The Saint

by Melanie Jackson

  “Yeah. Children,” he said impatiently. “Didn’t you know? It’s what the Goddess wants. Especially Kris’s children. It’s the plan.”

  “Whose plan? Hers? Or Kris’s?”

  “Well, Hers especially. But probably Kris’s too. Though with Kris, you never can tell.”

  No, you never can tell, can you?

  Adora laughed harshly. The ugly sound echoed around them, and it clearly startled Zayn. “Well, wantin’ ain’t gettin’. Children! That is just not happening. Hell, I can barely bring myself to face the idea of loving Kris. I can’t . . .” Adora swallowed the rest of her words, not wanting to let the dam of her fear burst on this near-stranger.

  “Well, whatever. Just know that Kris is important to the plan. Our fates are all intertwined, and if the Goddess so much as sneezes we all catch a cold,” Zayn answered, not trying to conceal his skepticism with her protests of independence. “Listen, if you’re going to wander around down here you need to know some things. The goblins have an arsenal of new psychotropic drugs they’ve been experimenting with. They leave us little care packages sometimes, so be careful if you go into the dead zone. Don’t touch anything, especially if it glows,” he warned.

  “Also, some of the walls have been plastered with a methamphetamine amalgam that sticks like dog shit on a new shoe. It gets above a certain temperature and it starts out-gassing. It gets into the lungs. Re-breathers help, but it can also pass through the skin. This stuff is like crack and it heads right for the central nervous system. It’s a blast if you’re human—until your heart explodes, of course—but it also revs up fey metabolism and makes it easier to access our magic.”

  “And that’s bad, right?” Adora asked.

  “For someone like Kris, yeah. Real bad. Especially with all the bad karma and ghosts down in some of those tunnels. They were killing-grounds during the last uprising. Well, the uprising before the last.”

  “What about me?” she asked patiently. “Is it bad for me?”

  “You may be all right—as long as you don’t act as a focus for Kris for a while, or end up catching his spillover magic and doing something rash. You don’t have any problems with causing earthquakes, do you?”

  Not earthquakes, just a fire or two.

  “What do you mean? Why would I be okay when Kris isn’t?”

  “Well, it’s like I was saying before. Feys are loaded with cytokines—healing proteins,” Zayn explained. “Our brains—in the thymus—manufacture them at thousands of times the levels found in most humans. They boost our ability to heal and avoid infection, and resist certain goblin drugs. They’re what prolong our physical lives. But something got screwed up in Kris’s brain.”

  “But . . . what about the Goddess?” Adora asked. “Isn’t She responsible for—well, everything? Even finding you proper mates. Why doesn’t She just heal him?”

  Mates. I hate that word, Joy complained. It’s so Tarzan and Jane.

  “Sure she’s responsible. She made the cytokines. And she’ll heal Kris when it’s time. I think she won’t do it now because she’d probably have to kill and then reincarnate him. Which she could, I guess.” Zayn looked thoughtful.

  Adora stared at him, utterly appalled. She could feel her outrage at this suggestion rising. He looked at her and shook his head.

  “Look, I don’t mean to be short and rude, but you need to stop thinking like a brainwashed human if you really want to understand what’s going on. And I think you’ll feel better when you do know and accept your part. We, the fey, don’t have the problem of using both science and religion to understand the world. Divinity and medicine can exist side by side, neither diminishing the other in importance. Once you believe—once you know that both are real— you no longer fear that science will shake your faith. Nor will your faith interfere with study and the practical applications of science. And, frankly, you’re going to have to learn to mix practicality with faith if you’re going to stay with Kris, because the man is driven by both.”

  “I know.” And she did. Adora defated as her anger went south. Joy had made the point earlier; if she chose to stay she would be living in a battle zone, the second tallest target on the battlefield next to the commanding general. Adora stopped and turned to face Zayn. “Look, I’ll see you later. Right now, I want to be alone.”

  “Okay, but don’t go anywhere that has bad air— and don’t touch anything.”

  “You said that already.” Adora turned away. “Bye.”

  “Merry we meet, merry we part, merry we meet again,” Zayn answered.

  Annoying bastard, isn’t he? Joy sniffed. It’s probably all bullshit. He’s just trying to get you to do what he wants—what a manipulator.

  Takes one to know one, Adora answered. Actually, she wasn’t all that annoyed with Zayn. It was good that everyone was being so blunt and truthful. She needed factual information to make an informed decision.

  I suppose. But nothing they say seems to be changing your mind about Kris.

  There’s nothing to change. Yet. I’m still thinking.

  Liar, liar, pants on fire. You’re just looking for some way to make this seem okay.

  Pants on fire? No, it wasn’t her pants, but something down there was feeling the heat.

  And the Goddess said unto him, “Creature of the Air thou art. To air thou shalt return. So it is with all your kind. Earth to earth, air to air, fire to fire. Each to his beginning shall go in the fullness of time.”

  —Niklas 11:8

  They bathed before the ceremony, cleansing both their bodies and souls before they called upon Great Odin. They came in pairs to the place of solitude, bringing torches, drinking horns and mead. They had no weapons because he had forbidden it. He had come to stop a war, to end madness before it began.

  The priest stepped forward, frightened because for the first time their god was with them, made flesh.

  “O Great One, we gather to mark and witness the great change you have said is upon us. Allfather Odin, aid us that our hearts be strong on this the day of greatest challenge.”

  The fey, called Odin in this lifetime, rose from his throne and spoke to his followers.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Adora began to understand what Kris meant about time lying up on itself in multiple visible layers. She saw Thomas Marrowbone in his computer lab, fingers moving so fast on his keyboard that she could barely see them, and it would be the twenty-first century in some programmer’s office. But then she would look about the rest of the mound and remember that there were no electric lights—and eerier still, no windows, though there was plenty of light. In those moments she would feel the weight of the earth above her and know that she was in a cave. Or rather, she was in a vast system of underground caverns that had once made up a metropolis of now dead—or at least physically dead—people. And though she did not know how to open the sealed doors around her, she sensed that behind what appeared to be stone walls there were many more chambers, locked away by will or magic when their inhabitants died.

  Worst of all, though she saw and heard nothing, it seemed sometimes that the walls actually slithered behind her, perhaps rearranging themselves so she would be forced to travel a predetermined path.

  Are you lost? Joy asked, coming out of a dark preoccupation.

  I . . . maybe. Though I don’t see how I can be. We haven’t gone that far, and the path hasn’t branched.

  Are you sure? This looks weird—not like the mound.

  It did look weird. Nothing was glowing, but there was a green pall to the air and the walls were now colored the filthy gray of wet newspaper. The shapes around her were odd too. Not random; they were actually quite regular, almost enough to be called architectural, but designed by someone who had no sense of the vertical or horizontal. Looking gave her a headache, as what she saw caught the eyes like barbed wire, and it took great effort to shut her lids against the view.

  Adora noticed that she was very thirsty and a bit dizzy and short of breath, and that was when
it dawned on her that the blue waters that were with her for the first part of her walk had disappeared. Goose bumps crawled down her arms.

  Maybe she was lost. Lost in time as well as space.

  It’s like that wasps nest, Joy said suddenly.

  Adora looked again and understood. When she’d been eight, a garden wasp had attacked her mother. Enraged, her father had followed it back to its nest and knocked the construction down out of the tree where it hung. He had thrown the nest in a trash can and doused it with gasoline before setting it on fire. Though it was probably only her imagination, Adora had thought she heard the tiny creatures screaming. She had sneaked close when the flames finally died down and stolen a look inside. The ash at the bottom of the can retained the pattern of the prisms housing the wasps’ burnt young.

  That son of a bitch! Joy’s voice vibrated with anger.

  Who? Kris? Don’t be paranoid. Adora didn’t want to hurt Joy’s feelings, but she suspected that part of the reason she was drawn to Kris was that he was even more eccentric than she. That would help her as she began to deal with the implications of who and what she was; but her new dependence on him would likely make Joy somewhat jealous.

  No—Zayn. He pointed you this way. I bet that bitch Goddess told him to.

  No, Adora argued, startled by the idea. Why would he want me lost? They all think I’m the next great breeder.

  Why would any of them do anything? They seem to be brainless zombies doing whatever the Goddess tells them. And she may have changed her plan now that she knows you don’t want kids.

  I don’t think so. Don’t get so upset, Joy. This is just nerves. I’ll just turn around and head back. Something will look familiar soon.

  Good. Do it now. I’m . . . I’m scared of monsters, Joy confessed.

  Why? I mean, why now? Then Adora recalled her panicked reaction to the dragon.

  Because now I know they’re real. Ghosts, dragons— what else might be down here?

  Okay, but don’t panic. Monsters don’t come out until after dark.

  Hmph. Joy sounded unconvinced. Even if that’s true, we don’t know what time it is. And, frankly, it’s pretty damn dark down here even if it’s light outside.

  Point taken. We’re getting out of here.

  But this plan turned out strangely difficult, because when she turned and started to retrace her steps, though she had taken no branchings, suddenly there was no tunnel behind her. It was simply gone.

  We’re lost, damn him! Damn him!

  Hush, let me think. Adora didn’t let herself panic like Joy, but her anxious breaths were making a small patch of fog around her that followed sluggishly everywhere she moved. We have to go on.

  It’s getting cold, Joy complained. And that wind is creepy.

  What do you care about the cold? You don’t have a body. I’m just going to keep moving—that’ll warm me up. And something is bound to look familiar. Just listen for the water.

  They heard nothing of the stream, but the creeping breeze that frightened Joy continued to moan in one almost endless exhalation. Never pleasant, something began to change as they neared a new cavern. A shiver shook her, and Adora felt as though she had stepped into a patch of deep, dank shade. It also seemed as if the unhappy wind was casting a psychic shadow over her.

  She looked about uneasily but nothing was there. Nothing she could see or smell.

  A place beyond time. A space between worlds. It was that voice again: the one that wasn’t Joy and wasn’t Kris. Adora did her best to push it away. Joy was freaking out enough.

  A short while on, she began to notice that her shoes were getting heavy and found that the cracked earth was caking itself to her soles. Looking around, she noted evidence of earthquakes or some other natural disaster.

  This isn’t safe. That’s Zayn’s goblin dogshit. And I hate that damned wind.

  Adora agreed with Joy, though she didn’t want to admit it. Caves, tunnels—they should be quiet, shut away as they were from the surface noise. But this part of the labyrinth wasn’t quiet. It seemed to breathe, inhaling and exhaling a hundred unpleasant sounds. The color had changed again too. The walls had taken on a sickly green glow and seemed to be coated in a phosphorescent mold.

  Adora had to face facts: In her distraction, she had taken a wrong turn somewhere, gone down a side path without noticing, and gotten very lost. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought maybe she had somehow wandered into a part of the tunnels that belonged to the goblins. That was the only explanation.

  Her path ended abruptly after a sharp turning. The ground at her feet fractured and tumbled away into a vast void.

  Go back—now, Joy urged. But when Adora turned around, she couldn’t see the tunnel. Behind her was a pile of loose stones where the opening should have been.

  How the hell . . . ?

  I hear something, Joy whispered. Someone’s coming.

  Adora heard it too. Something large was moving behind her, down in the dark abyss at her feet. Reluctantly, she turned around and crawled close to the broken edge of the floor, peering down into the darkness.

  She smelled the creature before she saw it. She had never smelled baking bones, but that was the first thought to enter her head: This was the smell of damp bones being shoveled into a fire.

  Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, slowly revealing what stalked her.

  She saw its back first. She didn’t know what the creature down below was but thought he seemed unhealthy. He turned swiftly, and she could see that moths had been at him, chewing away his eyebrows and beard. His furred skin was also failing, tearing off in little shreds. She realized that he had been singed, and it was necrotic tissue that was flaking away.

  Though she knew that she should run—now, while the beast was occupied—Adora crouched and watched, horrified and disbelieving. The monster slowly pulled off his pale skin, unzipping his entire torso with a terrible ripping sound, and then stepped out of it. He turned the skin, flapping it lightly while bits of pinkish fluid splashed on the floor. He redressed then, this time with the gray muscles facing out. He shrugged a few times and then did a few deep knee bends—also horrifying because the knees jointed in the wrong direction. Slowly spikes extruded along the limbs and spine.

  The creature was some kind of insect. But it also had the face of Old Man Fletcher. The sight made her cold somewhere deeper than her bones, and she felt her muscles spasm.

  Oh Goddess, protect us.

  As though hearing her thought, the creature turned suddenly and looked at her. Then smiled. It was the nastiest thing she had ever seen.

  She didn’t know what she was facing, but she knew that she was in danger—immediate, lifethreatening peril. Adora’s brain began to recalibrate, overcoming her horror and flooding her body with adrenaline. All those mortal fears rushed in and tried to disable her—fear of the dark, of being eaten, of being crushed under a ton of heartless rock and never found. But she controlled it, and this extra bit of panic gave her the strength she needed to resist the creature’s strong mental call.

  Adooorrraaaaa. It was Fletcher’s voice, and the call was like being dragged over broken glass.

  No! It can’t be.

  But it isss! Why don’t you sssave uss ssome time and jussst come down here like a good girl.

  She put a hand to her head, as if that might ward off the fear and pain the voice inflicted. She felt dizzy, her brain becoming some sort of accordion, wheezing in and out as it tried to find balance with this thing’s malevolence pushing in on her. It was difficult, because her thoughts were becoming sluggish, sodden with its slime. She shuddered and tried again to retreat mentally behind her usual barriers, but the slime slowed her.

  Ssso you’re Niklasss’s little writer now, the fey’sss great new hope. Well, we can’t have thisss. The horrible, chiding voice was following her even as she retreated on hands and knees until she was well back from the edge. We can’t have you making Niklasss happy, maybe making more little Niklasssesss. No,
I’m just going to have to chew your head off and then have sssome fun with the rest of you. You owe me, you little firebug. The voice laughed then, and it was the worst sound she had ever heard. But don’t take it persssonally, little writer. This isn’t anything important—like literary criticisssm. Then: Come here, you little bitch!

  The shockwave of his voice hammered her mind, then pounded every vertebrae in her spine, leaving her rigid, fused upright by terror and revulsion.

  Joy, where are you? Adora whispered. Can I . . . can I burn him this time? I want to. I want to burn him up until there’s nothing.

  No, you can’t. You’re still connected to Kris.

  I don’t feel him! she said, panicked. I can’t feel him at all.

  I feel him. He’s coming. This is a trap. They’re using you as bait. If you open yourself to the fire it will affect him, too. It might even let this thing into Kris’s mind. Just hang on. Kris knows what’s happened and help will be coming.

  Adora tried to believe this, but she couldn’t feel anything except the monster prying at her skull, trying to get in.

  I hear you, little writer, talking in your head. I hear them too—the fey. They’re looking for you high and low, but I know they won’t get here in time—because we’re in the placcce between timess. You’re all mine now. I’m ssso hungry for you. Let’sss eat!

  Claws gripped her brain and tried to rip her mind open.

  Shit! Joy—some help, please!

  Adora gave a last shove at the creature in her mind, pushing at the voice with all her might. The monster, perhaps surprised at the strength of her defense, slipped back a short ways, and she was able to slam a door on it as Joy dropped some sort of mental brace. It was a flimsy door, though, and wouldn’t keep the thing out for long.

  What now?

  Are you kidding? That’s not just a voice. It has teeth! Run! Joy answered.

  Still dizzy, Adora turned and bounded forward— the only possible path that wouldn’t put her in the creature’s reach. As she scrambled upward, the scree beneath her feet shifted, and she felt herself over-balance. Her body wanted to obey gravity. But as a fall from that height would get her killed—if not from a broken neck, then because the beast would get her as she lay stunned—she insisted that her limbs obey her mind, and amazingly, they did. In fact, she felt more in control of her body than she ever had in her life.