Aware

by Andy Havens

  Across the world, every member of the House felt a stirring. Felt a call. Felt the bonds of loyalty to family and tribe shift… separate… and then join into something stronger. Something grander. It would take a little while for them to understand what it meant to each, personally, but they all felt it at once. A new mandate.

  Sekhemib Senbi rose from his throne and spoke, clearly and forcefully, into an empty chamber.

  For the first time since the Great Flood broke the world, three words rang out in that most ancient of halls:

  “Summon the Blood.”

  Behind him, against his will, moved beyond his normal cynicism, Cole fell to his knees, weeping in joy, adoration and terror.

  Chapter 10: Vision

  The last man-creature and dog-thing were very, very tenacious.

  Mirkir couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun.

  The first man had fallen for an old hunter’s ruse. Mirkir had sped ahead for a ways, doubled back and hidden until the other man, the dogs and the dog-thing had run past. Then he bit that man from behind. Lots of biting. Lovely biting. There had been a scuffle, but the gun had only knocked a chunk from Mirkir’s tail. He could replace it back at the garden without any problem.

  By the time the other man and the pack had turned back, Mirkir was off again on a different junction of the Narrows. He’d played with his pursuers for a time, tiring the natural dogs out.

  But this last person and his not-quite-a-real-dog-beast-thing? They were good. Nearly two days-worth of good. At which point he’d almost entirely forgotten why he was running from them.

  So he stopped and waited for them to catch up. He picked a nice clear, grassy spot to the side of a rural Narrow Road, rarely used. When the two turned off the path and saw him sitting by himself in the grass, they split up.

  The dog-beast was fierce and fast, but not designed to deal with creatures made of solid stone. Three times it took Mirkir down and tried to clamp its four rows of teeth around the gargoyle’s throat.

  Which only made Mirkir laugh. Not because he was mean. But because it tickled.

  Finally, the creature didn’t dodge fast enough when Mirkir pounced. There was a satisfying crunch/squish as the heavy rock creature flattened its back end into a gritty, meaty paste. The whole time they’d been fighting, the man had been searching nearby for something, circling the two combatants.

  When the dog-thing cried out a final, dying groan, the man looked around and seemed to make up his mind that whatever he’d been looking for was long gone.

  With anger and revenge in his eyes, he stalked toward Mirkir.

  Good, the gargoyle thought. Time to end this.

  As he closed the distance between them, the man’s clothes fell away as if made of mist. He was from Blood, Mirkir realized. Like the ones in the garden who did the dances and parties. No clothing, just tools and weapons. This one wore a wide belt with several guns and a kind of bandolier of knives and other blades and bludgeons.

  They circled each other for a few moments, gauging speed and reaction time. For all his bulk and relative squatness, Mirkir was actually quite nimble. A fact which many enemies had not learned until too late.

  His opponent seemed very fit. Clearly trained for hand-to-hand combat. Also well-versed in fighting a construct like Mirkir, as he made sure to strike with gun or blade from a distance, never allowing the gargoyle to close. He clearly respected the pudgy statue’s teeth, claws and momentum.

  Mirkir ran at him like a bull and the man scraped a blade down his back, knocking loose a stone flake or two. They both tried to turn in a tight circle and Mirkir tripped. He fell over his front feet, rolled like a barrel for a few yards, and then came up with grass-stains all over one side.

  He was about to try a slightly different rush, when the man went all still and quiet. As if he was listening to something.

  Never one to ignore an opening, Mirkir rushed the man, aiming a short jump that would have broken both his legs had the man not leaped over the gargoyle and back onto the Narrow Road.

  By the time Mirkir turned around, the man was almost out of sight.

  Not so fast, he thought. I haven’t bit you yet.

  The man seemed more interested in speed than losing a pursuer, moving from tertiary to secondary and finally one of the largest Narrow Roads, each time picking up velocity. Mirkir had no trouble following him there, nor when he turned and turned again, finally heading off onto a minor Road.

  They were on Mundane paths, now, though the Blood was still moving quickly along a Way of some kind that Mirkir couldn’t quite see or grasp. Again, the man pulled almost out of his sight, but Mirkir caught up with him again at the edge of a desert plain.

  Stopping to catch his breath? he wondered.

  No. He was meeting with several more of his kind. And then another group joined those. Mirkir watched from behind a nearby tree as more and more people showed up. Soon it was a crowd of about a hundred Bloods who, at some signal Mirkir couldn’t discern, turned together to walk deeper into the desert.

  Annoyed that he still hadn’t had a chance to bite this person, Mirkir followed at a distance.

  The man’s group merged with another. And then another. They were walking down a shallow valley, now. New groups and crowds streaming down the sides of the hills on either side. They were in a kind of bowl of earth with a narrow entrance at one end, through which more and more people entered. At the other end was another notch in the surrounding hills, but nobody came from that direction.

  After a few moments, Mirkir realized that the air above him was tinged with brown. It was like fog, but made of dust. It made him squint, and so he trotted up the nearby hill. When he was clear of the brown fog, he looked down and couldn’t see any of the people. Just the dirty air.

  Earth tricks, he realized, recognizing the smell of the Way from other times and places.

  It was hot and the air was still. Mirkir wanted to go down beneath the dust cloud and find the Blood man to bite, but he really didn’t like the dirt. So he waited.

  Tricks burn off, he seemed to remember.

  The sun went from high to not so high and then it was balanced on the horizon. Finally, the brown dust cloud seemed to ebb away and Mirkir could see that the people were walking down to the other end of the hollow between the hills. So he paralleled them, staying on the hill to the south of the path.

  As he walked, he saw that on the other side of the notch was yet another valley, this one with steeper sides. At the end of that valley was a small, round hill with a large stone building of some kind perched on top.

  Is it a cake? Mirkir wondered. Many years ago, he’d been given a cake as a reward and he’d enjoyed it very much. This looked like a giant cake made of rock. Sitting on a hill.

  Odd.

  The crowds merged together into a river of walking flesh. Mirkir kept to the hill, far enough above the crowd to avoid detection, but these people were clearly not interested in anything but their destination. They marched together almost as if in a parade, but eerily quiet.

  Finally, the multitude arrived at the base of the hill with the stone cake on top. From his vantage off to one side, Mirkir realized it wasn’t shaped like a cake, really.

  Half a cake…

  It was huge. And it was round on one side and flat on the other. And it was kind of, well… ruined. Like the cake he’d been given after he’d played with it for a moment. One portion was kind of crunched down and other bits were missing from the top. There was a also a large opening in the round side, like a huge open gate or doorframe.

  Bites. Someone took bites, he thought.

  It was interesting enough. The crowd of people had taken up positions at the base of the hill, joining into smaller camps and groups. There were lots of them. Mirkir wasn’t particularly good at estimating numbers. But it was a big crowd. Like at a big concert or festival. He’d been to some of these. It seemed like a festival in some ways. Except everyone was sitting quietly facing the
big, stone cake.

  Looking at the open door but not going in. Waiting for something…

  Well. I am a better waiter, he thought and sat down to do just that, perfectly camouflaged in the shadow of a rock pile.

  The sun took its time setting in a glory of red and orange haze. Then it was dark. Then the moon came out behind him, a friendly-enough crescent that lent the desert a pleasant bluish duotone.

  At a signal he didn’t see or hear, the people let out a great cheer and streamed up the hill, through the open archway and into the stone edifice. It took a few minutes for them all to pass through, even though the door was huge.

  A few more minutes after they were all inside, there was a bright flash of light behind the building and a boom that Mirkir felt more than heard.

  Then nothing for several minutes.

  Then another flash and another boom.

  Within moments, the people who had run into the building were now running back out. They were not quiet this time. They were yelling. They seemed angry. Many of them held lit torches. Natural ones burning yellow and red, and others that gave off blue and green Waylight. Several of them seemed to hold some kind of conference near the cake structure. They shouted and gestured at the others who assembled into orderly, quickly marching rows. Then the people began to head off in the direction the sun had set.

  Soon, the area was empty except for footprints and some litter.

  Mirkir shrugged and followed the crowd into the desert hills.

  I would still like to bite that man.

  * * * * *

  Of all the things Kendra liked about her newfound life among the Ways, flying was none of them.

  Vannia had insisted, however, that the best way to understand the Sanctuary Cathedral was from above. So she’d twisted Kendra’s arm and whined and pouted until Kendra agreed that, yes, fine, OK, yes, yes… shut up, OK. We can fly to the Cathedral this morning.

  “Right after I have that talk with Monday.”

  * * * * *

  She’d refused to go back in his office. She didn’t trust the place and she wasn’t sure that she’d be able to keep from freaking out in there. And so he met her on the front steps, between the lions.

  Mundanes and Reckoners climbed up and down the steps, in ones and twos mostly. Kendra could now simultaneously see the Reckoners’ authentic selves as well as any Seemings they’d layered on… unless they were opaque for privacy.

  Learned that one the hard way back at Bardonne’s, she remembered, thinking about a nice young couple and how startled they’d been when she’d somehow managed to unravel that particular piece of camouflage.

  Monday sat sipping a fancy, iced-coffee drink from a nearby café. Something with whipped cream. A little of it got stuck on his upper lip and looked like a moustache, about the same color as his hair and a stark contrast against his dark skin.

  And here I sit with my bottled water, she thought. Having a nice chat with one of the most powerful beings on earth. A man who is at least, as far as I can figure, six thousand years old.

  No reason not to ask…

  “How old are you, Mr. Monday?”

  He licked the whipped cream from his lip and asked, “Isn’t that a rude question among your…”

  He stopped and shook his head.

  “I am sorry. You are one of us. Even if a very unusual one.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Kendra said. “Vannia reminds me of how different I am about twice an hour.”

  “She is,” Monday said with unveiled vexation, “a bother.”

  “I think she’d take that as a compliment.”

  “I’m sure she would. Oh, and to answer your question: something more than twelve thousand years but less than fourteen.”

  “Oh. Ah. OK. Thanks.”

  I’m not sure what bothers me more. That he’s older than the pyramids or that he doesn’t know his own age to within less than two thousand years…

  “And you,” he said, “are fifteen.”

  “Yes. I’ll be sixteen next month, though.”

  “Lovely! We shall have to have a party. We don’t have enough of those.”

  It didn’t seem like sarcasm. Though, in relation to his age, celebrating a sixteenth birthday seemed a bit like having a one-week anniversary.

  He sipped his frosty coffee thing and Kendra sipped her water, and finally she said, “You want to know how I killed Rain Vernon.”

  Monday wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and leaned back on the step above where he sat, arms out behind him, resting on his hands.

  “I want to know everything. Eventually. But I think that might be important, yes.”

  “You want to work a Way on me to read what happened.”

  “That would be the easiest, quickest and most thorough method, yes.”

  She nodded. “I get that. If you insist, I’ll let you.”

  “I won’t force you, Kendra. That’s not how I operate.”

  “Not at the moment,” she replied. “But it sounds like you’ve done plenty of… well… forceful things in your time. Including the test you put me through.”

  Monday sighed and sat up, his face now level with hers.

  “Wallace told me he’d explained that to you in more detail.”

  Kendra nodded again. “Yes. He told me that, basically, I would have died anyway with this mark on me.” She touched her collarbone where, under her shirt, the iridescent splash of blue still marked her chest. It hadn’t faded at all, but it also didn’t feel like anything.

  Except for that moment when I was getting too near the mountains outside Bardonne’s…

  “That is the case. What my Way did was, essentially, unlock your Reckoning. That was one of two potential outcomes. The other was your death. My test simply sped up the process.”

  “Still,” Kendra said. “You didn’t give me a choice.”

  “You didn’t have a choice before you came to the Library,” he said softly. “You would have just died.”

  “I guess that’s right.”

  They sat quietly for a minute, watching a group of young Mundane kids walk by all in a line, all holding onto a rope with a teacher on each end. They were loud and funny and cute and the teachers were exhausted and amused, trying to keep them all headed in the right direction.

  Kendra could see the Narrow Road in front of the Library absorb their intention, soaking it in like a battery charger.

  Monday broke the silence. “You would rather I didn’t use a Way to read you.”

  “Right.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “Not entirely, no. But that’s not the reason.”

  “Why then?”

  Kendra turned to the side on the step, leaning back against one of the lion’s pedestals.

  “It’s like the Warden said. Learning things on your own teaches you more than learning them from someone else.”

  Monday nodded. “I understand perfectly. You need to find your own answer to this question.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s very wise.”

  Her eyebrows up, Kendra asked, “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. Most people would rather have easy answers delivered to their doorstep. Or their pocket phone. But the value of answers is as much in the learning as the knowledge itself. In some cases, the best answer is actually encoded in the process more than the product.”

  “Praxis over principle.”

  “That’s very succinct. Who said that?”

  “Mr. Vernon.”

  “Ah. Well. And here we are back at the question. Though if you prefer praxis…”

  Kendra waggled her hand back and forth a bit. “I don’t mind talking about it. I don’t even mind hearing your theories. But I don’t want you in my head until I’ve had more time there myself.”

  Grinning, Monday said, “Agreed.”

  So they talked for almost an hour. She told him about how, in several cases, she’d seemed to see the places where Ways from more than one House
overlapped. How, at their edges, they began to actually blend and affect each other. Not actually creating new Ways, but allowing them to work together.

  Monday was intrigued, but pointed out that there were many instances where Ways from multiple Domains were used in concert to create various effects. The lions, for example, were born of Earth, but infused with Ways of Sight.

  Kendra shook her head, trying to find the words to explain it to him.

  “The lions are like… a Swiss Army knife. You know what that is?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “I didn’t know if it was just a Mundane thing.”

  “Many Mundane things are of interest to me. And who doesn’t like a good multi-purpose tool?”

  “Well, that’s just it. The lions are like… two or more separate things, but available simultaneously. A knife, a can opener, a screwdriver… all next to each other.”

  “That’s not what you saw? Not what you did?”

  “No. What I did was more like… a spork.”

  “A spork?”

  “Yes. A spork is like…”

  “I know what a spork is, Kendra. I was taken aback by the simile.”

  “Ah, well. I just mean that the places of overlap seem like that to me. Like what you get when you cross a spoon and a fork, not when you have both.”

  That made Monday stop and think for a moment. Kendra was about to go on but he held up a hand, politely asking for silence. She complied and watched the traffic go by.

  Two Chaotics were doing something with what looked like a complicated set of strings tied between their hands. Like Reckoner ‘Cat’s Cradle,’ Kendra thought. It was lovely and she could tell that they were balancing a minor, fun Way of Chaos between them, pitting the inevitability of a knot against their skill. The game occupied the space between intention and attention. The mostly random possibilities of being distracted balanced with the increasing tension and enjoyment they were having. With each flick and twist of the string the odds and permutations became more complex, increasing both their fun and the odds that soon…