by A. Sparrow
“But … if they’re not coming back … why are their bodies so well preserved? Why don’t they just die and rot away?”
“Who knows?” said Urszula. “Maybe there is a purpose. Maybe not. Not everything has to have a reason.”
A part in the masonry opened into a walled garden overgrown with tree ferns, succulents and vines. White and yellow of bubbles draped over of the thicker vines and flowed onto the ground.
I paused under one frothy arch, reluctant to pass beneath. “There’s something in there.” Something striped and greenish moved within the mass.
“No worries,” said Urszula, gliding through. “Just a spittlebug. Sapsuckers. They make the bubbles, and they feed our mantids.”
I touched one of the bubbles, expecting it to pop, but its skin was tough and elastic. It stuck to my finger and I had trouble getting it off.
A pair of tree ferns rustled and a giant mantis, still wearing its saddle thrust between them, its head swiveling back and forth excitedly. The oozing body of a lamb-sized cricket was clutched in its forelegs.
“Seraf! She made it back!”
She rushed over and stroked the mantid’s wing case as if she were calming a horse. “You poor thing. No one’s bothered to remove your saddle.” She ran her fingers down some deep grooves in its tibia, which had crusted over with scaly granules. “And you were injured!”
The mantid dropped the carcass and raised its forelegs at me like a boxer, shifting from side to side on its other four limbs.
“Shush, shush, it’s alright, Seraf. James is a friend.”
She turned to me, grinning. “To her, all Hemis are prey. Never to be eaten—not usually—but to be collected and returned to the pits. So she is a little bit confused. As were my peers. As … am I.”
“Join the club,” I said. “Even I don’t know what’s up or down anymore.”
Urszula unstrapped the saddle and slid it off her mantid. It burst into the sky and did a loop around the garden. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she gazed at the dragonflies jousting high overhead.
“Is that Lalibela up there? I think so.”
“Don’t tell me you have a pet dragonfly as well.”
“These beasts are not pets. They are our allies. If not for us, the Frelsians would hunt them to extinction. You’ve seen their harpoons, their fellstraw.”
She took my hand again and led me past the arch to a larger mass of froth, shaped to form a dwelling. We pressed through a slitted opening into a large igloo-like space that was vaguely reminiscent of Karla’s old chamber. But there were no hangings or carpets. Nothing woven, in fact. The spongy mats had the mushroomy scent of Lille’s shanty walls. There were made of some kind of iridescent slime mold that seemed to be alive and growing.
Urszula settled down onto a thicker patch as if she were settling onto a chaise. She slipped a finger into the brown froth coating her ankle and winced.
“It needs more time,” she said. “My arm is in good shape, but the bones in my ankle were shattered.”
I stood there, all awkward, afraid to touch anything. I had never been inside such a bizarre structure. There was an easy chair-sized lump of orange gel in a corner that heaved rhythmically as if it were breathing.
A pensive look came over her face. She brushed back her wiry hair. “You fed me. I must return the favor.” She pointed overhead to tree-sized vine that looped inside the dwelling. A cluster of what looked large papayas clung to the scaly bark. Golden droplets oozed and dangled from tubercles studding their surface. These were aphids the size of footballs, their mouthparts deeply embedded in the vines.
“Go ahead. Take some of the fluid. It will restore you. Give energy.”
“How?” I said, looking around for some kind of receptacle.
She got up onto her chaise-thingie and ripped a leaf off the vine. It was indented in the center, making a sort of shallow bowl. Holding it against the knobby nozzles protruding from the abdomen of one of the larger aphids, she rubbed its leathery plates.
A large glob of viscous fluid grew at the end of the knob. She touched the hollow of the leaf against is and it poured in, jiggling like a loose jello. I could only think of milking Renfrew’s goats.
She offered me the leaf in both hands. “Drink up. You will like it.
I came forward and took the leaf from her, but hesitated when I saw there were particles like floating in the goop.
“I take it like this,” she said, stretching out and placing her mouth directly on one of the aphid’s tubercles, sucking up a large glob of the golden fluid.
No way was I going to do that. Those king crab-like legs, jointed antennae and multi-beaded eyes creeped me out. One appeared to giving live birth to a miniature version of itself.
But I felt bad refusing her hospitality. After all, I had made her eat some of Lille’s gruel. I took the plunge and gobbled up a droplet from the leaf. It tasted like a cross between watered-down honey and chicken broth. It stoked my appetite. I ended up licking the leaf clean. She handed down another leaf.
She hopped back down and reclined on her patch of ooze. I just stood there, arms at my sides, staring.
“Relax,” she said. “No one will harm you here.”
So I went over to that orange thing in the corner, hoping it was furniture and not some kind of slumbering pet, and settled my frame down onto it.
I sank into it like it was a slab of ice cream that melted and refroze away from my pressure points, but supporting me where I needed support. It was probably the most comfortable chair I had ever sat in, better than memory foam.
Urszula smiled at me. It felt strange, seeing that relaxed and easeful grin directed at me. It had happened before, but initial impressions were hard to shake. I still had a hard time accepting that her facial muscles could form such an expression. The absence of tension transformed her into an entirely different sort of creature—less demon, more human.
And it wasn’t just her being transformed. My head felt like I had taken a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach. A spigot opened and drained away my anxieties. A steady buzz thrummed through my nerves and veins. I almost felt giddy. Was it the nectar?
My mind began to wander in a dozen different directions. I wanted to know stuff. I wanted to figure things out.
“This Yaqob guy,” I said. “Is he like your … king … or something?”
“Hah! He wishes,” said Urszula. “He is just the oldest. One of the last of Neueden’s Founders. My brothers and sisters defer out of respect. Soon, he will be joining the Old Ones. My brothers and sisters may mourn, but I won’t miss him.”
“Oh? Is there bad blood between you?”
Unruffled, Urszula took a long, deep sigh. “I am just tired of his interference … with everything.”
“So if he’s not your leader, who is?”
She shrugged. “Nobody. We have none. We are each to our own. When we act in concert, it is by consensus. Sad to say, but the ants are better organized. We have plenty to bind us towards a common cause, but it is not always easy to coordinate actions. It can be chaos at times. It is a wonder we have not already been exterminated.”
She hopped down from the chair, landing on her feet without out even wincing and strolled back to her chaise, with no trace of a limp.
It made me think of Bern’s chronic leg issues. “Hey, uh … where can I get some of that brown slime they put on you? That stuff’s pretty amazing.”
She closed her eyes and frowned. “It is not for Hemisouls. But … for you? If you ever need some, you let me know.” She yawned and rolled over onto her side.
“Hey … uh … they wanted me out of here by nightfall. Shouldn’t we be—?”
“Allow me a short nap,” she mumbled. “And then I will take you.” She slumped and I knew she was already out. But there was no way I was going to be able to follow suit. I was way too hyped.
***
I don’t know if there something in that aphid juice causing it or what, my thoughts began to
run wild, as I sat there, sinking deeper into that orange blob. Somehow I became convinced that I was deceased.
I mean, it made sense. Why else hadn’t I faded by now? I couldn’t even remember how long ago it had been since I had seen the living side of things.
And if that was true, the implications were mind-bending, because my soul hadn’t been whisked away to the Deeps. It meant that I was no longer a Hemi, but a Freesoul.
I just sat there, digging my fingers into the blob, thinking: “Whoa!” It meant no more movies. No more pizza. No more sequels to the Game of Thrones. No more NFL, NBA or MLB. No more wandering through the cities of Earth.
But how was this possible? Going free wasn’t supposed to happen unless a soul was high enough in the mountains to be out of the influence of the Core, whatever the hell that meant.
But you know, I had already demonstrated that the usual rules didn’t apply to me. It began with me freeing myself from that pod, and then Weaving a glass giraffe from nothing on my first attempt, and then blowing apart those tunnels, Reaper and all in a maelstrom of hate; and just a little while ago, accepting Yaqob’s challenge, shattering his favorite mug with a command of Spell Craft that took most Dusters a millennium in the Deeps to acquire.
Karla, Lille and Bern had all said I was special. Even Luther recognized something different about me. So maybe I was, Maybe I was special, even more so than they suspected.
There had to be a reason for this gift. But what could possibly that be? And why me? Why, of all people, would the powers that be pick James Moody of Ft. Pierce, Florida?
Suddenly, I felt all claustrophobic, like fate was clamping down on me. I needed some open air. I needed to see some sky.
I peeled myself out of that blob and charged across the floor, pushing through the wall of bubbles and crossed through the garden to the wall that enclosed it. I climbed onto the ruins of what had once been a stone tower. Just a jagged stub remained.
Across the valley, the spires of Frelsi were barely visible, hugging the side of a massive mountain. Other mesas and spires, shrouded my mist, stretched off into the distance in either direction.
I stepped through a jumble of blocks to a place that kind of looked like a throne. I sat down on it and this thrill shot through me, as if this makeshift throne had the power to king me.
Screw Yaqob and the so-called Masters of Frelsi, this was gonna be my domain. No Freesoul or Duster could do what I could do. No Reaper could touch me. And now that I had my own scepter, I had mastery over any giant bugs as well.
Too bad that mantis of Urszula’s hadn’t gotten the message. I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and found that damned creature—Seraf—stalking me. Her head popped up at the juncture of two walls, and the next thing I knew, she had alighted on the stone platform and was coming after me.
I pulled that crooked stick out of my back pocket and waggled it at her. That immediately agitated her. She pulled up her barbed forelegs and clacked her mouthparts. But at least she came at me more warily. Evidently, she had some experience with scepters, and even a wimpy little wand like mine was enough to give her pause.
If only I knew for sure how to summon the power that obliterated Yaqob’s mug. Being angry apparently greased the skids for any kind of magic in this place. I could pretend I hated bugs, which was generally true, except that I kind of liked mantids. I always thought they were cool.
But that line of thinking was doing nothing for my scepter. There was no plasma burbling anywhere in my nerves, just me and crooked stick and a mantid that could eviscerate me with one swipe.
So we did this little parry and dance around the stone platform, circling like boxers. And you know, as we got into it, I did start to get a little pissed off. Here, I was, scheming to be the master of a universe, and a dang bug wanted to turn me into an appetizer.
Stuff started to happen. I felt the energy loosen and gather in my nerves. Now, I wasn’t thrilled about what was about to come down. Urszula was going to freak out if I wounded her pet. But it would be no different if she was some girl with a pit bull. Self-defense was self-defense.
And then there was this massive ripping sound overhead. I looked all around and found this glider-sized dragonfly screaming down at my head. I dove between some stone blocks as six sets of claws raked through the space I had occupied just moments ago.
Urszula came stumbling out of her abode, her eyes all puffy and bleary. The dragonfly made a swooping turn for another pass. “Lalibela! Seraf! No! Bad girls. Shoo! James is a friend!” She waved her arms. Seraf hopped back down into the garden and clambered through the overlapping crowns of some tree ferns. The monster dragonfly soared out over the precipice.
I crawled off the edge of the platform and lowered myself back into the sunken garden, running back to Urszula and her bubble house.
“What are you doing out here?” she said. “Are you crazy? You should have never left the safety of my house. These insects hunger for flesh. And my friends, they are jealous. They would take any opportunity to turn you to dust.”
“I was just … getting some fresh air.”
“Fresh air.” She shook her head and came over, sitting down on some steps built into the wall, holding her head in her hands.
“Are you okay?”
“I am just … waking up. It takes time … things are fuzzy after a healing.”
“You’re ankle! It looks like new.”
“Yes, but I am not yet whole. I need a new scepter. It won’t be easy finding one as suited to me as the one I lost.”
“You can have mine.”
She smirked. “It does not work that way. That one belongs to you. But in the future, you might want to choose something a little more durable, and perhaps more impressive. Perception matters in a confrontation. Your scepter intimidates no one. But, in a sense, that might be good. Your foes might underestimate you.”
“Hey listen,” I said. “This is gonna sound crazy, but … do you think it might be possible that I’m dead?”
She squinted, puzzled.
“You are a Hemisoul. You are half dead. One foot in the grave, as they say.”
“No. I mean like totally dead. A Freesoul.”
“Impossible. There are only two ways for a soul to be free. Our way, through the Deeps, and the way of the Frelsians—below the glaciers.”
“Well, I’ve got reason to believe that there might be a third way.”
Urszula just stood and stared at me, one eyebrow arching high. “That nectar has really gone to your head, hasn’t it?”
“I’m serious. I was in pretty poor shape on the other side. And I’ve been here so long without fading.”
“But you have been too close to the Core the entire time you have been with me. Even here on this mountain the Core has sway. Weaving is possible here.”
“But what if I’m different? What if the rules don’t apply to me?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean, up till now I’ve been kind of dismissing all these weird talents that keep popping up, because that’s me. It’s what I do. I’m humble. On Earth I had no special skills whatsoever. Not in sports, not in music, language, so it was easy to be humble. But the stuff that’s happening to me here. These strange talents. What if they were given to me for a reason? What if I was put here for a special purpose?”
She shook her head at me and turned to go inside.
“Hey, look at me. I’m serious! You have to admit, these powers I have, they’re unusual, right?”
“Yes. They are not usual.”
“So what if I was send here for a reason? I mean, you read about these things in stories. Someone with special powers who shows up to be your … like … saviour, or something? Your … uniter? Whatever. You guys weren’t expecting someone like that … were you?”
Her face went blank momentarily and then she guffawed. “You think you are some kind of ‘chosen one?’ Some kind of Messiah? You think because you can make dust with you
r little, crooked stick, suddenly you think you are like Jesus?”
Each laugh was like a punch in the gut.
“No. That’s not it at all. I just thought it was weird that I had these special powers. I mean why do I have them if they weren’t meant to be used … for a special purpose?”
“Mistakes happen,” said Urszula. “Freaks of nature. Flukes. Black Swans. Look at Fea? Why is an eight year old girl here? That is not supposed to happen. Never are there children in the Liminality. Except for her. The forces that control this place, whatever, whoever they are, they are not perfect. We of Neueden were never meant to leave the Deeps, yet here we are. And still they cannot keep us contained. The flow has slowed, but to this day, we have Latecomers arriving. So, yes, you are special, but please do not think it is part of some grand plan. It is just accident of luck that you can do these things. Be grateful and forget about it.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I said, as my ego settled slowly back to earth like a hot air balloon with its burners extinguished. “It’s not like I’m the best Weaver … or Duster out there. I’m just … precocious.”
“Enough of these pointless contemplations,” she said. “It is time we go.”
“Go where?”
“Anywhere you wish, so long as it is off this mesa. Yaqob wants you gone by nightfall, and if I don’t take you now I do not doubt he would throw you off the mesa himself. You will not survive the night if you stay. My brothers and sisters are offended by your presence. And I have no scepter with which to protect you.”
“Well, okay,” I said, glancing at the heap of stones that only minutes ago had been my throne. Maybe that aphid juice was starting to wear off. I would be thinking twice about taking a hit of that stuff again.
“So where do you wish to go?”
I had to think about that a little bit. If I was already dead—and I still clung to that notion, despite Urszula’s skepticism—then it didn’t matter where I went. But if I wasn’t dead yet and I wanted to become a Freesoul, I had to be up in the mountains, away from the Core.
And then there was Karla to think about. She might be waiting for me in that hollow or she might not, depending on how things are going on the other side. If she had discovered I was dead, she might not be too thrilled. Come to think of it, if that was the case, she might already be here. What was I doing on this freaking mesa?