"Not really us?"
"Perhaps a double substituted to appear and act like us. Anything is possible in this war. The acts of manipulation and intrigue ... I try not to dwell on it."
Freddie paused to consider, shaking her head, then her face saddened and she said, "Must our father die for us to become Czarina of the Russias?"
The question surprised Catherine, though she recalled it even as it happened. She did not answer her younger self, but the memory awoke, and she remembered standing there in the frozen smoke and flash, anxiously looking into Catherine’s eyes for an answer, one that became obvious as each moment ticked by. Into those younger eyes before her, she stared back, creating the memory even as she did so, and at once, both pairs of dark blue eyes became teary. The two women reached out and hugged each other tightly and began to weep in earnest, and as the temporary time spell wore off and the shell thunder grew loud once more, the sound of their crying faded away.
* Оверман *
STARS, SOULS, AND FIRE: ALL PRIMAL THINGS of importance on that fateful night in the black forest of Anhalt. Zolo's anguish and despair at the realization that Freddie had died drove him to recklessly attack Temujin Gur. He launched himself through the air, fierce and flaming as a flying dragon, intent on breaking Gur's neck and frying his eyes, but Gur's magical shields hurled Zolo back through the air to collide with tremendous velocity against a thick pine tree. With a resounding crack, it snapped off at the base. Undaunted though, Zolo leapt to his feet. Channeling Mother Yarrow, he shot spinning blades and beams of destructive magical force from his eyes and hands at the Mongolian, force strong enough to rout the Prussian army, but to no avail. Gur smiled as the bolts of force splashed against him and fizzled to sparks; and as the sparks fell, Zolo snapped himself to Gur’s side and in half a second struck the Mongol in the face and body with more than a dozen blows, each strong enough to kill a bull.
But Gur would not go down.
While a frustrated and raging Zolo continued to strike, the silver beetle on Gur's face sprang from the flesh. It grew to the size of a man in a moment, hurling itself at Zolo as it did so. It knocked him to the ground and crushed him, pinning his straining limbs with silver insect legs while his face turned to watch the horror show.
"What will you do with them?" Zolo shouted, barely able to get enough breath due to the weight of the beetle now heavy enough to flatten a suit of armor.
Gur did not answer. He turned his calm and kindly face to the frightened, cold-shaken serfs standing before the fire, and said to them, "You thanked your former master, Baron Eichmann, with disloyalty and betrayal. You thought yourself free at Anhalt, and you were, for a few hours. Keep that memory now as your souls make your savior, the Princess von Anhalt, live once more."
Zolo heard what Gur said. In his state of rage and anguish he only now realized that Gur meant to use the souls of the serfs to restore Freddie to life. Suddenly, his thoughts were mixed. Freddie had rescued them, and he did not wish their deaths, though at the same time he felt a thrill and a relief to know she would live again. But if he could struggle free, would he move to stop Gur? Would Freddie hate him if she ever discovered he let the serfs die? He could not answer his questions, though he became grateful for the weight that subdued him.
Temujin Gur began the ceremony.
Gur lifted his arms and black yarrow sticks darted from his sleeves. Twelve of them shot through the air, spinning out to form a perfect circle of twelve points that surrounded the serfs. Once done, the sticks stopped spinning and grew to three feet in height, their base pointing to the Earth, their top pointing to the night sky. They glowed a pale yellow, that same sickly pallor as at the banquet for Empress Elizabeth. Above them, the stars became brighter until actual rays of starlight, hundreds of them, pierced down through the darkness of eternity to shine upon the yarrow sticks. It appeared to Zolo as though the sticks fed upon the starlight. Gur began to chant while the serfs began to moan and cry out in anticipation of the horrors to come.
"Stop it now, we beg you!" one of the women yelled.
But Gur ignored them all, his eyes closed, his face serene, hands still uplifted. He began to chant. The chanting language of the Mongol was alien and strange to Zolo, like hard wheels on gravel, yet vaguely Chinese. Hu li zhai xuuu zhahnng, ro lum khahlees, lum khalees. Perhaps an ancient form of Mandarin, or something else? And then Zolo remembered. In his studies at Saravastra, he’d learned of a legendary magical language known as The Tongue of Ahriman, tens of thousands of years old, spoken by only the darkest demons of the night and the most learned of wizards. Said to be even more powerful and dangerous than Galician because it spoke directly to Ahriman, the mispronunciation of any word could doom the speaker to an agonizing death, for a failure to use his tongue correctly was said to be a great offense to Ahriman. Only legend, of course, and yet it made sense. The control of the starlight, the stealing of souls, the rise from death, all required the most powerful of magic languages, and The Tongue of Ahriman, if really true, would be that language.
Hu li zhai xuuu zhahnng, ro lum khahlees, lum khalees, Temujin Gur chanted again, and the once-pale yarrow sticks, now throbbing with brightening starlight, grew larger and wider, fleshing out in several moments to human-like bodies.
Black bodies full of stars.
Each of the bodies, filled with starry night sky, began to dance, moving around the circle. Mouths formed in the heads of these demonic things and they opened to repeat what Temujin Gur said:
Hu li zhai xuuu zhahnng, ro lum khahlees, lum khalees.
Zolo realized these magical, human-like demons to be the same that had danced at the banquet. Could Gur's yarrow sticks each be a different being, or a soul struck by Gur's magic and forced to be his slave? He did not have time to wonder at it, for what happened next stole all of his attention.
Another yarrow stick darted from Gur's sleeve and spun through the air to come to a halt above the corpse of the Princess von Anhalt. It floated parallel to her body. Zolo watched as it enlarged to over six feet in length and lowered onto her chest, becoming almost entirely transparent as it did so, as if transforming to pure glass. In a moment, the ghastly corpse of the princess rested within the clear yarrow block, rather like a body in a coffin. The block then raised upright and floated up, drifting to position itself above the fire, and upon doing so, the red fire turned black with a demonic groan and licked the base of the block, just beneath the skinned and bloody corpse.
The chanting of the Ahriman tongue grew louder. A few serfs screamed, then more as one of their number, an old woman, snapped from the ground and into the air like a stone thrown by a catapult. Her body flew end over end towards the floating yarrow block above the black fire and collided against it with a fleshy smack.
What happened next was worse than any nightmare conceivable.
* Оверман *
THE GERMAN COUNTEROFFENSIVE PLANNED BY SARAVASTRA went as planned. At 3 A.M. on July 2, the German army stormed the trenches just north of the Somme, and without prior bombardment, catching the British totally by surprise. The necessary evil of Saravastra's plan resulted in over seven thousand British soldiers being bayoneted and shot as they scrambled to a confused state of consciousness. Most of them could not even get their helmets on. Many awoke to a German grenade lobbed into their bunkers. The lucky ones never awakened. Many never knew the difference between dreams of death and actual death.
It all became one.
The German divisions pivoted to their right by 4 A.M. and moved north, sending a herd of British soldiers fleeing before them. The British lines dissolved into complete chaos. Meanwhile, the German artillery had begun a creeping barrage at 3:30 A.M., a hellish meteor storm moving south to north and a full mile ahead of the German counterattack. This kept the Brits pinned down and expecting a frontal assault while the tremendous noise of the bombardment also hid the sounds of the war howling in the south. British command only knew something was horribly wrong when thousa
nds of panicked soldiers, half of them in pajamas or freezing in grimy underwear, came storming into their trenches and tents, all of them screaming that Fritz was right behind them and out for blood.
Freddie and Catherine remained still, beside their bunker. They waited. The stars came out and the Czarina gazed up to see Mars, red and glimmering in the night. She imagined the God of War staring down at them and nodding with approval; and if all went well, she would soon be there, shaking the God's hand over the grave of Edison Godfellow. Deep on Mars she would bury him, and once they returned, the final version of the "God One" would have been dead for two billion years. No Earth spells would alert the Dio Soldati to storm the future and save him. He would simply wink out, quietly, and she would replace him with a magically sculpted doppelgänger of her own creation—in short, an identical double of the narcissistic sociopath who walked and talked, fumed and postured just like the real one, but a version not detectable as a fraud, not by anyone, or by any of Godfellow's machines or spells. She would perfect the creature on Mars, train it, scar it to realness, and awaken it. The doppelgänger would be a snapshot taken a moment before the real Godfellow's departure from 2038 Dubai—the whole process like swapping an identical fake art work for an authentic one, and so fast that no one spots the swap.
Oddly enough though, the creation of a perfectly formed yet fraudulent World Maker, transparent to vigilant watcher-and-sniffer spells as well as his analysis technology, would result in a being so realistic, so absolutely Edison “Da Vinci” Godfellow, that in effect, she and Saravastra would be facing the real monster once more. A nuance of difference would have to be included in the new version, but that meant risk.
But the world belongs to the bold, and World Makers should never think small.
She'd been mulling over the "Master Godfellow Nuance" for many months. What would it be? Any shift in his direction, any change in goals, might well irritate the watcher spells and tech, and they would begin to probe. Perhaps then, a change of heart over the course of years? A gradual shift in viewpoint, so slow that no alarm bells sound?
A most reasonable nuance, it seemed.
Though how much havoc in the meantime?
In the distance, the German counter-offensive roared like a lion and hyena war in midnight Africa. The final waves of the German corps clunked across their path, heading for a right turn north across British lines. Freddie looked over at Catherine with a troubled and curious look, and said, "We are not doing anything. Why must we be here now?"
Catherine answered. "Mother Yarrow Maria and I are on alert to keep things on track. Small bumps can happen. A Godfellow agent could strike a significant German general with a heart attack and throw all into doubt. We cannot allow that."
"I see ... and what shall I do? I cannot remain useless," Freddie said with irritation in her voice.
"When the time comes, and I am gambling that it will, given the success of our German counterattack, the Dio Soldati will challenge us at this conflict point. You and I will then combine our powers with Mother Yarrow Maria and draw Godfellow in once the fighting has started. We must be precise with our aria, in unison, to connect to him via War Tracker's link with the Time satellite machines. Assuming the link is created in that way. I am not a hundred percent sure.
"What? If you're not sure, then why—"
"It will not be easy. Fighting will be happening all around us, the likes of which you cannot imagine. You must follow my lead.”
“Maybe I can imagine it, but that isn’t the point. Maybe you should be sure before—“
“I know how uncooperative you can be at times, of course, I know, but now is not the time."
"I thought we had plenty of time, that we could make time.”
“I wish to get it right and spare our lives, and maybe even save this world. Now, please stop arguing with me pointlessly!”
Catherine and Freddie glared at each other, almost ready to begin slapping, or worse. The silent confrontation lasted several seconds, each of them breathing heavily, but only Catherine benefited from remembering her anger as a much younger woman, and this softened her, and Freddie could see the change in Catherine’s eyes.
"So our forces have a chance of winning this conflict point?" Freddie asked, apparently desiring to defuse the tension.
"Yes,” Catherine answered, her own blood pressure dropping again. “It all depends on luck and the amount of force brought to the zone. Other battles are taking place throughout history, so War Tracker might not have enough forces to dispatch ... It's hard to say because it's different every time."
"Does Master Paganini know we are here?"
"He knows I am, but not you. He would be furious if he—" She stopped talking because Mother Yarrow Maria interrupted:
The Dio Soldati come, my Czarina.
Freddie felt "the coming" also, the arrival of the Nexus Zone, the lure and danger threatening at the edge of her mind in the way a passing flame heats the skin. "Do you feel it too?" she asked her companion, and Catherine replied she did. "It is time. Hold my hand. This will all surprise and frighten you."
"I am not frightened," Freddie said, and held her head high.
"You will be, or you will not be me," Catherine said.
* Оверман *
AMONG THE SERFS SACRIFICED THAT NIGHT TO RESTORE LIFE to the Princess von Anhalt included Johann and Magdalena Gottschalk, a couple in their late twenties, along with their seven year old son Edward. "Ugly faces and souls," according to Temujin Gur in his incantation which sent them to their deaths. The elderly Emma Jung and her crippled husband Edmond were present, as well as their oldest grandchild, Clara Klein, who suffered from a rare disease that shut her eyes with swollen lumps. Clara's sister, Alitha, age 15, and her 12-year-old brother Willie born with only six fingers. And too, spinster sisters Selma and Ida Adler, toothless, haggard, and often rumored to be witches but never burned; and Jewish serfs Jacob and Francine Kaufman in their early thirties and childless, rumored for years to be working with other Jews to capture and crucify Christian children, though of course, no one ever caught them in the act. Regardless, like the others, when their flesh met the clear block of yarrow above the flame, they died.
Zolo Bold saw Francine gesturing and talking between tears before her time came. All of the serfs not yet dead ignored her, and then, like those gone before, her naked body spun into the air and slammed violently, face first against the yarrow block that contained the corpse of the Princess von Anhalt. Knocked unconscious by the impact, poor Francine's face and body pressed harder and harder against the clear surface, as if a giant hand crushed her into it. Like others before her, she began to smoke and turn black, and within another moment, to an ashen char that showered as black snow into the fire below.
Zolo watched the horror show, pinned beneath the cold silver beetle. The howls and begging of those awaiting their turn would follow him into manhood, to his very last day, and he fervently hoped Freddie would never know the truth of this dark ceremony in the forest of Anhalt. He must forever block it and never allow her to read his thoughts, never allow her to see the torment and death that restored her to life as the energy of each human soul ripped from its home and flowed into her lifeless body.
Meanwhile, the star-filled yarrow beings danced wildly in their circle, chanting in demonic unison with Temujin Gur, chanting in the Tongue of Ahriman. Each time a serf's body turned to ash, they exclaimed, "Zhenquron lai om tah!" and the stars within them illumined to tiny novas, until finally, the last of the serf bodies died and fed the flames with their ash. At this point, the yarrow beings stopped dancing and faced the suspended corpse of the Princess von Anhalt. The stars inside them glowed brighter again, as if all bursting with age at once, and as they did, the floating coffin block glowed. The corpse within shimmered and paled to white, smoothed to a porcelain-like sheen.
Then it was over.
Zolo felt an ease in the weight upon his body. He turned his head to see Freddie's naked body
laying atop him, asleep and limp, her dark-haired head on his chest. She looked perfectly formed and healthy, just as he'd seen her upon release from that healing block of ice. In her sleep, she mumbled Zhenquron lai om tah to herself, as though dreaming the ceremony of soul stealing.
He rolled his body and rested her on the ground, relieved the terrible ordeal was over, until he saw it: a Gur-like silver beetle, small and sizzling hot upon her lower neck. He gasped and plucked it from her flesh, throwing it into the trees over fifty yards away where it landed with a small flash of soundless light. The beetle thing left a small red scar on her that resembled a yarrow symbol of wavy sticks and dots. It reminded Zolo of Gur's symbols on his red cloak.
Zolo could not deny it. Gur had marked her.
Was this the plan then? Did she die so that Gur could claim a hold on her?
Or was it all just good luck for him?
"KING OF DEMOCRACY!"
Zolo heard the cynical, laughing voice of the Mongolian wizard-god, and glanced up to see him stepping from a line of black trees in the distance, from the place where the beetle had landed with a flash. "Your Czarina whore will live to change history now, after failing so miserably on her own. She is more suited to be my puppet, rather than one for that fool Italian violinist!"
Upon saying that, Gur burst into light with a loud bang and shot to the sky like a streak of meteor returning to Space.
Zolo cursed under his breath and removed his cloak to drape it over Freddie's naked body once more, and gazing up, saw no sign of movement.
They were alone.
Nothing left, only an eternity of cold darkness and starlight.
* Оверман *
FREDDIE SOON FOUND HERSELF IN A WORLD OF WAR TIME, two thousand milliseconds of an hour's struggle to a climax of fury and violence. It took place in a bubble resting upon a chopped and crater-filled oblong of no man's land at least five miles long and fixed between the German and British lines north and south of the Somme. The light in the bubble, dark as the pre-dawn light of France, though illumined by the frozen flashes of shells bursting in the distance and a golden half-moon in the east. The smell was one of blood and wet earth.
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