returning late from patrol, must be.”

  “They spot our camp?” said Olivier.

  “I don’t believe so. They did not deviate from their course. Probably in a hurry to return to their beach head.”

  “We were lucky they came by late,” said Olivier. “Any light and they for sure would have spotted our bugs.”

  “Any sign of our scouts?” I said.

  “No,” said Ubaldo.

  “Man, they’re way overdue,” said Olivier. “That’s not a good sign.”

  “So what do we do? Wait here another day?”

  “Nah. We can’t hang around here. Too risky,” said Olivier. “Looks like we cross over blind at first light. We need to run that by Yaqob, of course, but I’m pretty sure he’ll agree.”

  “Looks like will be a one way mission,” said Ubaldo. “No?”

  No one said anything for the longest moment. We yielded the night to the symphony of waves, crickets and snores.

  “You … okay with that?” said Olivier.

  “I am at peace,” said Ubaldo. “If I must return to the Deeps. So be it. At least it is a place I know. Some things … I miss.”

  “Really? Like what?” said Olivier.

  “To exist there requires no care,” said Ubaldo. “No fuss. No pain. Never hungry. Never tired. Never cold.”

  “Not me. I don’t miss any of that crap,” said Olivier. “That cold was damned intense. Sure, we could tune it out, but I was always aware of it.”

  I remembered the cold acutely. It was a marvel that a body could remain flexible in such frigid conditions. It was almost as if souls in the deeps inhabited a different kind of matter, halfway between human and spirit. I took a deep breath, glorying in the cool, salt air seasoned with a blend of resinous, herbal overtones suggestive of seaweed, juniper and sage.

  “You know,” I said. “Here … I feel alive. It’s really not much different … here … from life.”

  Again my companions fell silent, the pause coinciding with yet another disconcertingly long gap of interrupted breathing from Yaqob.

  “Good to know,” said Olivier, finally. “It’s been a while for both Baldo and me. One tends to forget what life was really like. All the more reason to keep on fighting for this place, I suppose. I doubt there’s any other realm as close to life as the Liminality.”

  “True,” I said, though my thoughts had snagged on Ubaldo’s suggestion that none of us raiders heading to Penult would likely ever return intact. That disturbed and agitated me greatly. I pined for Stromness, a place I had visited for less than a day.

  ***

  Normally terse and stoic, Ubaldo turned quite chatty fellow once he got going on something he cared about. That topic turned out to be futbol. A Hemisoul in New Axum had filled him in on the results of the most recent World Cup and so he went on and on about it, lamenting the poor performance of his beloved Azzurri and marveling at the shocking defeat of Brazil by the Germans.

  “How long have you been dead?” said Olivier.

  “Fifteen years,” said Ubaldo. “I didn’t make the grades for university. I stepped in front of a train.”

  “That’s a pretty dumb reason to off yourself.”

  “Yes, well. Too late now. Yes?”

  Olivier somehow managed to maneuver the discussion to hockey and how, in sheer skill and entertainment value, it was a superior sport to football. I could see he was just trolling Ubaldo, and he was effective in getting our Duster friend extremely agitated.

  I couldn’t get my head clear with all their chatter so I dragged myself over to a quieter place behind the shrubs, but close enough that I could still hear them chatter over Yaqob’s snoring, it was much less obtrusive.

  I crawled under a bush, tore off some branches and scraped together some leaf litter to make a sorry bed. I hoped to Heaven that I faded out of this place before the morning.

  But sleep wouldn’t come. I was doomed to lay and listen to the wind and the waves, the drone of the crickets.

  The Liminality wasn’t a bad world. It had its charms. The relative ease at which spell craft could be conjured here increased its possibilities. Now that I knew that Weaving was possible in life as well, that was no longer as strong a selling point. Still, I could imagine myself settling here when l
ife no longer was an option.

  The wall of bushes separating me from the little glade rustled. I heard footsteps in the sand.

  “James?” A whisper. It was Karla.

  I kept silent.

  “Are you here? James?”

  I lay still, wondering if I should answer.

  “James?”

  I couldn’t help myself. “Who told you where to find me?”

  “Olivier.”

  A foot scuffed sand against my cheek. A twig crunched next to my ear. Soft fingers reached down and brushed the hair from my brow.

  “Oh, there you are. You have made a little nest, I see.”

  “Karla, I don’t think you should—”

  She slipped down onto my nest beside me and snaked an arm over my chest, pulling herself tight against my side. I turned on my side, keeping my back to her, but she wouldn’t let go of me.

  “This is awkward,” I said.

  “Awkward? Stop being a baby. I’m here to make up with you.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Oh stop. You act like I killed your puppy.”

  “You forced me to come back here.”

  “Is that so bad?”

  “It’s dangerous here. There was no need—”

  “Inverness is dangerous too. And so is Glasgow. And in this place, we are trying to make less dangerous again.”

  “What was wrong with Brynmawr?”

  “Brynmawr! Give me a break. That is your idea of paradise?”

  “We had a bottomless credit card. We could have gone and lived anywhere in the world. New Zealand. Patagonia. Tokyo. The Galapagos. Anywhere.”

  “But eventually we all die and then what? Become slaves of Penult? You would be happy with this? You see what they do to their Cherub. And most of the souls in Penult are slaves. They are Cherubim. Only the elite get to be Hashmallim, never mind Seraphim. You say you didn’t like Frelsi … but this place is much worse than Frelsi.”

  “How do you know we would even end up in Penult?”

  “Oh? Then where? Heaven? Hell? The Deeps? Are you satisfied with someone else deciding for you or would you rather choose the place you will spend the rest of eternity?”

  “First things first. What about living life?”