Spiderwork

by LK Rigel

Of course. “It’s the plane. Garrick’s shibdung jet. The noise frightened the bees.”

  “Not to mention the exhaust,” Jake said. “Who knows how delicate these bees are.”

  “Think of it. Pollination. Honey. Beeswax. This has to be Asherah’s doing. She will be delighted.”

  “Bees boom no!”

  “Bees boom no,” Jake said. “But we can’t ask Garrick to change course going home without an explanation.” He studied the ghost and eyed her semi-decent clothes. “From my limited experience bringing in ghosts, I’d say you’ve been watching us. Maybe you’ve come down to the citadel a time or two. Picked up a few things you needed. You’ve decided we’re safe, or you wouldn’t have let us see you.”

  The ghost didn’t deny it. She looked pointedly at Char’s hair. But how could she deny anything if the only words she knew were bees, boom, and no?

  “We’re going to help you with your bees,” Jake said, “but first I want you to help me with something.” He crouched down on the ground and looked up at her. Brilliant. Not so intimidating. “Do you remember your name?”

  She tilted her head again and assumed a coquettish look that completely clashed with her skeletal frame and dirty face—and her body odor. But it was clear. She remembered her name. Char and Jake waited.

  The bees buzzed.

  And they waited some more.

  “Alice.”

  “Alice,” Jake said. The ghost broke out in a smile so big Char wanted to cry. How long had it been since the poor thing heard someone speak her name?

  “Fifo died,” Alice said.

  “Yes,” Char said. Fifo. Probably a pet or a loved one. “I’m so sorry. My sister died.” It was the first time she’d said it aloud. Her throat constricted and tears welled in her eyes. “Oh!” She couldn’t hold back the tears.

  “Sad,” Alice said. “Sad.” She put her arms around Char. Cripes, she smelled awful. Char hugged her back, and they both shook with violent sobs. Jake stood up and put his arms around them.

  When they’d cried everything out, Jake said, “Alice, we need to get you and the bees to a safe place. A place with no boom. Out of the rain. Away from raptors.”

  Alice nodded. “No boom.”

  “No boom,” Jake said. “I want you to come with us back to the citadel. As soon as it’s safe, we’ll take the bees to a place where you can take care of them with no rain, no raptors, and no boom.”

  “And you can have a warm bath,” Char said. “With bubbles.”

  The skin where Alice would have eyebrows scrunched. Char grimaced at Jake, thinking she’d ruined it with the bath suggestion.

  Alice nodded. “Bees no boom. Bath.”

  “Outstanding,” Jake said. “Just outstanding.”

  He was thrilled that he’d saved a ghost and learned her name. He had no idea that he was about to become one of the richest and most powerful men in the world. But Char was a hydroponics agronomist, and she knew. Asherah had given them a treasure infinitely more precious than Garrick’s oil or Luxor’s gold.

  Jake and Char started back to the horses, but Alice yelled, “Wait!” She ran away down a row of mud hives and disappeared into some trees.

  “I guess we wait,” Jake said.

  Ten minutes later, Alice was back, carrying a bush that was all sticks covered with hard woody buds. “My goodness,” Char said. “A lilac. A real lilac bush. Alice, you’re amazing!”

  Alice smiled. “Flower.”

  When they got back to the picnic blanket, Char tore off her camisole. Clouds were building up again, and in the chill breeze she grabbed her jacket and put it on over her bra. She dug up some dirt and packed it around the lilac roots, then wrapped that with her camisole.

  Jake put Alice in front of him on his horse, and Char handed her the lilac. “At the citadel you can choose where to plant this.”

  Alice was a ghost, no question. In the bath, she barely displaced the water. As if she knew what she had to do to come back, Alice listened and repeated words she seemed to like. Bubbles. Warm. Bees.

  Bees. Let’s hope Alice went light on that word until the bees were secure. Char left Alice to her bath.

  “I’m not sleeping.” Jake jumped up from the sofa and ran his hands through his hair. “So Alice must be a high-performing ghost. She said more words today than cage net woman said in a month.”

  Char walked Jake to the door. “I wonder if having the bees to care for made the difference.”

  “It makes all the difference.” Jake touched her cheek. “Caring for someone.” He enveloped her in a bear hug. There were tears in his eyes, and he laughed. “Ah, Meadowlark. Something about Alice and her bees gives me faith in humanity. It’s a strange feeling.”

  Char kissed him and pressed against him in the open doorway, wishing he didn’t have to put in an appearance with the early arrivals. She was in the middle of saying something like mm-mm when she realized someone was out there.

  A young girl wearing the white shift and brown tunic of a Samaeli priest stood transfixed in the corridor not five feet from Char’s door. Trancelike, she swayed, her eyes closed. She seemed familiar, but Char was confused by the priest garb. Jake rushed to steady her. The girl’s face went white, and she fell backwards against the wall. Her eyes opened.

  Char gasped. The girl was a chalice, gone missing from Corcovado months ago. She glanced from Char to Jake with a mix of nausea and triumph. An icy shiver ran down Char’s spine.

  “Maribel?” Jake recognized her too.

  “It’s Mother Maribel.”

  Right. The Samaeli called their female priests mother. What was she, sixteen?

  Maribel was one of the original nine chalices Jake had rescued from orbit at the outbreak of the DOG war. She had been a sensitive and tender little girl and highly adept in all the ways of a chalice, especially trance work.

  “You look fit, Maribel,” Char said. “We’ve all been so worried about you.” Maribel had always been precocious, the first to master any new technique. She undertook her first gestation at fifteen, against Durga’s wishes, and it went badly. “How is it that you are here?”

  “I am advisor to Garrick. As you see, I am under Samael’s protection.”

  Char forced her mind past the illogic of a chalice turned any kind of Samaeli, whether priest or mere follower. That was confusing and tragic enough.

  But advisor to Garrick?

  “How old are you now, sixteen?”

  “Seventeen.” It sounded like a lie. “Four years younger than Faina.” If she had batted her eyelashes and said meow, it wouldn’t have been out of place. Maribel’s mean pleasure was downright insufferable and out of proportion to the petty dig.

  So much for Jake’s faith in humanity.

  Emissary of Sanguibahd

  The room was full of chalices, old and new. As Durga entered, they all glanced at her, hoping for her notice. She lifted her chin and looked away, a method of detachment she had practiced to perfection. The new girls sat on mats on the floor, excited, nervous. The others hugged each other as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, though they just had breakfast together.

  “Faina, my sister.” The teacher Faina radiated niceness. She hadn’t been her usual happy self lately. Durga was only sitting in on this class to cheer her up.

  “Good morning, Emissary.”

  Always Emissary, never sister. But Durga was more than the Emissary of Sanguibahd, Asherah’s representative to the world. She was also a chalice, and soon it would be impossible to avoid her sacred duty.

  When she carried a life in her belly, would they call her sister then?

  She moved to the side chairs, aware of the others’ awe. She used to believe she deserved it. She had had more self-confidence at ten than she did now at eighteen. But Asherah hadn’t appeared for two years, and things that used to be so clear were indistinct to her now.

  Three of the original nine chalices were lost. One had drowned in the bay, tangled in seaweed. Another thought an Empani was
her brother and followed it off a cliff.

  Maribel still lived, but that’s all Durga knew. Maribel had gotten pregnant too young and her uterus ruptured. The physicians saved her life, but not her womb. She was so angry. Angry at Durga, at the goddess. She ran away on the transport from Garrick.

  Garrick, shib’s sake!

  Jordana was on the floor. She leaned out of formation and blinked at Durga with a big grin, so unlike the others it was a little shocking. Bald, no eyebrows or eyelashes. Her irises were brown-red with a metallic cast. She crinkled her nose, and her eyes flashed a fire-like blue that sparked and was gone.

  Having fun. As usual.

  Durga wiggled her fingers as she walked by. That’s what ten years old was supposed to be like. At that age Jordana wasn’t a chalice, but there was no harm in letting her sit in on classes.

  “Good morning, Emissary.” Chita sat next to the only empty chair. One of the original nine, her palm frond totem covered her left shoulder. She always kept it bare, copying Durga’s style. “I saved you a place.”

  “Good morning, Chita. You look pale. Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  Two years younger than Durga, Chita reveled in the eighth month of her first gestation, impregnated by Geraldo. Exgusting, as they used to say.

  Durga hated to leave Geraldo in Corcovado while they were gone, but if she took him to the coronation it would be like endorsing his latest shibdab idea.

  Every chalice, he said, should complete one gestation to demonstrate fertility before going into service. The theory had caught on. The chalices called it their proof of service, and Geraldo had been happy to “help them” with their proof.

  What shibdung. She couldn’t believe it when Magda agreed. Don’t let your opinion of Geraldo skew your judgment, Durga. Cities want some kind of assurance. Look what happened with Maribel.

  There was some logic to that. But Geraldo? Didn’t anybody have any taste? Apparently the goddess didn’t object. Geraldo still lived. Things had been so much easier when Asherah told her what to do.

  “All reality, physical and metaphysical, exists in a Great Chain of Being.” Faina began the story they all would learn by heart.

  “At the highest of heights is the All, also called the Fullness. Below the All is the Pleuroma which contains emanations of the All. These emanations exist as pairs, from Love and Power down to Wisdom and Will.

  “Below the emanations are the gods, like Samael and Asherah.

  “Below the gods are the angels.

  “Below the angels is material reality, and the highest beings in the material world are human beings. The god Samael created the material world and humanity, but within each human being is a shard of the All, a spark of the original Fullness called a soul.”

  Chita smirked. The girl had no respect. It was a mystery why Asherah blessed some people.

  “All these things were forgotten by humankind in the Age of Oil. Humanity turned away from the gods to worship power and profit. People stopped loving and respecting the earth. They stopped loving and respecting each other.

  “When four-fifths of humanity was lost in the DOG war and the cataclysm that followed, so many souls returned to the All at one time that its outward emanation stopped and threatened to turn inward.”

  “Like a reverse Big Bang, the material world might have ended. As it was, the veil between the two worlds, material and spiritual, weakened. The gods came back. The angels crossed over.

  “With holy fire, Samael purged the polluted world so that mankind might survive and replenish the earth. But it was too late. Humanity had lost its fertility. Our reproductive technology is not robust enough to sustain population growth.”

  Chita wasn’t smirking. She was whimpering. She’d grown paler.

  “Asherah took pity on humanity. She has blessed each of us with natural fertility and long life. It is our sacred duty to provide the world with natural born generations.”

  “Now, inhale.”

  Durga knew the drill. There was nothing like a good cleansing breath. She automatically inhaled and exhaled, releasing tension she hadn’t realized she carried. The taste of sweet hot tea filled her mouth.

  It was so easy to slip into trance, especially when she was near Faina, who was equally adept. As if a wall or membrane separating them had become so sheer that they could merge and become one being.

  So tempting. Surely it would be wonderful. A feeling of endless divine joy pulled her toward Faina. Perhaps one soul could directly encounter another. She could easily—wait. What was that emptiness? Chita gave off a feeling as desolate as Faina’s joyfulness.

  Dark. Nothing. Empty.

  Durga snapped herself out of it. She pressed her palm against her thigh. You’re a person in the world.

  Faina said, “On the fifth day after fertilization, you will select for sex. Imagine sweet for male and savory for female.” She continued the instructions for controlling gestation which Asherah had transmitted through Char.

  Durga focused on the sensation of her feet against the floor. Everyone else closed their eyes for the guided visualization. Jordana’s expression was so serious. If the girl had eyebrows, they’d be knitted together in earnest concentration. Durga laughed to herself and shook off the feeling she’d gotten from Chita. This bad mood did no good.

  “First, a female.” Faina’s eyes were closed too. “Visualize something savory—a Hibernian beef filet or fried potatoes with salt and pepper. Let the sense of a salty taste intensify.”

  Fried potatoes with salt and pepper. From the sacred to the profane.

  A page outside the door caught Durga’s eye, indicating she had a message. Thank Asherah. Durga whispered, “You’re not well, Chita. Go lie down and get some rest.”

  She slipped out into the corridor, glad to escape the lesson early.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Emissary,” the page said. “The Matriarch requests your presence in her chambers.”

  “We’re leaving for the coronation in a few hours. I’ll see her then.”

  “A delegation from Versailles is with her. They’ve demanded to see you.”

  “Demanded.” Insufferable.

  “It must be bad, Emissary. No one is talking. Not even the doorkeepers.”

  “Cripes, as Lady Char would say. I’d better go then.”

  The public lift across the mezzanine went directly to Magda’s chambers. Faina caught up to them just as the door opened.

  “Wait, Emissary!” She grabbed Durga’s arm, then dropped it as if shocked at the liberty she’d taken. She looked ready to cry. “I have a problem.”

  “Go on ahead,” Durga said to the page. “Tell Magda I’ll be there shortly.” She led Faina by the elbow to an alcove that allowed some privacy. “Are you unwell?”

  Unlikely. According to Asherah’s promise, the chalices would live as long as a hundred and fifty years. Faina was only in her twenties and in excellent health. The first gestation for Jake had gone perfectly, a healthy dark-haired girl delivered after a full nine months. From all reports, the boy Faina now carried was on the same successful course.

  “No—yes.” Faina’s face went red. “Emissary, I don’t know how it happened. I guarded against it, truly. But he’s so good. I didn’t think it would happen. He’s so much older. But I couldn’t help it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m in love with Lord Ardri.”

  Great Asherah. “What in the name of the queen of heaven have you done?”

  “Nothing. You’re the only one I’ve told. I didn’t admit it to myself until this morning when I was packing for the coronation.”

  “Don’t cry.” Shib. Why couldn’t people control themselves? Didn’t anybody understand their higher purpose?

  “I won’t tell him, Emissary. I won’t tell anyone. I know my duty.”

  “No doubt.” Faina could make a fetish of duty.

  What a disaster. If Jake even suspected his chalice was in love, he’d feel compelled to do somet
hing about it. Love was not part of this mission.

  “You can’t go to the coronation. You must never see Lord Ardri again. There’s no need.”

  Faina muffled a cry and nodded her head.

  That wasn’t the end of it. There was another Faina loved and should not. Could not.

  “I will take Lord Ardri’s daughter to him on this trip instead of waiting another year.”

  “Oh!” Faina’s shoulders hunched as if she were in physical pain. She broke down into wracking sobs. “I, I, I un-un-understand.”

  “I’ll send someone to disband your class.” Durga snuck a cleansing breath in and out through her nose. She never should have let Faina care for Jake’s firstborn as if it were her child too. “Go to your quarters. Compose yourself. Meditate or something.”

  “I’ve failed you, Emissary. I’ve failed the goddess and everyone.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’re doing well. This is hard work, and we’re all learning.” Durga took hold of Faina’s forearms and looked into her eyes. She tried to sound kind. “All will be well, my sister. Are you not blessed? The goddess is with you. You must believe it.”

  Splotched skin and red eyes took nothing away from Faina’s gentle beauty. All the chalices were gorgeous due to their excellent health, but Faina was special. She had a perfect balance of dark hair and fair skin with naturally dark lips and deep blue eyes like sapphires in sunlight. She was the sweetest and the loveliest of the chalices.

  She was still sobbing when she reached the end of the mezzanine. Maybe Durga would get her a puppy.

  She made a mental note of a new regulation: No emotional attachments.

  Durga and the Musician

  The moment Durga entered Magda’s corridor, a difference in the air settled over her like a shift in reality. The Matriarch’s doorkeepers lacked their usual arrogance. The guards weren’t distracted. They were almost spellbound.

  As if Asherah were near.

  Then Durga heard it too. Music. A guitar … and an exquisite male baritone.

  As I walked out over London Bridge

  One misty morning early