Greyborn Rising

by Derry Sandy

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying she’s getting scary. When you go out to take the things she asked for, let her know that the sword is hers. A gift.”

  “Hmm, ok, go get some rest.

  Chapter 23

  Kat awoke in pitch blackness, unable to open her eyes but she did not panic. She somehow knew that she was at the bottom of a grave, that she had been buried, that she was dead. She felt the cold weight of the dirt pressing down upon her and round about her, hemming her in, so heavy that even her eyelids were pressed shut. She heard worms and beetles tunneling through the freshly turned sod awaiting their turn to feast on her flesh. She could not breathe, but she did not really need to, she was dead after all. The taste of blood was sweet on her tongue. Voss. The name came to mind but she did not immediately remember its significance.

  Juxtaposed against the sweet taste of blood was a throbbing pain in her chest. Silver. She could not remember why she was at the bottom of a grave or why she was dead, but oddly she felt very peaceful. Something called to her, though. She knew she could not stay there, could not succumb. Marshalling her preternatural strength Katharine began to claw her way upward. She fought against the press of the earth until eventually, the grave reluctantly spat her out and she hauled herself free at the surface like some overgrown grave worm.

  She emerged into the dying twilight alone and on the summit of a grassy hill that sloped downward to a beach of golden sand. Behind her was grassland that sprawled endlessly toward a massive mountain range visible against the distant horizon as a monolithic blue shadow. The plain was covered in slender knee-high grasses that bloomed small white blossoms in such profusion it looked as if a light snow had fallen. A gusty updraft scattered thousands of white petals about her like snowflakes. A billion fireflies glowed above the swaying blades of grass. The fireflies signaled on and off in every color of the spectrum rather than the customary bioluminescent green. The effect was as if a net of Christmas lights had been cast over the entire plain and was so beautiful it brought tears to Kat’s eyes.

  She felt a marrow-deep happiness but she did not remember why she would be so happy in this place. She turned toward the beach and descended the gentle slope. She crossed the deep sand and allowed the warm foam to lap around her feet. She kept walking out until the water lifted her. Then she swam and washed herself clean of the streaks of grime left by her egress from the grave. A bait-ball of small silvery green fish nibbled at her body. A larger wave came over her head and she tasted the water, slightly sweet on her tongue instead of salty.

  Kat floated until the moon rose. The water was so clear she could see every detail of the seabed through twenty feet of water, even by the silvery light. There were stars in such excess, the heavens looked like a velvet cloth upon which someone had spilled a fortune of the rarest diamonds. Finally satisfied, she turned toward the shore and swam inland with long powerful strokes. She exited the water, tore some large fronds from a windblown palm tree, and assembled a lean-to. Kat lay beneath her makeshift shelter and descended into the sweetest sleep she had had in hundreds of years.

  The scent of cooking meat and the noise of a crackling fire woke her. The moon had climbed to its zenith above the calm sea, but she did not trust the moon’s position to provide a reliable calculation of how long she had slept. Events in limbo were not constrained by the Absolute’s rigid concepts of time. She may have been asleep for hours or for years. She was surprisingly unperturbed by the fact that someone had been able to start a fire and begin cooking a meal while she lay in oblivion. Still, she stayed put until a familiar voice called out to her, a voice that made her heart leap and made the act of dying worthwhile.

  “Firefly, are you hungry?”

  On the golden sand in front of the tent lounged a massive tawny lion. Beyond the lion, a man stooped on his haunches with his back to her. He was tending a fire over which an entire wild boar roasted. His dark muscular back bore the scars of a whip and another familiar puckered and ragged scar. A scar that memorialized the night he had been impaled saving her life two centuries ago.

  Kariega Le Clerc rose, turned to face her and smiled. She ran into his arms with such force that they almost toppled into the fire. They embraced tightly, he savoring her warm scent and she savoring the feeling of being in his large, strong embrace. Kariega was the only person in whose company she felt she could be softer than granite and Katharine was the only person who understood who Kariega truly was. The embrace eventually grew into something more and soon they were laying on the sand kissing as if they were famished and the kiss was the only thing that would sustain them.

  Then they lost themselves in each other with a savage passion. When Kat awoke again, the moon was lower over the water and Kariega was gone and the roasting boar had burned to char. The massive lion, however, remained, gazing at her with his knowing amber eyes.

  “Where is he, Shepherd?” She asked of the cat. Shepherd only yawned widely, displaying an impressive set of canines.

  “Katharine. It has been an age since I let my meat burn.” Katharine turned to see Kariega emerging from the bushes with a freshly killed wild goat slung over one shoulder and a spear balanced on the opposite shoulder. The goat had already been gutted, but it still dripped blood.

  “Well, you have not seen me for about a hundred years. I would feel insulted if you were able to mind your meal while we did our…catching up.”

  Kariega smiled warmly at that, but replied, “I told you that you should not come solely to see me again. The ritual is too dangerous.”

  “I will come to see you as often as I feel like it, Kariega. Besides this is not just a pleasure trip. There is business to do as well.”

  “Really? Here, skin the goat while I stoke the fire.” He tossed the carcass at her and she caught it with one hand. Then he threw a knife to her as well. It had a yellowish white triangular blade about as long as a man’s hand, but instead of a straight edge, the cutting surface of the blade was made of numerous small serrations. Kariega had installed a bone handle at the base.

  “What is this?”

  “It is a leviathan’s tooth.” Kariega replied as Kat held the weapon up for closer inspection.

  “I know what it is, but why is it here? Leviathans are bound in the Grey and you are bound here until you decide to move and take your place with the ancestors. So how did you and it come to be in the same place?”

  “A leviathan washed up, almost dead, on the shores of the Sea of Glass. I do not know how it came to be here but it is an ill portent. Limbo should be separate from the Absolute, Grey and Ether. It should be impossible for the leviathan to be here.”

  Kat began silently and skillfully skinning the goat with the tooth knife.

  “Why are you still here, Kariega.”

  “You know why.”

  “It may be centuries before I cross and it is unfair for you to wait for me.”

  “It costs me nothing, Katharine. I hunt, I sleep, I ponder, I talk to the other transient souls. It is not a bad existence. When you finally cross over we shall go to meet the ancestors together, hand in hand.”

  “I miss you, Kariega.”

  “And I miss you. More than I can say. At least here in Limbo I feel closer to you. You should not come again unless it is absolutely necessary.”

  “My visit is necessary. Your vision is becoming reality. The darkness has come and we are hunting it.”

  “You were only to warn them of it, not hold their hands. The Order should be able to deal with the evil.”

  “The Order is fragmented. The houses have not only dwindled but have grown more competitive than collaborative. Only Richard from the other houses has even visited Stone since the deaths of Isa, Dorian and Kimani. Stone is now down to one warrior, Rohan, and while he is talented at killing, he is still a cub trying to hide the fact that he is grieving for his brothers.”

  “Kimani is dead? I doubt that, only Isa and Dorian crossed over to the Ether. Now is s
carcely the time for bickering and cherishing of old slights. The houses must band together in this. They need to gather their strength for the storm to come.”

  “The other houses are weak as well. The Watchers have not tested a child in years. The Order is scarcely ready to face a significant threat. So far our defenses have only been relatively gently tested and our small force has come near to death every time. But wait. Kimani did not cross over?”

  “Kimani was not with Dorian and Isa as they travelled to the Ether to be with the Ancestors,” Kariega responded and Kat wondered at that for a while.

  “They need my help.” She returned to the more immediate issue.

  “It seems that they do. How is our son?”

  “Tarik will be stronger than us both.”

  “He is his mother’s son in his strength.”

  “He is also his father’s son.”

  “And my other son whose name shall not be spoken?”

  “Executed by his sect as we assumed would happen the last time I visited you. He was too extreme even for them.”

  “The last time you came you told me they were hunting him for his crimes.”

  “Yes, and they caught him and executed him but only after trying to show him reason.”

  “The loss of a son is a horrible burden. It is my fault that I was not there to guide him into manhood and into the control of his powerful gifts.”

  “You were sold into slavery by your king and then killed by my coven before you could return to Africa and learn of his existence. I think the circumstances excuse you from accusations of negligent fatherhood. If anyone is to blame it would be me, for allowing him to follow the path he did.”

  “I did not see him cross.”

  “They executed him in the ritualized fashion. His soul should have been utterly destroyed, reduced to nothingness.”

  “A horrible fate.”

  “None worse.”

  Kat finished skinning the goat and began to season it with wild herbs that Kariega provided. Kariega fanned the coals with a large almond leaf, trying to coax the flames to return. Kat shook her head.

  “Please have a seat Kariega, my cooking is better than yours by far.”

  Kariega put up as much resistance as was polite for a man who had not tasted another’s cooking in years. Then he relinquished the task to Kat and sat with his lion. Kat called flames out of the coals instantaneously with her soucouyant pyrokinesis. She used her control over fire to dry the goat hide which she then wrapped about herself like a hairy shawl, covering her nakedness.

  “Kat showing modesty? The world really must be coming to an end,” Kariega said with mock incredulity. Kat busied herself preparing the goat. Instead of roasting it she cut it into many small cubes, which she then skewered with carefully split fragments of the goat’s longest bones. She set the skewers to barbecue. She also roasted a whole breadfruit and chunks of a pineapple that she found growing nearby. At this point, even the aloof Shepherd was paying attention. The massive predator rose, walked over, and rubbed his head against her back like an overgrown house cat until she conceded and fed him a few cubes of goat. When the meat was cooked, Kat placed everything out on rinsed banana fronds. She motioned Kariega over and he started eating with verve, in silence for a while savoring the food.

  “This is beyond amazing,” he finally managed between bites.

  “Cooking is the control of fire, coupled with the knowledge of herbs and minerals. I’m accomplished at both skills.”

  “Quite humble she is,” he replied. “Will you tell me why you are here?”

  “I came to see you.”

  “And?”

  “I came to speak to the dead.”

  “You could have held a séance or visited the location they haunt.”

  “I was told to come here. I think they are afraid to contact me otherwise.”

  “How will you meet them?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Two. A woman and a girl. So I’m told.”

  Kariega picked at his teeth with a splintered goat bone. “Perhaps I can help. But let us finish eating.”

  When they were full Kariega set aside two clean banana fronds and served two small portions of the goat meat and breadfruit.

  “Shepherd bring my drum,” Kariega said to the lion. The cat however, did not budge. “Please.” Kariega added and the beast finally rose and sauntered off with a flick of its tasseled tail.

  “He hates being sent on errands. We will need a bigger fire. Would you be so kind, Kat.” Kat did nothing, mimicking Shepherd’s reticence. “Please.” Kariega said with inflated exasperation.

  Kat focused and willed the fire to burn higher. Now fueled by the soucouyant’s power instead of the firewood, the flames assumed new vigor and the tongues of fire licked upward at the bejeweled sky. Shepherd returned with a tall wooden drum, gripping the edge of the drum skin gingerly between his teeth. The lion walked over to Kariega, dumped the drum onto his lap, then stood there looking the man in the eyes as though waiting for something.

  “Thank you, Shepherd,” Kariega said and only then did the cat return to its spot on the sand. Kariega turned the drum over and removed the bottom which was a large cork stopper, revealing the hollow space within the drum’s frame. Inside the hollow was a leather roll bound with a cord. Kariega undid the knot and gingerly unfurled the leather roll.

  Within the roll Kat recognized a collection of paraphernalia. Knuckle bones from a chimpanzee, an assortment of teeth, feathers, a small petrified gecko, and a desiccated bat, its membranous wings as thin as parchment and just as brittle. There were also several cloth pouches that Kat knew contained various powders, herbs, and ground bone. The roll also contained a collection of old gold and silver coins and several vials of oil.

  Kariega selected one of the vials. He flipped the drum upright and dripped a single bead of the oil on to the skin of the drum. He then smeared the drop until it covered the entire surface of the drum skin making it glisten. The oil was fragrant as myrrh. Kariega next took the dried bat, bit off a wing, crunched it up, and swallowed. He then offered her the bat.

  “Surely you don’t mean for me to eat that.”

  “Just a wing Katharine, besides this is far from the strangest ritual we have done. Have you grown soft?” Kariega smiled with mischief in his eyes. Kat knew he was right. A bat’s wing, though unpleasant, was far from the most bizarre thing she would have ingested for the sake of obeah. She took the proffered bat and bit off the remaining wing. It had no taste and absorbed the moisture inside her mouth like tissue paper.

  She swallowed and passed the wingless, mummified bat back to Kariega who promptly tossed the sad little body into the fire. Then he selected the pouch of ground bone and poured it into his hands. Kariega began drawing a veve, forming the ancient Haitian symbols by allowing a thin stream of the ground bone to drain from his hands onto the sand. Each of Kariega’s hands worked independently from the other as he drew the shapes and symbols with a precision that bespoke practice. When his hands became empty he filled them again with bone dust and continued to draw. Kat recognized certain aspects of the veve. She saw the flying serpents of Damballa Weddo and the crucifix of Baron Samedi, but overall this veve was more complex than anything she had ever seen. Finally, Kariega was done.

  “I do not know this one.”

  “The ones you have seen are to call the Loas to earth. An entirely different sort of ritual is needed to hail Absolute-bound specters to Limbo. It’s like a reverse séance, where you are dead and they are living.”

  Kariega squatted in front his drum and began to tap out a slow deep rhythm. A lazy sensual roll uncoiled itself in Kat’s belly like a well-fed python waking up. She could not resist it and she rose and began to sway with the beat, her hips matching the lethargic rise and fall of the rhythm.

  “Remember, no matter how strong the urge, do not step into the veve, my love.” Kat barely heard him but noted the war
ning. The air around her grew pregnant with power. The melody flowing from Kariega’s drum fell in synch with her heartbeat or maybe she fell in synch with it. The slow roll was but a preamble. Without warning the drumming became savage and complex and Kat was washed away on a tsunami of magic. She danced the dance of Kariega’s ancestors. Her body heaved as she became possessed by the beat. The stars descended to earth or maybe she rose to dance among them and her hair became entangled with strange constellations.

  She glanced over to Kariega and he no longer drummed alone. Shadowy forms drummed beside him. Freed of the duty of making the music, Kariega rose and joined her, and the drumming continued absent his participation. They danced like mating eagles wheeling in the sky. They danced with the grace of winged serpents. They danced with the power of golden gods drunk on the blood of a thousand martyrs. They poured themselves into the dance, offered themselves to it. Time stretched on to infinity and they did not grow tired. The fire gave birth to a bevy of flaming forms that joined them to dance. The veve glowed white on the sand and from within the pattern, long dead people called Kat’s name.

  She heard her father, her mother, the multitude of unfortunate men and women whose blood she had drained before Kariega freed her from her hunger, and the voices of those she had slain in the wars before she fled to Haiti and then to Trinidad. She heard the voices of her dead coven calling to her from within the incarcerating depths of some deep hell to which they had been banished. With a final beat the drumming stopped and the magic dissipated reluctantly like the scent of an expensive perfume left by a beloved courtesan.

  A cool breeze fluttered against Kat’s forehead and eyelids waking her. She was not on the beach anymore, but beneath the spreading branches of a massive silk cotton tree in a rain forest. She looked down at herself and noticed that she was clothed in a white silk robe. It took her a moment to realize that this was the same robe she had been wearing the night Kariega had died or at least one identical to it, since the original had been burnt, torn, and bloody and this one was pristine. Neither Kariega nor Shepherd was present. She sat up. The spreading branches of the silk cotton tree practically blocked out all the sunlight and for a radius of several hundred feet below its shade, nothing grew, it was truly massive. Kat surmised it would take her about twenty minutes to walk around its girth and the gnarled immensity of the trunk seemed to stretch upward forever. Buttress roots the size of cars helped to anchor the behemoth and Kat felt diminutive but safe beneath this forest sentinel.