Frelsi (Book Two of The Liminality)

by A. Sparrow

  I indulged in a long, self-pitying sigh. If nothing else, I had just proven myself capable of feeling depressed in two worlds at once.

  There was always Frelsi, I supposed. That place, rumored and amorphous as it was, at least gave me something to focus on. It would serve as my El Dorado, my Emerald City.

  I tried to remember how it was the last time I saw Karla in Root. It had been night, and she had faded away in the darkness as I leaned in to kiss her goodbye. I would see her again, briefly, in Inverness, but only long enough to finish that goodbye. She had promised me that we would meet again soon in Root.

  But it hadn’t happened. And I had no right to believe it would ever happen. Who knew if she even thought of me anymore? Maybe sending me to Brynmawr was her way of getting me out of her life completely. Maybe she hadn’t had the courage to put the bad news to me bluntly.

  My feet started moving without me making any conscious decision to walk. I just made my way past the pond and up along the creek bed towards the pair of bluffs guarding the mouth of a canyon. They beckoned to me like open arms.

  I hadn’t gone far before coming across another set of those strange tracks. They came out of nowhere as if their maker had either materialized on the spot or dropped straight out of the sky. Ten yards on, they vanished. Weird, but I guess nothing should surprise me in this place.

  I kept walking up the channel, heading towards the first ramparts of the foothills. Maybe I could get a better sense of the lay of the land from a higher vantage point.

  The canyon deepened with every twist and turn. I was drawn onward and upward, stopping only to slurp some water I found trickling out of a muddy seep.

  A mile or so in, I ran into yet another dense cluster of those two-clawed footprints. It looked like there had been a bit of action here, with multiple animals and some frenzied changes in direction. They were mixed with the prints of a barefoot human.

  Those prints gave me pause. The steep canyon walls ahead looked a little too confining for my comfort so I decided to climb out up a chute littered with talus before things got too claustrophobic. The canyon wall rose in steps. A little farther up the first step was another rock fall that would lead me to the top of a nearly vertical ledge.

  As I topped the first chute, I could already see beyond the bluffs back out over the plains. Creek beds fanned out like coral from the other canyons draining the hills. This was a porous land, pocked with sinkholes and ponds. No creek stretched for long on the surface. They all seemed to plunge into pits.

  A movement caught my eye. A skeletal shadow swiped across a cliff. I looked up to find a wide and greenish triangular head peering down at me from over the cliff-top. It watched me through a pair of bulbous compound eyes, swiveling its head abruptly from side to side. Feelers dangled from its tapered beak, caressing a wicked set of mandibles. I stood there, stunned, afraid to move. The thing looked like a fucking pulp sci-fi Martian.

  “Ondai!” The beast spread its wings and hopped down off the cliff and perched on one of the large boulders littering the rock shelf. It was a mantis, bigger than a horse, saddled and ridden by a man with a dark face and a long and wispy beard. He carried a short wooden rod, flared at the tip, more scepter than club.

  The sound of a hundred umbrellas flapping in a windstorm heralded the arrival of three other mantids. As they alighted on the ledges to either side of me, I backed away, my eyes on that gully leading down to the canyon floor.

  The riders’ faces were mottled in diverse tones and patterns of grey. The bearded man’s face was almost entirely charcoal but for lighter patches beneath both eyes. Another man bore a random blotching that reminded me of urban camouflage. Still another wore the zigzag striping of a cone shell. The lone female among them sported a symmetrical pattern of lobes and spots like the wings of some exotic moth.

  I couldn’t tell if these patterns were tattoos or wore paint. Their hair had the texture and tone of fine steel wool. Even their scaly armor was grey, clinging to their skin like lichens or barnacles on a boulder, over which they wrapped and draped shawls and tunics. Their physiques were well-toned and muscular, with not a shred of excess fat or sign of deprivation.

  They spoke amongst themselves in something harsh and indecipherable. The woman glared down at me and spat out phrases in language after language, working her way through a half dozen before she found one I recognized.

  “From where have you come?”

  “Me? Um … well, Ohio, I guess. That’s where I was born, anyhow.”

  She looked to the others. “English, he speaks. This one is American.”

  The bearded one pointed a stick at me and a shock wave blew from the tip, crumbling my jeans and hoodie into a fine yellow powder that wafted down and collected in a pile by my feet. “It is obvious he is fresh from the pits. Look how frail, his Weavings.”

  “Strange, how so many come unescorted now. Even risking the daylight.”

  “The beneath is not as impervious as it once was,” said the woman.

  “From the pits he has come, to the pits he will go. Bind him up!” Another rider leveled his rod at me and a three-headed bolus of energy came whipping out of the end. I tried to dodge it, one of its appendages lashed out and caught my ankle and snagged my ankle, tripping me. It stretched and spread, fastening my arms against my sides, wrapping my legs together.

  A mantis hopped over, leaned down and picked me up in its front legs. Its exoskeleton was firm and woody, slick with a waxy coating.

  “No eating him, Seraf!” said the woman. “It is back to the Liminality for this one.”

  She peered down at me over the mantid’s shoulder. She had a striking face, with a strong chin and faceted cheekbones. Her eyes were tapered with a subtle curve, like warped almonds.

  “Who are you people?” I said.

  The mantis-riders looked at each other and laughed.

  “We rule the top side,” said the bearded one. “You are out of place. You don’t belong here.”

  “Says who?”

  “We say. And I’m sure the Almighty Powers would agree.”

  “If they cared,” said the woman.

  “If they yet exist,” said the striped one. “In this universe.”

  I just hung there, cradled in that beast’s spiny forelegs, gawking. “What are you guys, like angels or something?”

  The mantis-riders laughed again. The bearded one clapped and they took to the sky in a burst of elytra. The ground corkscrewed away below me as the mantis soared, its great leathery wings whooping and whooshing like helicopter blades.

  We hurtled out of the canyon and over the plains. Even as we flew, the mantis couldn’t resist tasting me. It held me close to its mouthparts, clicking and grinding its mandibles lapping at me with its palps. Luckily for me, it obeyed its master and refrained from sampling its cargo.

  We spiraled down into a pit far wider than the other sinkhole. This was one was almost large enough to fit a football stadium.

  The mantis splashed down in a shallow film of water flowing across a slant of collapsed bedrock, absorbing the shock of landing by flexing its multi-jointed legs. It folded its diaphanous lower wings beneath the leathery uppers.

  The other mantids had landed on the rim of the pit were looking on with their riders.

  “Put him down! Gently, Seraf.”

  The mantis hesitated, palps extending for one more taste of my skin. Light rippled off the lenses of its ocelli, creating a shimmery psychedelic moiré effect.

  “I said put him down! No eating! I promise you can have the next Frelsian we kill.”

  Its delicate antennae drooped and pressed flat against its skull like the ears of a scolded dog. Its forelegs spread wide as they levered down, dropping me into the shallow water.

  “Good girl!”

  The woman pointed her rod at me.

  “Stay out of places you don’t belong!”

  She gave her arm a twist and a shock wave expanded from the tip. My binds exploded in a poof of
yellow dust that floated down and settled on the water, swept away by the gentle flow.

  “Seraf, away!”

  The wings of the giant mantis burst open and it buzzed away out of the pit. The other mantids spread their wings and leapt off the edge into the void, circling over head as they gained lift. The dry and brittle whoosh of their wing beats faded as they rose out of sight beyond the rim.

  ***

  I lay there, letting the water flow through my hair. I could hear the distant rumblings of the Reapers far below me. I had no desire to return to the ‘Burg, despite the relative safety afforded by Luther’s refuge. But I was also in hurry to fade and return to that putrid cell in the sub-basement of that church.

  In short, I had no desire to go anywhere or do anything. I just lay there like a dead leaf, consigned to wafting away in the next breeze or washing into a stream. I never felt so devoid of feeling.

  The water was warm, at least, so I shifted down into a deeper pool until it covered my belly. I pretended I was in the tub, even though I probably hadn’t an actual bath since I was eight and Mom stopped letting me take all my toy boats into the tub with me, saying that I was a big boy now, that tubs were for washing. She had probably been tired of me wrinkling my skin in those hour-long, sessions. Maybe she had been afraid I would drown.

  Life. It would have been nice if it had all worked out. I did have some good years. The childhood part had been fun, anyway, before the playgroups disintegrated thanks to organized soccer. I remember being startled as a kid, riding my bike alone through the neighborhood and finding not a single kid in any backyard.

  I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but my hyperactive consciousness wouldn’t let me. I could only think of Karla and why she could have abandoned me, if she had abandoned me, and if she hadn’t then what predicaments she was facing wherever she had gone.

  Was she hungry? Was she hurting like me? I was so pissed I had gotten myself stuck in situation where I couldn’t do anything to help her.

  At least I didn’t have to worry about her getting stuck in a pod if she came here. She was no newbie. Like me, she was well beyond that risk. But if she did come here, where would she go? To one of the upper tunnels? To that other sink-hole with the ladder?

  Something went ‘plonk’ into the water. My eyes popped open and there was a figure standing on the rim of the pit. It was a woman, dressed in a cloak that swept down to her ankles. She stepped over the edge and her cloak billowed wide and trailed behind her, slowing her descent like a parachute. She glided over to me and landed gracefully on the balls of her feet, her face bearing the faintest smile.

  I knew that face.

  Chapter 10: Freesoul

  Maybe those bug riders were no angels, but the brilliant apparition gliding down on fabric wings could certainly make a case. Victoria’s voluminous ivory cloak caught the light in a way that made it appear aglow. Palms held high, she spiraled down, its billows and struts responding to every twist of her hands.

  As she passed the seam between rock and root, shadows snuffed her glow. She splashed down lightly on her toes. The folds of her cloak shrank and retracted before they could settle into the water. Striding across a barely submerged ledge, she seemed to walk on water.

  “I saw what happened to you. Are you alright?”

  I gazed up at her, too awed to speak. Spikes of red hair rose like flames off the crown of her head. Her eyes bore a fierce intelligence.

  I nodded.

  She studied me carefully, her calm, calculating expression reminding me of those mantids, though I was pretty sure she had no intention of eating me.

  There was an air of advanced maturity to her features, but with her skin devoid of all blemishes and wrinkles, she didn’t exactly look old. She had the air-brushed look of a video game avatar or an over-processed celebrity.

  She looked askance at the flooded pit and flung one arm out towards the wall, pointing the blade of her hand at where it trickled between the interface of stone and root.

  The roots swelled and clamped off every seepage along the wall. The myriad trickles and gurgles that had echoed through the chamber ceased.

  She then pulled her arms in tight, spread her fingers wide and the shelf of stone beneath me began to shake and slowly rise. My bathwater drained.

  “You are one of Luther’s flock.”

  “Not exactly,” I said.

  “A maverick! We don’t get many mavericks here. Most souls in the Liminality are damaged goods, meek and frightened, emotionally scarred. Permanently, it seems. Even those who free manage to themselves from their chrysalises swarm like flies around personalities … like your … former … mentor.”

  “Luther was no mentor. He’s just a clown.”

  “Well, it doesn’t require a whole lot to inspire a following in the underworld. A little bit of charisma. A few tricks of Weaving.” She blinked at me. Something shifted in her expression. Her stare grew more penetrating, discerning. “What is your name?”

  “James.”

  “There is something odd about you, James. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

  “How did you find your way out?”

  “We just kept following the tunnels till we came to an opening. It wasn’t exactly rocket science.”

  “And so you just wandered off into the countryside, heading … where exactly?”

  “I didn’t know and I didn’t care.”

  “Looking for Frelsi, were you?’

  “It might have been in the back of my mind.”

  Her eyes widened and she tilted her head. “How did you come to learn of Frelsi?”

  “From … you, actually. From that time you showed up Luther in the ‘Burg. And … my friends had heard rumors.”

  “So you just moseyed off, expecting you would just stumble onto this … rumored … place?”

  “Honestly, I was just walking. I had no idea where I was headed. It’s a bad habit of mine. I just take off and roam. Gets me into trouble sometimes. I guess this was one of those times.”

  Her eyes flitted across my body. I crossed my hands over my privates. She stooped and examined my bruises. “Are these fresh?”

  “No.”

  “You’re lucky it was Dashen’s crew who apprehended you. At least they know how to control their mounts. Another band of Dusters and you might have been eviscerated.”

  “Dusters?”

  “That’s what we call the grey souls. You might have noticed their unique style of spell craft. A bit of advice for you. Never go about during the daylight. Mantids are diurnal. Up top, you should always do your traveling at night.”

  I pulled my knees up tight and rested my chin. “I’m in no hurry to go anywhere anytime soon.”

  A wry grin pulled tight on her lips. “Not even to Frelsi?”

  I shrugged. “What’s even there?”

  “Freedom.”

  “To do what?”

  “To exist. That is, only if you commit your existence entirely to this world.”

  “Not sure I’m ready for that. That means I would have to die, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, but then your soul would have the power of self-determination. You could avoid the Deeps.”

  “The what?”

  “Get taken by a Reaper and you will know the Deeps. And there are other paths, more direct. Not a nice place. Just ask any Duster.”

  I hadn’t considered the possibility of my soul being consigned to a place even harsher than here, and it gave me pause. If I could only get my ass out of that dungeon, I wouldn’t have to think about any of this stuff for a long, long while. Brynmawr and Cwm Gwyrdd Farm were sure looking heavenly about now. If only I had realized that and left well enough alone instead of going up to Glasgow.

  “Frelsi, huh? Maybe someday I’ll check it out, if I’m still hanging around this place.”

  She tilted her brow down. “You can’t go to Frelsi on your own, you realize. You must firs
t be vetted. Otherwise, you would be a pariah there.”

  She pulled up her sleeve and displayed the underside of her right arm. A pair of thick, elevated scars formed a circle in two segments.

  “This is the mark of a Freesoul. In your present state, you might be accepted as a Hemisoul and be marked with a semicircle until you broke your ties with the other side.”

  “Freesoul. So that means … you’re dead?”

  “Not merely dead. I am a free soul. There is a process for achieving this, but—”

  “You mean, like some kind of ritual?”

  “It is far too premature and presumptuous to be discussing any of this. You haven’t even been vetted. It is something you would become privy to once or if you became a Hemi.”

  The morass of self-pity in which I had been wallowing had finally drained. I sat up taller. “Okay. I’m game. How do I become one? How do I become a Hemi?”

  “You’re asking me to vet you? Right here? Right now?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “I’m heading into the tunnels to make my rounds. I wouldn’t be able to take you to Frelsi just yet.”

  “That’s fine. It would just be nice to know if I’m good enough for you all. That way I don’t waste my time … and yours.”

  She sighed. “It’s not a matter of adequacy. We’re looking for compatibility.”

  “So, am I compatible?”

  She looked a bit annoyed, as if I were already wasting her time. “Alright, let me ask you a few questions. Are you a selfish person, James, or are you one who would sacrifice for the greater good?”

  “Depends. What kind of sacrifice are you talking about?”

  “Labor, mostly. But if hostilities arise, we might expect participation in our defense.”

  “I’m not afraid of work. And if I was there and we were attacked, I guess it’s only fair for me to help out.” I wrinkled my brow. “But who’s gonna be attacking you? You mean like Dusters?”

  “Precisely. Another question. Are you tolerant of leadership … of authority?”

  “Tolerant? Don’t you mean obedient?”

  “I meant tolerant. One can obey authority while at the same time rejecting it. Tolerance means accepting in your heart the wisdom of authority, even when you don’t fully understand the reasoning behind it.”