by A. Sparrow
Watching the two of them bicker made Karla queasy. It was like when things started to go bad with her family, when her father’s religious obsessions began to intrude into their relationship. Something fundamental had changed in the way they spoke to one another and Karla could sense it happening here.
Friction between Bern and Lille was nothing new, but there was now something strained and desperate about it. Things seemed unstable, as if their equilibrium had been upended.
As far as impressions of Frelsi were concerned, she sympathized more with Bern, but didn’t want to voice her reservations lest she spoil Lille’s celebratory mood.
She was genuinely happy for Lille, whose wishes were finally coming true. Her face and body looked absolutely stunning. Her days of scrapping to stay out of the Deeps would soon be over.
“You know what, my dear?” said Lille. “I’m thinking that it’s quite possible that we might find James up at the glaciers.”
“Where?”
“The glaciers. He gave us the impression that he … I’m sorry to say … that he wasn’t long for the world, on the other side. He was very worried about his physical condition.”
“Did he say he was getting worse?”
Lille nodded. “And the fact that you are here right now doesn’t bode well for getting him timely medical attention.”
“Oh no, not at all. Right now, my friends and I are in a car heading up to Inverness. We have already ruled out Glasgow. We’re closing in on him.”
“Still, it would be wise of him to hedge his bets. No? I bet he’s gone up to the glaciers, just in case. He’s clever, that one. Knows how to take care of himself.”
The curtain screening the gap above the eaves began to glow from a direct blast of sunlight, but no sun could beam as brightly as Lille just did.
“And here comes the dawn! This means the gates to the Sanctuary are open. Any minute now, Alec will be coming to fetch me.”
She pulled off her wrap, revealing a shockingly petite and slender torso. “Help me with my dress, dear? There’s no zipper, just ties in back. It was the best I could do. Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind, I would love to have my hair in braids. Bern’s all thumbs when it comes to that kind of thing. It would be so nice to have a feminine touch. Or, do you suppose I should just tuck it up in a simple bun? Oh Bern, would you mind stepping out for a moment? That way I can dazzle you with the complete package when I’m all put together.
Nodding, Bern bit his lip and limped out of the shanty. Karla felt sorry for him. She had never seen him look so old and broken, especially in comparison with the new Lille. That contrast along with their imminent, forced separation must have bitten at his soul.
And then she realized, if it was true that James was up at the glaciers waiting to become free, then she might soon be in the same boat as Bern. Soon, there would be a wall between her and James—an actual, physical wall—along with rules to keep them apart. The more desperately she searched for him, it seemed the farther away they drifted.
Lille chattered on, but her words were just butterflies fluttering aimlessly as Karla wallowed in her own thoughts. As she braided Lille’s honey-blonde locks, she already felt more like a Hemi tending to her Master than a kindred soul helping out a friend.
Chapter 31: Waiting
Urszula had me sit in front of her on a saddle that wasn’t really large enough for two riders. She feared Seraf’s shifty maneuvers might take me by surprise and spill me, and frankly, so did I.
While she adjusted the strapping, I sat there gazing out over the void we imminently intended to occupy. My stomach tumbled at the prospect. It was like waiting in line for a wicked, scary rollercoaster like that beastly Hulk contraption at the Islands of Adventure theme park.
To distract myself from my imminent doom, I reached forward and stroked Seraf’s leathery neck, one of the few soft spots in her armor. The insect’s hide was a lot warmer than I expected given her cold blooded nature.
Holes in her side wheezed with every movement. She had no lungs, just ventilation ports that ran the whole length of her body.
And those compound eyes, the way they curved around, some of them had to be watching me, even though she faced straight ahead. Freaky.
Urszula’s cool breath wafted past my ear and her hair brushed gently against my neck as she leaned forward.
“Hold on,” she said. “We are ready to go.”
She pressed one hand firmly against my stomach, claw-like nails digging into my skin. The other held an elaborate set of reins connected to six points on the mantid’s integument that allowed her to command to her mount with a flick of her wrist.
“Yaaah!” she said, her voice gone deep and guttural.
Seraf scuttled to the edge of the mesa, opened her wing cases and hopped over the brink without a moment’s hesitation. I clamped my eyes shut. I couldn’t bear to look. I pictured us plummeting down the side of the mesa, bashing our brains against the rocks.
I had witnessed the helicopter-like power of Seraf’s flutter, but I wasn’t prepared for the vigor of her vibrations. Her thorax rattled the heck out of the saddle. It was way worse than Renfrew’s Suzuki, more like a Harley with a thrown pushrod. Each oscillation ratcheted the levers that drove her wing beats.
Once we got going, I settled down and actually manage to open my eyes and enjoy the smooth, controlled glide all the way down to the banks of the river. It sure beat being manhandled up a cliff in jaws of a giant ant, I can tell you that.
Seraf was capable of only short stretches of flight, so we made the rest of the journey in short hops, passing over the many twisting channels of the river bed to the opposite bank. From there it was out onto the outwash basin where the river ceased to be a river, and then around the bastion of foothills that guarded the massif harboring Frelsi.
The landings, however, were a little too abrupt for my comfort. An F-18 landing on an aircraft carrier probably had a gentler go of it. Seraf’s tactic was to glide and then stall about ten feet off the ground, dropping straight down and hard on bent legs that cushioned much, but not all of the impact. My poor crotch took the brunt of these impacts. Talk about saddle sore.
Urszula must have taken pity on me, because when we pulled into the box canyon, she guided Seraf down with a nearly horizontal approach, skimming over the tops of bushes. We skidded across a dried mudflat and curled to a stop at the edge of a pond.
I sat there, gathering my breath when, without warning, Urszula shoved me hard off the saddle. I flailed, fingers grasping, slipping on the mantid’s sleek and slick cuticle. I landed in a patch of dust.
Urszula laughed, hopping down nimbly beside me, her eyes displaying something between malice and mischief. Now that she was healed, it was almost scary to see the bundle of wiry energy that was her normal self. The days of hauling her around like an invalid were over.
Seraf stomped around, antennae to the ground. It seemed agitated or excited.
“What’s up with her?” I said.
“She has discovered a scent,” said Urszula. “Most likely a Hemi.”
“Really? Can she tell if it’s a girl … or boy?
Urszula shook her head. “She is not that discriminating. Prey are prey.”
She gazed with distaste at the patch of dried mud and shrubbery that surrounded the stagnant pond.
“Are you sure you want to stay here? This place is so desolate.”
“This is where I told Karla to meet me. Though, I have to admit, it sure looked a lot more enticing at night.”
“This Karla … is she … your woman?”
“She’s my friend,” I said. “I don’t have a … a woman.”
Urszula pinched her eyes at me. “She is your woman. Don’t fool yourself.” She kicked at the dust with a pair of ugly sandals that looked like they had been cobbled together from scabs. “This place is quite exposed. You will have a hard time keeping out of sight. It is not a place we regularly patrol, but I can’t guarantee that my brothers and sister
s will never come here. Yaqob, in particular, will take offense if he discovers you are here.”
“Can’t you just ask them to leave me alone?”
She frowned. “You did the favor for me, not them. They owe you nothing.”
“Not even for a friend of a friend?”
She shook her head. “It is not easy being a maverick here. There is a reason they are rare.”
“Rare? Does that mean there are other free agent Hemis … like me?”
“There have been a few,” she said. “Most, if not all, are likely down in the Deeps by now. They don’t seem to last very long on the surface.” She grinned. “Thanks to those like me.”
She squinted up at the diving sun, whose bluish tint seemed to green up a little bit as it approached the horizon. “Now I must go, while there is light. In the heights there grows a special kind of tree. The wood is like iron and sinew, but more importantly it is sensitive to the will, responding like no other. That is where I will make my scepter.” She glanced over at the stick jutting out of my pocket. “Not all wood responds. You got lucky with that twig. But maybe I will take you to that grove sometime, find you a real scepter.”
“So … I’ll see you again?” I said. I don’t know what I was expecting or hoping, but the idea of her coming back for a visit warmed me. I guess I thought she would just ditch me here and run off, never to be seen.
Urszula was a strange girl, the strangest I had ever known, but inside she was still just a girl. I had no idea how much the Deeps had warped her thinking, how much humanity remained, but it was there. She intrigued me. Now that I knew a little about her existence, I wanted to know more.
Urszula’s eyes narrowed and this smirk moved like a slow ripple across her face. “Unless you want me to stay away.”
“Oh no, not at all. Feel free to come by. I mean, that … would be nice. I would like that.”
“Nice?” How could it be nice? I am not nice.”
“Just an expression, I was—”
She grabbed me and pulled me close, pressing lips against mine that I never imagined could feel so soft. She smelled like the first moments of a summer rain when the dust rose from the pavement, all ionized and electric. She tasted like bitter greens with a dash of salt.
I started to push her away, but she latched on and wrapped herself around me. She felt so lithe and vital, my body couldn’t help but respond. It wouldn’t let me be the first to let go.
But then the tip of her tongue tapped the back of my throat and I gagged. I ripped myself free and staggered back, gasping and coughing.
“I can’t do this,” I said.
“Do what?” She folded her arms, smirking.
“I never, uh … I’m a virgin.”
She stood there with her chin held high, her stance wide and haughty.
“You thought that we were going to…?” Her eyes went huge. A massive grin blew apart her smirk.
I couldn’t look in her in the eye. She had been toying with me, teasing me. That’s what this was all about.
“You, a virgin? Really? You mean … you never…?” She cackled and howled, falling to her knees, shaking and shuddering. The way she arched her spine and rolled her head back, it looked like she was having a grand mal seizure. But she was only laughing.
“I can’t believe … I almost had myself … a virgin! A virgin!”
“Why is that so funny? I’m only nineteen.”
Her convulsions calmed and she swept her wild hair behind ears more delicate than I expected. She picked herself up off the ground.
“I was thirteen,” she said, her eyes gone cold. “When I lost my virginity … and my life.”
She whistled for Seraf, who had wandered off across the canyon. She bounded and fluttered over to us. Urszula leapt into the saddle before the mantid could even fold her wings.
She twisted the reins and Seraf’s wings exploded into action, blowing grit in my eyes, blinding me. They soared away, without a word of goodbye or even a glance. I watched them disappear over the canyon wall into the foothills, feeling used and confused.
***
I meandered down to the edge of the pond and stared into its opaque waters. It wasn’t much a pond. Contracted in its muddy socket, a remnant of its rainy season glory, it supported about as much life as a tar pit.
I carved myself a seat into the muddy bank—my new ‘throne’. Urszula’s derision had cured me of my Messiah complex. I wasn’t feeling all that special anymore.
Whether or not I was some kind of savior or ‘Chosen One,’ I was still fairly certain I was dead. When I reached inside myself it just seemed like all connections to the other side had been severed, that I was fully committed to this world now.
That should have left me despondent, but I was actually in a pretty good mood. I had done a good deed, made a new friend. I had been among demons and lived to tell.
I realized that there wasn’t much I could do about being dead. I had to make the best of it, the same way I worked things out when we lost Dad and then the house and then Mom.
Loss is a given in any existence. You just reshuffle priorities, adapt to the new conditions and move on.
Besides, things weren’t so bad here. And they would only get better once I found my niche.
I just needed someplace where people would leave me alone, a place above ground but close enough to the Core so that Weaving would not be an issue. I could create my own version of Luthersburg and populate it with souls of my own vetting.
It wouldn’t take much to qualify. A little distrust of authority. Tolerance for differences. That’s all anybody would need to become a member of my little republic. Maybe I could even call it Jamestown, if that wasn’t too pretentious.
Once Bern and Lille got themselves freed maybe they could be convinced to come down and join me. And Karla—if she still wanted to be free. If she still want to give up on life. I would feel bad asking her to do something like that, now that she had broken loose of her father. I had no right to take that away from her.
Before it got dark, I needed to find myself a shelter. There were boulder fields at the base of the canyon walls, some scrubby bushes, but no actual trees. They might provide some cover.
Urszula was right. The place was pretty desolate. The pond had shrunk away from its original banks. There was absolutely nothing living in this still water, not a ripple marred its surface. It made me wonder if the water might be toxic.
But maybe all it needed was a good rain to green up the meadows and get some water flowing through the creek. It had to rain down here in the lowlands sometime.
I supposed the thing to do would be to Weave myself a cabin or something. But I had no desire to go climbing down into any pits to harvest roots.
The night Urszula had attacked Karla I had been able to modify those trees, as if their fundamental particles were also roots. It seemed that anything made of flesh or vegetation was fair game.
I pulled my twig out of my pocket and stuck it into the mud. I glared at it, trying to make it feel ashamed that it was a twig, making it want to strive to be something bolder. I stuck my hand out, shaping the air with broad sweeping motions, and wouldn’t you know, the thing started to move.
First, the corkscrew-like twist straightened itself out. The wood flattened. A point formed at the tip. It lengthened, turned grey and acquired a sheen. I found myself looking at a samurai sword just like the ones I had made before. This seemed to be the tool most suited to my soul.
Why a samurai sword? I’m not really sure. I had admired one I had seen at a pawn shop in downtown Ft. Pierce, but I had never laid my hands on one in real life. I was a big fan of the Kill Bill movies, not to mention Akira Kurosawa. Maybe that was all my imagination needed to make the choice. To think that twig had a sword in it waiting to be all this time. I dare Yaqob to laugh at me now.
I plucked the sword from the mud and swirled it in the air like a big swizzle stick, trying to stir the pond with my will alone. Nothing happened. Bu
t I’m not sure why I expected anything. This was water, not roots.
A scrawny, little bush grew by itself on the opposite bank of the pond. It looked half dead. There were hardly any leaves left on its branches.
I remembered my favorite tree—a majestic weeping willow that had grown in my neighbor’s yard in Ohio, in full view of my bedroom window. Shaggy as a mastodon, even in winter, it would leaf out so early in the spring with the most brilliant chartreuse that was like a signal that the world was waking up to summer.
I took that sword and pointed it at that bush, letting my feelings flow. I didn’t feel one bit angry, just disillusioned and sentimental and lonely. Apparently the art of Weaving could draw energy from any strong emotion, not just anger, because that bush responded to my sword, shaking and shuddering as if a flock of birds were flitting about its branches.
But I wanted more. I stood and extended my arm, and the bush rose with me, its stem expanding into a trunk, its twigs extending into long, floppy canes. I kept at it until the bark grew thick and grooved and its branches dangled over the pond just like that willow in Ohio.
Mission accomplished, I sat down on the muddy bank feeling mighty pleased with myself. With a little time and imagination I might actually make this place into something really nice. But that would be pointless without anyone to share it with. I might be a loner, but I was not hermit. I needed Karla here with me.
I looked back out over the plains, hoping I’d be lucky enough again to spot a familiar figure striding across the barrens. And would you believe it? There was something out there that looked like a person, standing.
Heart galumphing, I popped up and started running towards it only to be halted in my tracks. It was just a dead tree, animated by the shimmer of heat waves. In other words, a mirage.
***
As twilight approached, my optimism eroded, replaced by a deepening pool of dread that dragged me down. I could have used a hit of that aphid nectar, something to counteract the icy seepage flooding into my bilges and weighing down my keel.