“At least I could afford to get the latest LifeBeat tek, Cal. Full body preservation, they called it. She be a marvelous thang.” He stretched his long arms in a mock yawn. Enoch thought the gesture oddly vain in such a hideous character, but he couldn’t repress a smile.
I guess it’s all relative.
“The preservation being what it is,” smirked Cal, eyeing Rictus up and down, “I’m glad I opted for the economy model. You look more like the Grim Reaper every century.”
“Look who’s talking, monkey-boil!” retorted the specter. “The biggest tragedy of the Schism was that it failed to remove modern man’s most annoying creation—the self-righteous musician.”
Rictus winked at Cal as he reached down to scratch the ape behind the ears. “The second-biggest tragedy is that out of all the dubiously serviceable parts of your lackluster body, you had to preserve this one.” He rapped Cal on the pate with a bony knuckle.
The grumbling head broke into laughter and invited Rictus to have a seat over in the corner.
“So who is your short companion?”
Rictus pulled some of the shroud away from Enoch’s face.
“This is Enoch Gershom, Shepherd Extraordinaire.” Enoch wasn’t sure, but he thought he was being insulted. He pulled the shroud to one side, letting Cal see the derech at his belt.
“Enoch Gershom of Midian, charge of Master Levi, at your service, Sir.” He tried to remember formal speech from his lessons, but wasn’t sure it was coming out right. “We seek safe haven.”
For some reason, Rictus was grimacing and making slicing motions with his hands. For some other reason, Cal wasn’t impressed. He turned towards Rictus, catching him in mid-gesture.
“What is this? A refugee kid with illegal blades? I know better than to ask this, but are you mad?” Cal was angry, and Enoch could see the red light at his neck pulsing faster. Even the ape looked agitated.
Rictus winced, leaning close to his furious friend and whispering.
“You know me, Cal. I would never bring danger to your doorstep if I had any other options. There is something important going on and I knew you were the only one I could trust to help me out. This is big stuff.”
Cal laughed bitterly at this.
“You’ll notice,” he remarked, addressing Enoch, “that he says that as though I’m at the top of the list of his dearest chums. He still thinks he can run around with that big sword of his and change the world. He still thinks he matters, that he’s a star.”
He blew three quick notes into a tiny silver flute, and the ape responded by pointing a long, hairy finger at Rictus.
“You, my skeletal friend, have become the stuff of nightmares. The few of us sad, sorry remnants of the old world are now mythology. We’re out of style, Ric. The curtain is down. Show’s over.”
Enoch jumped as Rictus slammed his fist down on the table.
“You think I don’t know that?!”
Several people in the bar were now staring at them. Rictus noticed and lowered his voice.
“Cal, it was only a few months ago that I came across the remains of one of ‘our kind’ in the ruins. I think he had been a bit actor—remember those?—from down in your neck of the woods. He had purposefully pulled a boulder on top of himself, crushing every bone into splinters. But this damn thing,” he gestured angrily at the box at his chest, “this miracle of immortality was still flashing. I could hear the poor bastard talking to himself under the rock, quoting lines from one of those awful soap operas.”
Cal twisted his mouth in distaste.
“I could see the red light through a crack underneath, but couldn’t do anything. The rock was too heavy. He’ll be there forever, Cal, and you know what? I think he prefers that to being here. At least he’s not scaring people, not being called a monster—a specter! And it hasn’t been so long that I’ve forgotten about Robyn.”
Cal closed his eyes slowly at the mention of the name.
“You think I could forget how that mob tore her apart? You think I could forget how we found her few remaining pieces, still twitching in anguish? You, who hide from the world in this dark hole, you dare accuse me of being out of touch?”
The specter’s voice smoldered. Cal had his tired eyes cast down, his jaw set. He blew softly into the silver flute and the ape pulled a rag from its belt and proceeded to polish the surface of the wooden table. Enoch hardly dared to breathe.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry, Ric. Times have been tough with this new king in the tower. He wants places like mine cleared out of the city. His guards have been roughing up my customers. The other day they tried to take Sal—claimed I needed a license for him.” The ape looked up in recognition of its name, and then returned to polishing the table. “I have a lot on my mind. And it is worrisome not seeing you for so long. Fifty years, Ric. Fifty. That’s a long time, even if you’re immortal.”
Rictus laid a hand on Cal’s furrowed cheek. “I forget that time moves slower for you here in the city with all these people,” he said, raspy voice low and almost gentle. “Out in the ruins, the years fly by, just . . . just invisible. Empty like old ghosts.”
Cal chuckled. “You always did write dreadful lyrics.”
Rictus just shrugged.
“You’re right. That’s why the kids loved me, you know. Cheesy lyrics appeal to them. That’s why your fans were all blue-haired old biddies.”
Enoch sighed with relief as the two broke out laughing again. He didn’t understand exactly what had been communicated between these two ancient creatures, but he had a feeling it was something deep and centuries beyond him. Cal blew a few notes and the ape leaned forward, simultaneously tucking the rag into its belt.
“Now, what is this trouble you mentioned? I’ve got a feeling in my long-absent gut that this little Nahuatito is only the tip of the iceberg.”
Rictus glanced around to see if anyone was listening, his dry eyes rolling like ivory marbles. “Do you have someplace we can go to talk?” he whispered, “there be snakes in the walls . . .”
Cal jerked his head back at this, and then, regaining his composure, blew into the flute. The ape turned and shuffled towards a stairway in the back.
“This way,” he said, then turned to address one of the drab youths at the bar. “Kris, you’re in charge ‘til I get back. No fighting and no more free drinks.”
Amid the chorus of groans from around the bar, Rictus grabbed his weapon and stood. With a questioning glance, Enoch stood as well, then turned and followed the ape as it bounded up the steep wooden stairs behind the bar.
At the top was a narrow hallway lined with doors on both sides. It was lit by a long, narrow lamp on the ceiling, which flickered with an odd blue light. Cal turned and gestured up with a caterpillar eyebrow as the ape continued to the end of the hall.
“The city still provides a meager amount of juice for taxpayers. Meaning, of course, that they shut me off months ago, but I have my connections. Having a real incandescent light adds a touch of class to the joint, eh?”
Rictus chuckled at that. Cal pretended not to hear.
“Yeah, I know a guy down in Scrapfield who makes the bulbs. Of course, decorative lighting isn’t the only reason for my illicit sipping of the city’s power.”
The ape reached the door at the end, and after fumbling with a key ring at its belt, managed to open it. With an enigmatic glance, Cal motioned them into the dark room with his head.
“This is my own private luxury suite, gentlemen, so please remove your shrouds at the door.”
Cal glared at Enoch.
Enoch pulled the dusty shroud from his head, ripping it down the front in his haste. The ancient cloth fell into threads on the floor. Cal rolled his eyes as the ape shuffled to a corner of the room and flipped a switch. A bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered to life.
The room was relatively simple compared to what Enoch had imagined a “private luxury suite” would be. A hammock hung from the low ceiling over a pillow in one c
orner. An oblong woven rug adorned the floor, leading up to a simple table holding a hammered metal basin. A door in the back led to what Enoch assumed was the closet, although what Cal would need an entire closet for was beyond his guess.
A large collection of hats?
A short tune caught his attention and he turned to see the ape unbuckling Cal from its back and placing him gently on a pillow before leaping up to the hammock, where he sat quietly, regarding Enoch with deep-set eyes.
“Now,” said Cal, wiggling himself deeper into the pillow, “What is all this about snakes in the walls, Ric? There haven’t been blackspawn in this part of the world for years.”
Rictus leaned his sword against the table, and, motioning for Enoch to sit on the rug next to him, folded his scarecrow figure to the ground.
“This should explain everything,” he said, grabbing Enoch’s scarred wrist and raising it to the light. Cal gasped.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Rictus nodded.
“But the Pensanden are all supposed to be dead! Scales, Ric, you know how to find trouble!”
The specter motioned for Cal to lower his voice.
“I found him in the southern ruins making friends with a band of cutthroats. They were being led by that mek witch we caught wind of in Uxmal—remember her? Well, she had sniffed me down to the Emim Reaches and was waiting for my next move when she caught this little surprise instead. He completely wrenched a silverwitch, Cal. I’m talking full paralytic reformat.” At this, Cal swallowed and glanced down at the steadily blinking light buried in his pillow.
“Go on.”
“It gets worse. He’s been chased from Midian by coldmen, and from how he tells it, they rode draconfly and hunted with arakid. We’re talking a full scale Hunt. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”
“But how? And in Midian? There were never any Pensanden in that little barony. And how was it that the Hunt missed him the first time around?”
Rictus shrugged his bony shoulders.
“His master wore these,” he ventured, gesturing towards Enoch’s swords. “Perhaps he was sent down from Cuitla or Tenocht, one of the big northern cities. He seems to have trained him in the Nahuati style, and the child can do the mindtrance as though born to it. He’s an odd kid.”
Enoch was getting more than a little angry at being called a kid; in fact, he was downright incensed at being labeled “odd” by these two fleshless specters.
Cal furrowed his brow in thought. “Question is,” mumbled Cal, “what to do with him?”
Enoch thought it about time that he had a say in all this.
“What I will do is go north. That is what I was instructed to do by my master. Whether you wish to help me or not is your own concern.”
The shadowcat at his shoulder hissed in assent. While part of Enoch was angry at being left out of the planning by his undead allies, part of him dreaded heading out alone again. But he would do as his master had said, alone or not.
Rictus and Cal looked at each other and chuckled.
“Oh, there’s no doubt about it now,” grinned Cal. “He’s Pensanden.”
Placing a spidery hand on Enoch’s arm, Rictus shook his head.
“We are not going to kidnap you away from your holy mission, Enoch,” he said, still paternal but apologetic. “But seriously, Tenocht? You’ve got to be kidding me. North is the most dangerous direction for you to be heading right now. If anything, we should be heading east into the Akkadian hills. The caves there would offer a perfect hiding place until you grow into your powers and the Hunt dies down.”
Rictus shook his head.
“North . . .” he said bleakly, “. . . lay the last remnants of the Serpent’s power on this side of the world. It would be like walking into your own grave.”
“Nevertheless,” said Enoch, determination in his voice, “I go north.”
Rictus rubbed his temples in exasperation. Cal suddenly spoke up.
“Tenocht. I don’t know. There are several powerful factions in that city with a reputation for dodging the Forked Tongue—scales, that is where the Nahuati were formed. Perhaps if we took him there?”
Shaking his head, voice bridled with suppressed frustration, Rictus protested.
“Cal! To get there we would have to pass between the Sister Seas. Garron is nestled right between the two, and need I remind you of the hospitality of the Swampmen?” Rictus ground his yellow teeth.
“Even were we to survive that passage, the manticore warrens lay between them and Tenocht. The Rookbane still rules there, my friend, and he looks less gently upon our kind than he does Enoch’s. The idea of us passing safely through such lands is preposterous. Enoch may be the last of his kind, and if so, we need to protect him from danger, not thrust him into it.”
Cal scoffed.
“What? You think this boy is any better than his forbearers? You think he could be the one to finally seal earth and sky and save this cracked world. Get off the stage, Ric. That show has been over for years.”
Enoch had frozen, his mind filled with the memory of that beautiful, monstrous face. The bonfire eyes full of molten need. Remembered fire swam along his wrists, and Enoch shivered. Both Rictus and Cal were staring at him now. Even Sal cocked his furry head.
“Those words, ‘seal earth and sky.’ I . . . heard them. Just before we were attacked, before my master was killed. A face appeared in the monitor of our Unit. It was made of stars.”
Cal rolled his eyes. Rictus leaned closer to Enoch, disbelief written across his brow in wrinkled cursive.
“I know you’ve been through a lot, kid, but really . . . I mean, how would a shepherd own a functioning Unit, much less find power to run it in the middle of sheep country? What you are saying is . . . it’s just—”
Enoch pulled away the remaining shroud and fumbled with the front of his vest, finally pulling out the silvery disk strung with a cord. He held it up to the light, and it cast aqueous reflections on the walls. Even Rictus was stunned.
“That looks like a core memory disc to me, Cal. It looks like Papa Nahuati may have brought some swag down from Tenocht.”
Cal cleared his throat, obviously a force of habit, and looked Enoch straight in the eye.
“Are you trying to tell us you received a communication from God? That The Winged One Herself logged on to your Unit and asked you a favor? That’s . . . that’s . . .”
Cal moved his head from side to side, sputtering as he searched for the word large enough to encompass the concept. Rictus cast him an exasperated glance.
“Man, Cal, you have been with the mortals too long. What do you mean ‘God’ and ‘Winged One?’ You remember how it all happened. Just because humanity has forgotten and lost its head about all of this mess doesn’t mean that you have to . . . figuratively speaking, of course.”
“I never said it was the Winged One,” protested Enoch, using the commonspeech name for the Great Unnamable. “Just a face, that’s all. This has nothing to do with religion.”
Rictus burst out laughing while Cal continued to shake his head. The shadowcat under Enoch’s arm decided now would be a good time to investigate the room and leapt softly to the floor. Wiping imaginary tears from dry eyes, Rictus leaned over and put a hand on Enoch’s knee.
“No, Enoch. You misunderstand. It has everything to do with religion.” His voice grew somber so quickly it was almost comical. “Everything.
“Now listen, ‘cause what I’m going to tell you has a lot to do with you, religion, and what has happened to this crazy world. Most of the human race has forgotten what it once was and how it got here. It is a twisted tale, kid, as convoluted as the Serpent’s guts—”
“Give it up, Ric,” interrupted Cal. “Your lyrics are going to ruin a relatively simple story. Let me tell him.”
Rictus nodded and gestured towards Cal with another sweeping bow.
Enoch leaned forward nervously.
Do I really want to know this?
; He glanced down at the shadowcat, which was nosing around at his feet. Rictus noticed Cal’s discomfiture and shook his head.
“Don’t worry—she’s housebroken. Made sure to do her business on Enoch’s shoulder.”
Enoch jumped at this, frantically pulling his vest around to investigate. Rictus laughed.
“Wow, you are easy to take—that was a joke, kid. Good thing you don’t duel with that brain.”
He turned back to Cal.
“The lil’ shadowcat hybrid is as manicured as one of Nyraud’s courtesans. She won’t mess on your spotless floor, don’t worry. Hurry and get on with the tale before you pop a vein, Cal. I know how you geezers love to talk about the good old days.”
Cal ignored the jibe and began to speak.
“Ok, first and foremost—this world didn’t used to be the half-bred schizophrenic wreck it is now. You know, the other day I saw a man selling Unit parts out of a murwagon. A murwagon! Can you believe it?”
Rictus chuckled along with Cal. Enoch stared at them. He didn’t get the joke. Cal noticed and cleared his throat again.
“No . . . no, I guess that wouldn’t seem strange to you. You’ve grown up in this world, after all. You wouldn’t think it funny to see giant rats bridled as beasts of burden now that the horses are gone. Or to see their smaller cousins—I still laugh at what happened to the mice, Ric—filling the niche left empty by wolves. Mickey, I hardly knew ye.
“Anyway, as I was saying, this used to be a very different place. We owned the world. Do you know what I mean by owned, Enoch? I mean that it was clay in our hands. We could do anything with it, go anywhere, and see anything. Our cities stretched from sea to shining sea, as the old ditty goes—but this time, it was literally every sea. And even underneath them. We had cities on Mars and some of the Jovian moons. Colonies on other systems—circling other stars—were planned.”
Here Rictus pointed up in the direction of the Ark and shrugged. Cal continued.
“There was nothing out of reach for us. Oh, it was a grand time. We had learned to control the smallest of things, the tiny codes in our bodies that make up what we are. We gave animals speech, read dreams from stone, and had every miracle of the imagination at our fingertips. Tireless machines waited upon our every need. They grew our food, fixed our bodies, and entertained us. Your folk,” here he nodded towards Enoch. “Your folk, the Pensanden, made it all work. They’d made it happen—they were the first to connect the dots, oil the gears, and light the lights. It was a golden time, the pinnacle of humanity . . .”
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