Devastation

by Jane Dougherty

  With the help of the dreamcatchers and a soothing herbal tisane, Carla was lulled back to sleep. At first she clung to her sleeping body, afraid of what she might find if she ventured out again. But the call of the wide sky proved greater than her fear, and she let herself be guided by the whispering voices and the faint touch of invisible hands out into the night.

  Leaving her companions far behind in the sleeping building, Carla soared low over the familiar landscapes that surrounded Lutecia—neat towns and fields, thick woods and bright rivers. Leaving the cultivated land, she climbed mountain slopes and skimmed over densely wooded valleys. Rising higher, she soared like an eagle over rocky crags and diamond bright cascades of mountain torrents. Beyond lay heath and moorland, dense leafy forests, rolling hills where sleeping towns and hamlets nestled in the folds, and finally the broad, billowing ocean.

  Carla gave a whoop of delight and would have skimmed like a swallow over the waves and into the dawn, had not a warning voice in her head called her back. The light was growing, the sky was now a pearl gray, and soon it would be morning. Reluctantly she turned about and rose higher until she was back on the star path that led through the blackness of space to her mansard room in the Assembly building. With a sigh, she slid beneath the sheets and sank into a dreamless sleep.

  * * * *

  The stars! For a second, Carla lay blinking at the light, wondering where she was. Then, astonished to be awake and alert so early, she pushed back the linen sheet and slid out of bed. She went to the window and gazed at the morning sky, peering into the pale blue in search of the fugitive pinpoints of starlight.

  Leaning on the sill with the fresh morning breeze on her face, she looked fondly up into the brightening sky. She saw no stars, no clouds, but the clear morning blue, instead of glowing in the rising sun, was tainted on the eastern horizon with a gathering gloom. The last of her dreamings scattered with the memories of bright starlight, and her eyes were dragged unwillingly to the ugly smear growing in the eastern sky. Carla’s first thought—hope, rather—was a forest fire. But this was not smoke. No black columns billowed skyward to be deformed and dispersed in the fresh breeze she could feel on her face. The gloom crept slowly, like oil on water—or gangrene—and replaced the vibrant sky with something that was dead and rotten.

  The first part of her night time journey came back to her—the sight of the mountain, her mountain, dead and empty, and her joy turned to dry fear. Scrambling into her clothes, she raced from her quiet room, down the first staircase she came to and back to the hospitality wing and her friends. She burst into the stone-flagged room that served as a dining room and found Tully and Yvain waiting for her.

  Tully greeted Carla with his usual grin and took her hands in his. It was a gesture as much asking for reassurance as giving it.

  “Have you seen?” Carla asked. “The horizon—the light has gone!”

  “They know,” Tully said. “The modelers have already built a barrier around the city. The outlying villages have been emptied. City’s full of refugees this morning.”

  “He’s coming,” Carla whispered, still feeling slightly numb.

  “And it is time we were leaving.” Yvain was already dressed for traveling, with his hideous sandals and his staff. “Your companions are on their way. When you have all breakfasted, we will join the Assembly. I hope to convince them to let you leave.”

  “I thought that was the whole point,” Carla said, bewildered. “To lead Wormwood away from the city. Anyway, they’re not supposed to know about…you know…about us going.”

  “It’s more that there seems to be disagreement about what should be done with us. Some of the Assembly think we ought to be made to fight him here.” Tully glanced at Yvain, who nodded to him to carry on, his lips crisped into a tight line of anger. “Some of them say that we brought Wormwood and the army from the dead lands to Lutecia, and if we are really are the seven stars and such mighty heroes as the stories suggest, our place is here, to defend the population.”

  “What about the others?”

  Yvain looked grim. “Most of them agree that you should leave and draw Wormwood away from the city. The dissenters have few voices so far,” he replied. “No one will listen to them.”

  “But it would be stupid for us to stay! We don’t know anything about fighting!” Carla was beside herself. “I have to find my mother, get her here. She might be our only hope.”

  Tully squeezed her hands. “I know, and so does Yvain and most of the others. It seems that there’s a sort of faction formed, set on causing trouble—”

  “Like the people we saw yesterday. There’s something wrong, Tully.” She turned to Yvain. “Wormwood is already here, isn’t he? Not in person, but he’s infiltrated the people somehow. I could feel it.” The truth began to dawn on Carla. “It’s what Jim was saying yesterday, that this world doesn’t rely on intelligence to create machines to model and create. It’s built on the power of the human mind to do all the remodeling and creation. And that’s this world’s weakness. Like Wormwood or whatever he calls himself did with our ancestors, he’s doing the same thing now, but instead of getting into their hands, he’s got inside their heads.”

  “Wormwood is certainly at work, setting the germ of envy and hatred in our thoughts. He is looking for Eblis-Azazel, and he is hoping that the people of Lutecia will flush him—or her—out.” Yvain’s face was tense and drawn. The fine lines around his eyes had deepened, and it seemed to Carla that he had aged ten years since the previous evening.

  Jim had already eaten and had found a modeler to show him how the heating system worked for the hot water. Jeff was discussing the interpretation of dreams with a slender girl of twelve or so who was studying with a group of sages to develop her talent.

  “Morgaine says I can go to school with her, here in Lutecia.” Jeff’s face was aglow with enthusiasm. “I’ve never been to school, not since I was a baby, and that doesn’t count.” Morgaine made a slight curtsy before she spoke, turning to Kat, who had wandered, slightly bleary-eyed, into the dining room. “The sages hold classes for those with talent. Jeff should not leave his talent untrained. It could be dangerous for him, and it would be a waste for the community.”

  “That’s all very well, young lady.” Kat stifled a yawn. “But how can Jeff go to school when he doesn’t even have a home? We’re from Europe. We don’t belong here.”

  “This is our home now, Kat, haven’t you understood that?” Jeff’s look was full of reproach. “Our Europe doesn’t exist anymore.”

  Kat blustered. “Of course I know all that but… Oh, it’s easy for you. You’re young enough to take everything in your stride—”

  A pair of arms enlaced her from behind, and she jumped.

  “And I suppose you’re old enough to remember the Holy Ghost when he was an egg, as my Grandma Quinn used to say.”

  Kat wriggled free, blushing furiously. “Old enough to have a sense of decorum, anyway.”

  Yvain coughed, his eyes twinkling in his infuriating way. “I’m afraid school is out of the question for the moment, until things…settle down.” He gave Morgaine a reassuring smile. “But don’t worry, the Assembly will sort everything out. You’ll see.”

  * * * *

  The cloister was in shadow when they arrived and took up their places. A cool breeze brought the scent of roses from the gardens and swallows shrieked overhead. The faces of the Assembly members were solemn, and Tully felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. Yvain introduced a tall man with light-brown curly hair, dressed in the habitual loose linen clothes and soft leather boots and carrying a traveler’s staff. There was a vibrancy about him, like a deer or a horse poised to bound away. Even when he faced the Assembly to speak, he appeared to be in movement.

  “Tancred Ranulfson brings us news from the villages at the edge of the forest of Retz to the north,” Yvain announced and stepped back.

  The man—Tancred—shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his th
roat. “Wormholes have appeared, my friends, at the forest’s edge. I saw the first a few hours ago, and there were three more before I left to bring the news here. A child disappeared before I could alert the villagers.” The Assembly members looked at one another in dismay. “But they have guards posted to prevent any further accidents. My friends”—Tancred clenched his fists and took two or three long strides along the front rank of the Assembly—“I fear this is more than a minor perturbation in the worlds beyond. The worms were not daunted by the fireballs we threw into the holes. They have a deeper power with them that keeps the holes open. Something is preparing.” He held his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness. “Have the sages of the Assembly knowledge of this? The people are uneasy, and I have no guidance to offer them.”

  Alinor rose to her feet. “When the dreamcatchers drew these survivors from the dying Earth into our world, we all understood the risk—that Wormwood and his companions might follow them. As you know, when Eblis-Azazel, the fourth Horseman, sounds the trumpet, the Apocalypse will be achieved, and the world will die in a frenzy of war, famine, plague and fire. You also know the story of Israfel.” A murmuring of assent filled the cloisters and the Assembly members leaned forward with new hope in their faces. “It is this story that our friends, the seven stars from the Earth laid waste, will attempt to realize.”

  Tancred, who had been about to take a seat, turned and looked at the strangers with renewed interest. There were loud exclamations of enthusiasm and some cheering that died away when Jack asked in a loud voice, “Excuse my ignorance, your friendships, but exactly who is Israfel?”

  “The Guardian of music,” Yvain replied, his face radiant. Tully felt something tug at his insides as a glow of wellbeing spread through his body.

  “The hero who’s going to square up to Eblis?” Jack snorted. “What’s he going to do? Sing him lullabies?”

  “Listen to him!”

  A big man with a dark beard pushed his way to the front of the Assembly and pointed an accusing finger at Jack. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows revealing heavy tanned forearms and thick neck muscles bulged at his open shirt collar.

  Must be the village blacksmith, Tully found himself thinking.

  The man rolled his eyes and bawled again. “This, my friends, is one of your famous heroes! They know nothing of our history and care even less. For thousands of years they have listened to the prattling of Wormwood, and now that their world has been extinguished, they have led him here. Who will stand against the army from the dead lands? Not these uncouth louts, these stars fallen into ignorance. If one of them is Eblis, let Wormwood have him, I say. The Apocalypse is their story, not ours. Let the Horsemen return to the crepuscule world and leave us in peace.”

  Tully’s caught Carla’s eye. This was the opposition, the fissure through which Wormwood had entered. There was a stunned silence, followed by a storm of voices, most of them shocked at the vehemence in the black-bearded man’s words. But there was also some muttered agreement. Alinor raised her hand for silence.

  “Friend Bohemond, all in this room know that the worlds are inextricably linked. When the Four Horsemen have laid waste the world of crepuscule, nothing will stop them from coming here. How do we even know that the world these young people left is not already dead and Wormwood on his way?”

  Carla put a hand before her mouth to try to stop the sob of despair. But Alinor saw the anguish in her eyes and turned back to Bohemond. “Where is your heart, master modeler? How can you even contemplate betraying these innocents? Where is your understanding, your compassion?”

  “My compassion, mistress of this house, is with the corpses of Five Oaks village and with the orphans and grieving parents who are left!”

  “And mine too!” Tancred leapt to his feet again. “But what came out of the wormholes was not human, nor was it conjured by humankind. We all know the worms cannot be commanded by human beings, no matter how powerful or evil their intent, but they will do Wormwood’s bidding. As friend Alinor said, if one world falls, all the worlds are in danger. If Eblis is found, all the worlds are lost. I am surprised and ashamed for my friends of this Assembly that you pretend it could be otherwise.”

  “Our guests are not to blame for the evil that has entered this world, Bohemond,” Alinor added. “They came only because the dreamcatchers summoned them.”

  “And an evil day’s work that was too!”

  More murmuring of agreement came from the Assembly, and another man barged to the front, his gray face congested with anger.

  “Friend Bohemond is right. The strangers must be handed over to Wormwood, if there is even the slenderest of chances that it will appease him.”

  Alinor frowned and several Assembly members rose to their feet, mutiny in their faces. Alinor raised her hand and made a discreet sign, and two substantial men, who Tully described to himself as gorillas, moved silently one on either side of the speaker.

  “The right to speak in the Assembly is reserved for elected members, friend. Make your views known to your representative, and he or she will transmit them. You may leave.” Alinor waved her hand, and the gorillas ejected the intruder. Before they reached the door, the gray-faced man turned and shouted over his shoulder, “You harbor Eblis among these traitors, and Wormwood will find him, even if he must sieve the ashes of Lutecia to do so!”

  The Assembly was slow to settle down. The big man—Bohemond—kept to center stage, intent on pursuing his argument. There had been a subtle change around of positions, and Bohemond now found himself at the head of a knot of opposition. Carla nudged Tully.

  “The man who was thrown out was one of the men in the auberge. Did you not recognize him?”

  Tully nodded. “Just about. All of Bohemond’s supporters look the same. Have you ever seen an unhealthier looking bunch outside of a morgue?”

  Carla’s expression was grim. Tully saw that she too had noticed the similarity, the gray pallor, the thin hair, the clothes that gaped and bagged, the belts notched tighter. He glanced at Yvain and saw the same recognition in his face. The Horsemen might be on their way, but their allies in Lutecia were already at work.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bohemond Speaks with Wormwood’s Voice

  “The Assembly is adjourned!”

  A cry of protest greeted Alinor’s decision, but she clapped her hands and the guards posted around the cloister stood to attention. With a subdued muttering of discontent, the crowd left, many with backward glances—some hostile, but most of incomprehension. The last to leave was Bohemond. He pointed a finger that moved from Alinor to Yvain and back again.

  “You can clear the Assembly, but you cannot stifle the truth. Within hours, the entire city will know that we harbor the scourge in our midst, and you will not be able to stem the tide of anger.”

  Yvain fixed his blue eyes on Bohemond and the black-bearded man was unable to hold his gaze. “You mean well, friend Bohemond, but you are letting yourself be led into troubled waters by an evil star. Bad councilors are murmuring wicked thoughts in your ear. Do not listen! There is still time.”

  Bohemond’s face contorted with conflicting expressions, as if he was struggling to gain control of his thoughts. He put his hands to his throat and gasped for air. His eyes bulged with the effort, as he tried in vain to speak. He tore at his throat until the blood ran, but no words would come, just a rasping sound, an animal panting.

  “If only we had a healer with us! He’s trying to fight the demon in his head.” Alinor wrung her hands. “Guard, run and find—”

  Suddenly Bohemond drew himself upright, and his hands hung limply by his side. “Leave your healers be, Alinor.” His face was now a rictus of hatred. “I want none of them. I am not sick, just because I repeat what we all know. If the only way to stop Wormwood and his Horsemen is to throw them these refugees from a dying world, I will not hesitate. And I will not be alone.”

  As Bohemond turned to stride away, Kat reached out a hand and her fingers g
razed his forearm. Bohemond snatched his arm away as if he had been burned, covering the place with his hand. He stared at Kat with wide eyes.

  “Keep away from me,” he barked and was gone.

  Kat blushed in confusion. “I just thought that…if I could maybe…” She held out her hand and stared at her fingers. Jack put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “He didn’t want helping anyway.” Then he looked at Alinor and Yvain. “But if there’s many more like him, we’re in for trouble.”

  “Oh, we’re in for a whole heap of trouble, my friend. Make no mistake,” Yvain said with a smile.

  “Does nothing rub you up the wrong way?” Jim asked, with a little of his old irascibility.

  “Certainly!” Yvain’s expression grew deadly serious. “I can’t stand warm beer.”

  * * * *

  “Shouldn’t she have a collar or something?” Jack was scratching Dusty’s ears. “They might have dog catchers here, you know.”

  Jeff was packing his new clothes into a backpack. He shrugged. “I’m not sure she counts as a dog.”

  Dusty yawned and gave them a short burst of canine yodeling.

  “No, I suppose you’re right,” Jack said absently. “Kat, did you see what I did with that knife that modeler friend of Jim’s gave me?”

  “Packed,” Kat replied.

  “Oh, right.”

  “Dad?” Tully dug him gently in the ribs.

  “What?”

  “How are you?”

  “Survivin’”

  “No, really, are you okay?”

  “Since you ask, no. I’m shittin’ bricks.”

  Carla laughed. “Liar! You’re loving every minute.”

  Jack grinned. “Just testing.”

  “Look.” Jim had been sitting quietly in a corner of his room. His bag with his shapka lying on top was ready to go. The door was open, and they all peered inside. Jim held up a flute for them to admire.