by Ade Grant
She’s an infant, he thought, suddenly understanding an aspect of the creature before him. It’s subtle, but it’s there; she’s merely a child, and she doesn’t understand what’s happening.
“Your mind stinks! It makes me want to puke. Urrgh! Yuk! I wouldn’t eat a thought from your head if I’d been in this cell a thousand years. I think a Gradelding must have snuck up during your sleep and shat in your skull. Or perhaps you fell in the sea and the Ethusmanier laid eggs in your ear? Yes, perhaps that’s what must have put that stink in there?”
“Or perhaps it was the Wasp?”
The Oracle suddenly stopped her ranting and her once knowing, then furious, eyes widened with fright. Colour drained from them, as colour would drain from a frightened cheek.
“What do you know of the Wasp? How could you? Unless?” Her hands suddenly flew up, covering her face. “Unless?” Fear became terror. The Oracle leapt to her feet, jumping up onto her bunk as if he were a rat nipping at her toes. “Get away from me! Get away! Don’t look at me with that horrid head of yours! Don’t bring the Wasp here!”
“What is the Wasp?” He grabbed the bars, pressing his face closer, eager to learn. “Where can I find it?”
“I didn’t wake it! I wasn’t the one! The Pope, he knows! The Pope! The Pope!” she screamed, bawling like a frightened toddler. “Just stop looking at me. Please, please leave me alone! The Pope woke it, it’s his fault!”
Behind him, the Mariner heard an intake of breath.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“The Pope!” Heidi hissed back, although the Oracle, still wailing and shrieking, was beyond listening. “We’ve been searching for him as long as any Anomenemy. He’s worshipped across the whole ocean.”
“Where is this Pope?” he yelled at the Oracle. “Where is he?”
“North! Past the waterfall, where the air is cold and the Ethusmanier swim. He lives on the Moors, not the sea. He hates the sea. I would too if I’d woken the Wasp!”
“But what is it? What is the Wasp? What’s happening to the world? Is the Wasp a demon, stealing our world from us, is that it?”
The Oracle, suddenly stopped crying and peered at him between her fingers. “No, you’ve gotten it all wrong, the Wa-”
The gap between her fingers exploded with dark blood as a bullet pierced her hand and then her face, shattering skull, snuffing out life. The creature known as the Oracle was thrown back against the wall, where she stood for a second or so, teetering on shaky legs, before sliding down into a heap. Stunned silence followed and the Mariner, ears ringing, turned to Harris, his shotgun still smoking from the blast.
“We have the location of the Pope,” he said, unapologetic. The Mariner’s fury was dark. “He’s the most notorious Anomenemy in the whole ocean. Other than that, I can’t see how listening to any further heresy can help.”
“It was going to tell us the truth!”
“What truth?” Harris laughed. “Do you think that creature knew anything? You’re not the only one to spend time with that witch. She was mad, and she’d tell you anything to buy her own freedom. But that doesn’t stop it being nonsense. Besides, we know what’s happening to the world. Mavis told us. We know what needs to be done.”
34
FIVE-FEET HIGH AND RISING
“WORD OF THE POPE FIRST came to us through graffiti scrawled on walls within abandoned ships. Usually they would be in the most squalid of cabins, the sort littered with drugs and faeces, but later they appeared in more extravagant abodes. At first we thought they were deluded references to some shared hallucination, a mass dream if you will, but as we began scavenging more and more vessels, we began to realise that the Pope was real, and had wide reach.”
Heidi spoke with a slow sincerity, easily heard by those gathered around her upon the Neptune, a small fire lighting their faces in an otherwise stiflingly dark night. McConnell sat behind Grace, with her leaning against him, not just for warmth, but for protection from the ghost story being told, for that’s what the Pope had become across the endless ocean: a whispered ghost story.
Crowded aboard the Neptune were a number of Mavis’ loyal followers, those chosen to remain with Heidi and Harris whilst they searched for the Pope. The rest had been returned to the Beagle, to protect the old lady and her research.
The devils, suspicious of strangers as ever, had growled and spat at the new crew, before scampering into the lower chambers where they could have peace. For the Mariner himself it was all part of an ever increasingly uncomfortable intrusion, like being put on display. Still, if it helped him find the Pope, the Wasp, and the Island, then perhaps the discomfort was worth it.
“I’ve heard of the Pope,” said McConnell. “But only a little. It was something sailors used to talk about in Sighisoara, though they were careful to hide their words near me. I’m a religious man, and they knew not to bring heresy to my door, yet still I couldn’t help but pick up scraps of information here and there. His followers lurk at all ends of the world, though I’ve never met one myself. Crazy I hear, and dangerous, all dreaming of performing some sort of pilgrimage to receive his blessing.”
Heidi confirmed McConnell’s story. “We’ve heard that too, some event called ‘Mass’, though what goes on is a mystery. We’ve never found one of their followers alive to interrogate.”
“But you have found followers?” The Mariner was intrigued.
“Oh yes, but dead. Long dead. Most of the time suicide, but sometimes I’m just not sure. I can’t imagine someone mutilating themselves to such extremes just to end their own life.”
“So what do you think happened?”
“Rivalries in the sect? Internal struggles? It’s impossible to tell without understanding how his cult operates. What we suspect is that he’s an Anomenemy, perhaps the greatest Anomenemy, the one with influence enough that it’ll make all the difference once he’s removed.”
“So this Moor the Oracle mentioned, do you think that’s where the Mass is held?”
“It’s the only clue we’ve ever had.”
McConnell was surprised that the Mariner only asked questions. “Arthur, you’ve travelled more than the rest of us, surely you’ve heard of the Pope?”
He could only shake his head in response, he’d never heard the name before. Something about it rang a bell, but his shroud of ignorance proved too thick. “Perhaps I haven’t been asking the right questions.”
“What about this Wasp of yours then? What’s that all about?”
“I don’t know. Just a name.” The Mariner clenched his hands in frustration. “It’s somewhere, lodged inside. I just can’t get at it.” He looked up at McConnell, his eyes tired. “Does it mean anything to you?”
McConnell thought for a moment, massaging his temples. “I remember sitting in Lloyd’s Park, back in Croydon. It was one of those rare days in summer when you can actually sit in the sun and feel warm for a change. Not that false warmth that we sometimes kid ourselves into believing we’re experiencing, but genuine heat. I was relaxing, sitting back in the grass, when this wasp came and landed upon my hand. Instinct told me to kill it, or try to shake it off, but a logical part of me said, that’s how you get stung! Let it be. These creatures don’t want to sting you, they’re just insects reacting to their environment. Let it be and it’ll fly away in its own time. So I held my hand still and watched the wasp as it trotted across my hand, as leisurely as you please. And you know what? It looked at me.”
“Insects don’t look at you!” Grace giggled.
“It did! It looked right at me, into my eyes with its beady black ones. And do you know what happened next?”
“What?”
“The bastard stung me! It looked me right in the eye and jabbed me with its fat behind!” The audience began to laugh, but the reverend wasn’t done. “Any normal beast would have reacted to this, but not I! I am a free-thinking rational human being. I wasn’t going to react to a bit of pain. So I tensed, but did not move. No wasp wa
s going to force me into retaliation. I was going to do the rational thing and let it fly off, none-the-wiser to the offence it had caused.”
The audience, enjoying the light hearted distraction leaned in close for the inevitable climax.
“But did it fly off? Did it bollocks! The damned thing walked across my hand and then – I swear I’m not making this up – it looked me in the eye, just as before, did a little jig, and stung me again!”
Giggling, Grace teased the reverend. “That’s cos you’re dumb.” He laughed and jabbed her in the side, making her squeal.
“It was then that I learned,” he concluded, “that wasps are the only creatures outside of primates that act like man. They’re vicious, spiteful little monsters. Just like us.” McConnell’s eyes glazed over for a moment as he recalled something from long ago. “‘Cancer won’t catch and wasps won’t sting, man would owe no God a thing.’”
“What’s that?” the Mariner asked, curious at the little chant.
“Something I used to tease my father with. It wound him up. ‘In a perfect world.. yadda yadda yadda.’ It meant that most of the world’s problems – the old world - stemmed from religion. All that fucked up shit in the Middle-East, Northern Ireland, Africa, everywhere. All down to religion.” He sighed and looked into the fire, his face suddenly drawn. “I was wrong though. Or right, depending on how you look at it. Turns out we do owe God something, and this ain’t a perfect world.”
After a long period of silence, McConnell spoke again. “Perhaps you have been asking the wrong questions? Perhaps there’s nothing to seek out at all?”
The Mariner gave McConnell a warning glance, urging him not to begin on his Jesus Haych Christ theory again, but the reverend continued regardless, addressing Heidi with his ideas.
“Things are falling apart. They disappear, they are forgotten, they are lost to us.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s the influence of the Anomenemies, undermining the natural laws.”
“Well, I call it the Shattering, and in all my years I’ve never seen anything come back. Have you?”
“No, never. Though it would be difficult to know when something forgotten returns. You might not notice.”
“True, but some things are unmissable. Such as whole islands.”
Harris, who’d previously been keeping quiet and listening to the exchange, responded. “Hang on, are you saying you’ve seen an island pop into existence?”
“I have,” McConnell nodded. “The zoo upon which your ship crashed used to be a part of Sighisoara, the town I am from. But one day it tore itself from the mainland and drifted away, not just physically, but in the town’s collective consciousness too. Most forgot; only a couple of us remembered and soon learnt to keep quiet. Eventually it disappeared from the horizon altogether.”
“So what happened? How did it come back?”
“These two brought it back,” he said, tapping Grace on the head and then pointing to the Mariner. “They brought it back by remembering!”
Grace sank into his lap, embarrassed by the sudden attention. The Mariner himself continued to stare into the fire. What was the point of all this?
“If only we could remember all the things that are lost, or make sure that nothing else becomes forgotten.. then maybe.” He shrugged, suddenly finding himself out on a limb without a proper theory. “I don’t know, but I saw the island return. I saw it. And it wasn’t returned by killing monsters or breaking déjà vu, but by two people focusing their minds.”
“Why these two?” Harris asked.
Don’t say it, thought the Mariner.
“Well...”
Don’t!
“I think they are special.”
Fortunately for the Mariner, McConnell stopped there, feeling a bit foolish. No-one laughed though, Heidi and Harris studied the three travellers closely, mulling over McConnell’s speech. The Mariner could feel their minds whirring. “Enough,” he said even though they’d been sitting in silence for a minute or so. “We’ll explore other ideas once we’ve found the Pope, whoever he is, and make him talk.” Stretching out on the deck, he took a swig from his hip flask, forever kept full now they’d been able to resupply at the Beagle. It hurt his stomach, but felt nice to have the thoughts in his head subdued. “This is my ship, so my rules. Shut up and get some sleep.”
The journey north lasted several weeks, and in that time the people aboard slowly began to become acclimatised to each other. Mavis’ foot soldiers, twelve in total, intimidating in their initial anonymity, revealed themselves in truth to be a varied collection of refugees, with stories similar to any other in the endless sea. Lives spent in confusion at being torn away from a world that made sense, into one that did not.
Eventually McConnell overcame his reluctance to share his faith, and soon set to preaching his Shattered Testament to any who’d listen, which, surprising to the Mariner, was a fair number of Mavis’ followers of ‘science’. Fortunately, McConnell never explained the link he’d made between his faith and the Mariner, but he did catch Heidi glancing in his direction when McConnell had spoken at length of Christ’s return.
The devils never overcame their distrust of the new shipmates, only venturing above deck to pester for food or to get a quick pet from Grace, who was enjoying the fresh bustle of the Neptune. Harris in particular spent a great deal of time with her, teaching her how to shoot. McConnell had disapproved, though couldn’t voice a genuine reason why she shouldn’t learn. Self-defence was invaluable.
Slowly, day by day, the weather grew colder. Furs and blankets became necessary to shelter from chilly winds, and rain ceased to provide refreshment and now became a miserable huddled affair.
They navigated using the sun, heading roughly, yet steadily north, though after a week talk amongst the crew began to grow doubtful. How did they know they were on the right track? Where was this Moor the Oracle spoke of? Had it all been a cruel trick?
And then, just as it looked like they would have to give in and consider an alternative route, they saw it. The Waterfall.
Rising out of the ocean like an impenetrable wall, the waterfall tumbled from an invisible river, cascading down from an aperture a hundred feet in the air, with no landmass or other source to be seen. The roar from it soared across the sea, sounding like a constant growl of some gigantic beast. Around the waterfall was a thick mist, water vapour constantly blown out and away from the tumbling tonnage, saturating the air and soaking the clothes of every person aboard, even though they must have been a mile or so from the actual fall itself. The sheer volume cascading down into the ocean was immense; this was not a thin stream, but a long rectangular sheet of water, humbling in its majesty.
However, it was not the scale of the waterfall that had them all dumb-struck, but the source – the water was falling from the sky. It were as if some lining in the air had torn, allowing an infinite amount of water to come tumbling through. It was beautiful in its simplicity, a single vast column of water, forever falling to violent collision with the world beneath.
But as they glided closer, the falsehood of this became apparent. There was something beyond the water, some stone behind the froth and mist. And as they scrutinised the origin of the falls they began to notice that there was something surrounding the water’s mouth, a grey casing from which the liquid fell.
“It’s a building,” Harris’ voice was saturated with wonder. “Look up there, those are windows. The water’s coming from inside the top floor.”
And indeed, once he’d drawn their attention to it, the Neptune’s crew could clearly see the block’s outline. Some parts of the grey concrete had crumbled away, most noticeably the majority of sections between windows, but the roof remained intact; a thin dark outline above glistening white falls, an ugly mouth through which beauty spewed.
Heidegger shivered. “It’s an office block. Just an ugly office block.”
“Croydon used to be full of them,” McConnell said. “But none that gushed an endless
supply of water. That’d have to be a hell of a burst pipe.”
“Where do you think it comes from? Is it being pumped up from the inside?”
No-one had an answer to give. The Mariner expected McConnell to make some statement about the source being God, but surprisingly the reverend kept his mouth shut.
They watched for some time as it slowly drifted along the horizon, at first ahead, but then slowly sliding along to the left. None had any desire to go near it; the falls filled every last passenger with a deep fear, though what of, none could precisely say. Perhaps simply its scale was intimidating enough. Harris muttered to himself fears about the world filling up, but most kept their paranoia to themselves, though despite their reticence, none could remove their eyes from the spectacle.
All apart from the Mariner, who felt quite the opposite. Something about the waterfall disgusted him, every time he looked upon it, nausea would swell in his throat and the pit of his stomach. He tried to tell himself it was the alcohol he’d consumed, but this was a blatant lie. Something about it made him jittery. Instead of looking at the falls, he found himself idly staring at the dark choppy waters below.
Something slick and dark caught his eye.
It was the briefest of flashes from in the depths, but just that was enough; the Mariner had learned to recognise these creatures through pain and blood. An old wound in his crotch throbbed, a reminder of the extreme lengths he’d gone to escape such creatures before.
“Everyone below deck!”
“What is it?” Heidegger’s eyes frantically studied his face for clues.
“Eels!”
“What?”
“I encountered them before; they pull fantasies from your head as bait.”
“Sirens? Like those old myths?”
“They’re Anomenemies!” Harris pulled his shotgun from its holster. “They need to be destroyed!”
“No!” The Mariner grabbed the gun by the barrel and yanked it from his hands. “This is my ship and we’re not taking the risk! If you like, return later and hunt the damn things with harpoons. We’re going to find the Pope and the Wasp and I’m not going to let you derail that!”