I told her then about our first disorienting experience with the trapezohedron. Charlie and Trumbull joined in, but it was my testimony on which S’vlk focused. I forced words around the flashes of strange worlds. Sharing those memories felt wrong, raw and private. You wanted their judgment. “And then I saw—I think it was R’lyeh. There were enormous statues, and buildings as high as the canyon they filled. Deepwater fish, glowing with their own light. And guards. I suppose I must have been seeing through the eyes of an Outer One, and they chased it off.”
“Or welcomed it,” said Grandfather. “We do talk to their emissaries; things would be far worse if we didn’t. But I don’t like them sharing what they see with all their kin. And yes, that was R’lyeh.” He gave me a long look, and bent to sniff my hair. “It will be rightfully yours, one day.”
“But after the visions,” said S’vlk. “When you awoke. What happened?”
“I felt ill, but it passed quickly. It was the same for the others—except Mary. She had a seizure, just like after our foray in the dreamlands. Dr. Trumbull’s guest scarred her mind. She does everything she can—but she’s not well.”
“The Yith leave trails in the minds they inhabit, and cut deliberately when they see the need. But the Outer Ones cut deeper, never admitting their arts can harm. They can—” She sank into a squat, traced not-quite-idle patterns with a long finger. Her voice was bleak. “You should try the Inner Sea. Perhaps I’m seeing storms in an empty sky.”
The Inner Sea was the first spell any student learned, and the simplest. It was the root of meditation, the easiest way to assess physical well-being, and the core that bound the confluence together. “Khur S’vlk, you’ve been talking around something all morning. I know nothing about the Outer Ones, save what I’ve learned the past few days. Your fear frightens me. Please tell me; it can’t be worse than trying to imagine what would scare you.”
“And if she has something to fear,” added Trumbull, “what about the rest of us?”
“You’re likely safe,” said S’vlk. She brushed the professor’s temple. “Men of the air rest lightly in their bodies, and a returned captive especially. But Aphra.”
Grandfather squatted next to her. “Aphra.”
“Water binds us,” said S’vlk. “It gives us greater gifts than air or earth ever offer. Health and healing, long life, the ability to thrive for the span of the ocean itself. But our bodies and minds are tightly entangled, with each other and with the sea. Even dreamwalking, those threads stretch but don’t break—an experienced air-born traveler can go further and deeper than we ever do.
“I told you earlier that their arts are dangerous. The device you describe, their sacrament—I know it. I’ve seen it, seen others who used it. It has a purpose beyond mere ritual: it prepares new thralls for the abomination of meigo travel. Those who look through it even once yearn to return. They grow to love its visions more than their own sight. And all the while—it breaks threads. It smoothes tangles. It makes it easy for the meigo to extract a mind, like a clam from its shell, and fit it neatly into the box they make for it.”
“I—” A dozen moments from the past two days came clear. I’d been reluctant to lead spells. I’d hesitated to confide in the elders. And other moments … I pushed past inhibition grown suddenly salient, and reached for the confluence. Ordinarily a thought was enough to bring me their echoed senses, changes to heart and breath that carried joy or terror. Now I needed to push. They were there—hearts too quick—but the sensations were muted. “Gods.”
Grandfather drew me up, wrapped me in storm-tested arms. His strength, surrounding me, still felt real. He asked: “What comes next?”
“Neglect your body, as their arts urge, and your blood will dry. Like my daughter.”
When I first learned the Inner Sea, it had brought me unspeakable relief to feel the tide of my blood, still promising the form I would one day wear. The desert had tried to destroy me, but I’d endured. I’d held on to this one treasure through degradation and grief; could I have thrown that away in two days of poor judgment? I couldn’t bear the idea of finding out. The spell that had granted me assurance now seemed a source of horrible suspense. I curled within Grandfather’s embrace, not wanting to see what expressions of pity or anger might surround me.
“Can anything be done?” asked Grandfather. His bass rumble carried more emotion than I’d heard since the moment I’d told him his daughter was dead.
“I wish the archpriest were here,” said S’vlk. “Or someone else with true skill for reading and healing minds. Chulzh’th’s still an acolyte. And the two of us—”
“I’m a dilettante,” agreed Grandfather. “And you’ve spent more time learning to read rocks than people.”
“The math that guides the grinding bones of the earth is a worthy and joyful endeavor,” she said. “Just completely useless here.”
“She’s only been exposed twice,” said Charlie. “Is it really so dangerous?”
“I don’t know.” I heard S’vlk’s talons scrape the floor, a shuffle of webbed feet. The room felt too close. “My daughter isn’t the only person I’ve seen fall to them, but I’ve never had a chance to interrupt the change. Most people, once they’ve shared the meigo’s visions, can’t stay away. Once, I brought guards along to show strength during negotiation—we don’t often clash over territory, but there was a cave-riddled cliff face dear to us, that they wanted to use. I intended the guards as spies, as well. One slipped away while we argued, and found a stone like the one you described. He came back to the boundary waters that night, but his eyes were distant and he’d talk only of other worlds. A few days later, he vanished.”
I’d been right when I thought Freddy was endangering himself among the Outer Ones. I hadn’t considered that he could so swiftly pull me down alongside him.
“I could place a geas on you, to keep you from going back.” Grandfather sounded reluctant, and well he should. Geassa were crude, and binding a complex mind with a simple compulsion could cause pain or even harm. Most elders would only use them on thralls and criminals.
“No.” I disentangled myself from his arms, determined to show a dignity I did not feel. “I can resist it. I know what’s at stake.”
Warmth at my back, and a familiar touch. “I’ll hold you back if you try to run off,” said Charlie. “I know how hard you’ve fought to win your life back. You aren’t alone.”
I smiled through terror. “I know.” My face was wet—and no jar in sight. I scrubbed fingers against cheeks, and licked the salt lest it be lost.
“Well,” said Audrey. “We’ve got a few hours to figure out what we’re facing. Let’s take a look, and we’ll decide what to do from there.” She bent to the bag we’d packed for summoning the elders: the bowl would be there, and the salt, and the knife.
“I’m exhausted,” I said softly. “Can’t we…” But I trailed off.
Audrey retrieved our tools, knelt before me on the bed, and took my hands. “I’ve never known you to look away from anything. Even when we were fighting the cold thing, and my—my blood-guards. We’ll fight this, too.”
I closed my eyes. My cheeks warmed, shame and anger only half logical. “It seems I’m not so brave when my own blood’s at risk.”
“You’re full of hooey. But there’s no point in putting this off.”
“Yes,” said Grandfather. Charlie and Audrey stepped back, letting him pull me back against his chest. He began humming; the vibration filled my lungs. As quietly as an elder could, he sang the hymn of endurance. I’d last heard it lying on an altar, offering my own blood and pain for a vital sacrifice. He must have meant to remind me, or himself, of my strength. I cried freely this time, sobs that stabbed my throat. But I was exhausted, and had only so much salt to spare.
“I want,” I said. “I want…” What I wanted was the people in this room, and the family I knew and understood. I wanted to get away from otherworldly emissaries and heathenish mistblooded, and developers tearing d
own familiar houses, and all the overwhelming world that would not return my clean community and its familiar rules. “It doesn’t matter what I want. You’re right. Let’s find out what the Outer Ones have done.”
CHAPTER 14
I attended to every detail of the Inner Sea’s basic spellwork, more mindful than I’d been for months. It was far easier to focus on what I was doing than to consider my reasons for doing it.
I sketched the diagram in minuscule on paper torn from my journal. I leaned close and held the pen lightly, tracing thread-fine geometries across the ruled lines. Knotwork twists delineated each participant; a single variant glyph protected the confluence from expansion. I remembered learning each one: the first breathless lesson on the cool wood floor of Charlie’s back room, the Yith’s clinical criticism in Trumbull’s study. Frances watched closely. Her first Inner Sea should have focused on celebrating her own blood-born strength. No help for this inadequate initiation.
Grandfather traced a simple seal across the wall; in this small a space, there was no room on the floor. Either it would rub off, or the hotel wouldn’t welcome us back.
I grounded, focusing on the connection between myself and my world, as the others also looked inward. My blood is a tide, I told myself, and for the first time I feared that I was lying.
Then the chant. This part was easy: Enochian swirled around my body, indifferent to my lack of confidence—I only needed perfect enunciation, surrendering my voice to blend with Grandfather and S’vlk, Audrey and Charlie and Trumbull. Neko, who joined us so rarely, hummed descant.
Then finally, not daring to think: the knife handle against my palm, the sting of blade on skin, the blood dissipating in intimate ripples.
And I sank into my blood.
My blood, usually a river in full rush to the sea, ran slow. I couldn’t yet mistake it for Charlie’s blood or Neko’s, but its power had waned. Worse, I sensed it through a vertiginous haze, as though I saw the world a half-second late in a cracked mirror.
That haze lay between me and something that should have been inseparable. I couldn’t fathom it. And so I simply perceived, in fear and confusion and mourning.
Something touched my wrist: contact breaking through the timeless haze. I wanted to cling to the physical sensation like a raft, but for this ritual that touch was only the means to another, harder intimacy. My grandfather had grasped my arm so that he could see my blood for himself—and I was swept up in his.
If my blood was usually a rushing river, Grandfather was the ocean. My blood intimated a stronger, surer form that might someday be mine; his embodied that form in full. Deep waters surged around me, vast currents and crushing pressure. Salt filled my every pore, not respecting the boundary of skin. I wanted to drown in him. I wanted to become part of the ocean any way I could.
But the tide receded, leaving me gasping. I sat on a coarse cotton blanket. Grit stung my eyes and nose; the air was heavy with our exhalation. There was no water save my own sweat.
Charlie’s hand hovered near me. I should have said something, but reassuring him seemed too much effort. Audrey looked almost serene, though her gaze lingered on me as well. Trumbull gripped S’vlk’s shoulder. Frances looked thoughtfully at her palm, more still than I’d ever seen her.
I found myself afraid to move, to react—as if the harm done by the Outer Ones’ generosity might grow with any motion.
Neko shook herself from trance and glared at me. “Well? It must be bad—we can’t fix it if you won’t talk about it.”
I summoned what bravery I could. “My blood isn’t right. It’s not … not a part of me, like it should be.”
“Will she still change?” Neko demanded. I wouldn’t have dared, and I caught my breath.
“She should,” said Grandfather, too much doubt in his voice. “But Aphra, you must stay safe. You mustn’t let the Outer Ones work their arts on you, perhaps not even near you.” He shot S’vlk a questioning look.
“There are things we can try,” said S’vlk. “You must practice the arts that bind your body and mind more closely. And perhaps—Khur Catherine, the things we know—perhaps there is some way to teach her. The Yith kept my soul knit through five years outside my body, or mended it themselves … but it’s like your ally Mary. Some arts leave vulnerabilities that cannot be effaced. Aphra, every time you stretch your mind beyond its natural bounds you’ll risk snapping the threads that hold you together. And yet, that stretching is probably the only way to make yourself whole again. You walk a cliff’s edge. You may walk it the rest of your life.”
“Couldn’t we—” Neko stood. She was the shortest person in the room: stunted by her time in the camp, and her family not tall to begin with. “Can we just ask them? I know you hate the Outer Ones, but they aren’t idiots. They can’t be ignorant of these risks. Maybe they have a way around them, or a way to heal people who react badly. When Miss Harris got sick, they had a medical kit right there.”
S’vlk shook her head. “They could as easily compound the damage. Remember that they see our bond with the Earth as a weakness. Something to overcome. Why would they learn to heal what they consider worthless?”
“Let Aphra decide,” said Charlie. “It’s her risk to take.”
I closed my eyes, breathed, tried to compose myself enough to think clearly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t consider the danger. The Outer Ones frighten me so instinctively that it’s hard to be wary of their subtler threats. I wanted to understand them better—I wanted to understand Freddy better, and bring him home.”
“He’s traveled with them in truth,” said S’vlk. “Even if his blood started strong, it would be too late now. Like my daughter.” Frances flinched.
“Does that mean—” I dropped my eyes. I wished there had been some possibility of coming to New York a month earlier, some choice we could castigate ourselves for not making. But by the time we’d known where to find Freddy, he was already lost. How much else was lost with him? “Could he still have strong children?”
S’vlk grimaced, baring sharp teeth. “I don’t know anyone who’s tested that question.”
“I’m more worried about you. What about the ritual we did in January?” asked Audrey. “Could we share Caleb’s strength with you through the confluence?”
“I don’t think it’s the same thing,” said Trumbull slowly. Her fingers fluttered absently. “There, we had to force something out that didn’t belong—and repress something that did. But if Aphra’s mind won’t bind correctly with her own body, the strength of another’s blood won’t help. I could work on the problem with Mary. If you’re willing to bring this up with her.”
“Absolutely not,” said Grandfather. “The state needs no more ways to weaken us.” I imagined the trapezohedron used as a weapon, and nodded.
“You’re being paranoid,” said Trumbull. “She could make the difference.”
“She could,” I said. “But Mr. Barlow and Mr. Peters still think us traitors. If they knew that the Outer Ones could attack us at our core, they’d want a version for their own.”
“They’re here,” said Trumbull. “You’re going to have to deal with them. And by this point they should be too busy worrying about the Outer Ones to fuss about other humans.”
“That’s not how it works,” said Neko. “I hate to say it, because I want help from as many geniuses as we can find. But when people are scared, they form ranks against everyone they’ve ever thought an enemy. They’re going to look at the Outer Ones, and start wondering who they can really trust. Especially since the Outer Ones make a point of recruiting disaffected humans.”
“Barlow’s team wouldn’t be wrong to worry,” I said reluctantly. I should have thought more carefully about how to answer Kvv-vzht-mmmm-vvt’s demands, should have considered what I made myself complicit in. “Kvv-vzht-mmmm-vvt brought me in to the altar room, that second time, because it wanted a starting point for its efforts to rescue humanity—someone they could use as a lever to move the world. I was afra
id of what it would do if I left it to its own imagination, and the first thing I thought of was to point it at Barlow’s team. But now that I’ve had longer to think it through, I fear the Outer Ones’ ‘help’ will only make things worse. Kvv-vzht-mmmm-vvt is eager to intervene, and sure it can move human governments to its will. Whether it’s right or wrong, the results could be disastrous.”
“And we’ve no way to stop them,” said S’vlk. She hissed softly. “You ought not have cooperated.”
“I know.”
* * *
We tried to sleep. We were all in desperate need by this point. Even the elders were too long out of the water and had gone too far on little food. They weren’t the only hungry ones, but for me the most urgent need was to close my eyes, and my mind, against everything that had happened since Barlow’s arrival.
Charlie sat back against the headboard and dozed. The others lay close on the bed or leaned against walls. The masks and gloves we swept awkwardly into the dusty cave below the bedframe.
I huddled in Grandfather’s lap. I was far too tall to lie there comfortably, but I slept anyway with his scales digging into my side and catching on my dress, his hand cool on my forehead. He sang softly, in English:
“Stars that stand over you, earth that lies under you,
Dagon and Hydra take heed of your birth,
Salt that will comfort you, waves that will welcome you…”
I almost cried again, shocked by memories of my mother singing while I lay burning with childhood fever. But at last I slept.
The city’s heart thrummed against the wards we’d drawn. New York turned slowly with the bedrock beneath it, taking in the heat of the approaching solstice, woven through with the plans and paranoias of its resident sapients. Crowded, aching, grateful, our bodies sought the little repairs and recoveries that can only happen while the mind looks elsewhere.
* * *
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