The Liminal People

by Ayize Jama-everett

  “She works with two others. A boy, responsible for the killing. He makes things explode with his mind. And a girl who controls animals.”

  “Really?” The possessive smile of a kid in a toyshop, one who’s finally found his favorite item, takes over the man’s face. “And you’ve seen this animal girl?”

  “Yes,” I say, thankful I’ve given him something of interest other than Tamara. “She’s Alia’s bitch from what I understand. There’s no spine in her.”

  Before I can go on, Nordeen stops our walk to watch the lion man take apart the poor plainsmen who appealed to him for help. One man is bitten and shaken to death by the lion man; the paw-like hands of the creature maul three others. When it’s done, the creature growls again in full fury. It’s then that Nordeen’s spirit body shakes. “This will only take a second,” he tells me.

  From out of his form, a duplicate pulls itself. I hold on to the man I was walking with as he shakes. When the duplicate fully emerges from the old vessel, I find myself supporting the body of the Nordeen I know, the older man of gray features and tremendous ambiguous power. Yet he still stands erect and angry. The younger body walks in front of the lion man and whispers in the same language as his deceased petitioners. The lion man raises his paw only to be held in check by some unseen power. The younger Nordeen’s whispering becomes louder, more inconstant, less like speech and more like idiot-savant scatting. In under a minute the lion man is reduced to a small shell of a lion cub, whimpering and crying as though it hadn’t eaten in months. With a quick thrust of the heel, the younger Nordeen smashes the cub’s head. He doesn’t look back, just keeps on walking. But halfway to the horizon he growls, and his growl has the same sound as the lion man’s, only with the spit-infected rattle of Nordeen.

  “What the fuck was that?” I’m asking as I stare into the prideful face of the old man.

  “A rewriting of history or at least memory” is the closest he’ll give me to an answer. I don’t push it. “This animal girl. I want her. Deal with the illusionist and her exploding boy as you see fit, but I have uses for a totem controller.”

  “I can’t guarantee—”

  “Do you forget your oath?” I look down, and the razor around my neck is hot. Shit, even in my imagination body, I carry it.

  “I was only going to say I can’t guarantee to deliver her unharmed.” It’s a lie. A bald-faced lie. And he doesn’t catch it.

  “Harmed is fine, so long as she still has access to her powers. . . .” He pauses and looks down. Drops of blood paint the ground. I look around quickly, thinking the lion man or the spearmen might have attacked us. But no. The blood is coming from my hands.

  “Healer, why is there blood on your hands?”

  I’m awake.

  The bed is empty when I rise. I dress quickly, afraid that my six-hour time limit is up. I rush down unfamiliar stairs to the scent of chocolate tea. Samantha sits comfortably on a chair, sipping tea and reading a foreign-scripted book. In a brass ashtray lies a joint of something that smells too sweet to be marijuana or hash. She’s set a place for me. The same style of ambient music plays as when I first entered the house, but while then it was active and frenetic, it’s soothing and passive now.

  “You’ve only been asleep for half an hour. I’d appreciate the chance to speak with you, if your schedule will allow.” She doesn’t look at me until I speak.

  “What is it with you and tea?” I say, taking a seat in the wooden hand chair across from her. I think it’s wood, but it feels more like calloused flesh.

  “I find it soothes my nerves. Did you get what you need from your employer?”

  “You couldn’t tell? For some reason I felt like we were inside you, in a bizarre way.”

  “If I wanted to, yes, I could’ve listened in. But I have no taste for any business that involves that man.” She rinses her mouth with her tea then takes a long drag from her joint. She doesn’t offer me any.

  “Did you ever?” I venture. “Have a taste for what I do?”

  “And what is it that you do, Taggert?” She says it with more pity than I feel comfortable hearing in anyone’s voice regarding me. “What does Nordeen use you for?”

  “The same thing he used you for, I suspect. To keep those he doesn’t know in line, and to keep those he knows afraid of him.”

  “And you are comfortable with that role?” She pats my hand. Despite the pheromones, I pull back.

  “Like you, I made my deal with him when I was too young to know better. And now it’s too late. I do the best I can with what I’ve got. That’s all I can do.”

  “I can offer you more.” For some reason I believe her. “I broke his hold over me, and I can tell I’m not as strong as you.”

  “I was there when you ‘broke’ from him. You just exchanged one master for another.”

  “My new lord is as far from Nordeen as we are from the average man and woman on the street.” The smoke dances across her eyes, but she doesn’t blink. She just takes it in and lets the milky film of tears well up in her deep brown orbs of grace. “Soon my lord will have a vassal strong enough to challenge the Nordeens of the world; the fence-sitters and the opportunists. The vassal will make way for the new growth. You could be part of it.”

  “You’ve been with this new lord since you left Nordeen?” She nods vigorously as I take her hand in mine. “If Nordeen sent me here, don’t you think he’d know you’d try to convert me?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She smiles so wide I’m afraid she’ll tear her cheeks. “Once you join, you will have the power of us all behind you. Nordeen will not risk open warfare with my lord.”

  “You’d be surprised what the old man will risk. Besides, I don’t want to trade one master for another. Even one as great as you claim yours is.” But that doesn’t stop her smile. She puts her joint down and clasps my hands with her free hand.

  “You don’t understand, Taggert. Listen. What are you?”

  “I’m a healer.” I say on reflex.

  “Exactly. Your trek across the Motherland was legendary. Gods took notice. That was who you were supposed to be. Did you know that it was Nordeen who pushed you towards the Dogon? He used them to make you feel inferior, to make you confused. Then, when you were at your weakest, that’s when he picked you up. But even then you were not warped enough to be suitable for his handling. When did Nordeen find use for you?” My mind goes back to the year I didn’t use my power until the bar fight, and my first realization of the pain I could inflict with my powers. As though she sees my thoughts, Samantha nods in time. “He can only use that which he has twisted from its original form.” She pauses, choosing her words delicately.

  “Where you just met him . . . most have to lose the most intimate of control to access that place. Nordeen gets there by sacrificing an innocent. This is who you work for, Taggert. Nordeen is a killer. You are no killer, Taggert. At least not by nature. And your nature is important.”

  I pull my hands away and stand. “I have to go.” I walk to the door. I don’t hear her footsteps, I don’t see her pass me, but somehow she bars my way before I can grab the knob.

  “I mean no offense,” she says genuinely.

  “I know. I can’t do this. Someone is relying on me.”

  “Humanity is relying on you.”

  “I don’t have time for your religion.”

  “It is not religion, Taggert. It is the reason we exist. We are the liminal ones. We can be poison or prophylactic to the human race.” I stop trying to leave and look at her. She’s got tears in her eyes. “A battle is coming. A war of gods in which humans’ only roles will be casualties. But those like us, liminal ones, we can change the tide. We can make humanity a factor in the war of the gods. Some of them respect us and will speak to us. We can petition on the behalf of humanity. People like Nordeen only wish to throw in their lot with one god or another. Or even worse, pit them against each other, figuring he’ll end up on top. He’s a spiritual profiteer making gain from the gift
s of others. But you don’t have to live as he—”

  “Enough!” I shout. “This is so far above my head you might as well be speaking another language. I have enough on my plate right now! I have to save a little girl. I have to deliver another one to Nordeen. I have to kill another one! And don’t give me that shit about ‘it’s not in my nature to kill.’ I savaged my own brother into a vegetative state with my own two hands before I had my first wet dream!”

  “But you didn’t kill him,” she says, softly touching my face. “And you didn’t use the thing inside of you to do it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I learned along time ago to assess the eyes of a killer. That’s not what you have. You’ll kill if it means saving others. And Nordeen has forced you to kill when you didn’t want to. But you are no gratuitous spiller of blood. You are only disconnected. You have no true idea as to your name and your function. You play the role of grunt when in truth you are a surgeon.”

  “I can’t leave Nordeen.” She nods. “I’ve got to finish what I’m here for.” Again with the nod. “This is all too much for me. Will you quit it with the nodding and say something?”

  “Come back.” She holds me tightly. I can feel my body giving in to hers. It’s remembering what we did before. How we did it, how much I fought giving in for the final time, and how much she wanted me to. In her scent I remember it all.

  “When it’s all over.” She keeps talking. “If you’ve failed or if you’ve won or if you’ve done something in between. If you’re broken or whole. If you believe me insane, or Nordeen just too powerful to ignore, come back to me just one more time. You will be welcomed into this house again, and you will not be harmed.” When she’s done she lets me go. I don’t move.

  “If I caused you any pain or if I insulted your beliefs . . . ,” I offer.

  “You’ve done more than I thought possible from someone in that man’s thrall. You spoke honestly and acted in what you thought was the best interest of the both of us.”

  “I appreciate what you did for me.” Again with the nodding. “I don’t mean with Nordeen. I haven’t . . . It’s been a long time since a woman invited me into her bed.” I do believe she’s blushing. I leave before I have a chance to confirm it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You left me so that you could go get laid?” Tamara is barking this in the tunnel after hugging me with no consideration for my ribs. It’s hard to be mad at her.

  “I didn’t realize that’s what it would take!”

  “So some guy gives you a note saying go bang this mystical snatch and you just go without questioning it?”

  “You’re wasting time.” I go into the fridge and find something to cool down the burning I’m feeling inside. Free and clear of Samantha’s pheromones, and with two hours in transit to process all that I saw, all that I felt, I’m still feeling this burning inside. My body is healthy. But I think I’m angry. “I need locations.”

  “Locations of what?” She’s down to business, still close to my side, like a puppy.

  “Rajesh’s family restaurant, and the next spot for the Bender party.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Go kill the fuck out of both of them.” I look at her without a hint of humor. “They’re not protected by anyone. No one will miss them when they’re gone. Fire and hell won’t rain down on your head if I pop them.”

  “What about your head?” The question is tender and genuine. I’m not ready for it.

  “I’ll be fine. But look, this is your last Get Out of Jail Free card. You can still go running to the government. Tell them who you are, cook up some Iraqi terrorist story and they’ll hide you long enough for me to do the deed and get gone. But if you stay in this . . .”

  “I’m staying.”

  “If you stay, there’s going to be blood on your hands. Most likely blood from using your powers. It changes you. I’d never wish that on anyone.”

  “The bitch killed my parents.” She stops me cold. I realize she hasn’t eaten the food she bought, hasn’t showered in days, has passed out more than slept since her parents died. I’ve met the psychotic compromise of Tamara, and not the real girl. I wonder if her parents would recognize her. “Rajesh, he scares me. I’d take him, but I won’t lie. He scares me. That means he’ll have the advantage since we both have to think to use our power. But Alia. I was thinking after you left. I never put it together before. She’s weak, scared. And she ordered Rajesh to . . . I want her blood on my conscious.”

  “It’s conscience.”

  “I know what I said and I know what I meant. I want her blood on my conscious. Every morning I wake up, I want to know that I killed the murderer of my mother and father.”

  “So long as it’s a decision you’re making.” I have an odd feeling of pride. “But if you’re down, we’ve got to work on your skills.”

  “Mind your gap,” she snaps. “I pushed you out a window.”

  “And still didn’t take me out,” I snap back. “You squandered that drop on me because you couldn’t finesse the move. If you had pushed fifty paperclips through my brain, you would’ve used less energy and actually achieved something. Instead, you blew your wad on your opening shot and got a mouthful of toilet water in return because you were too weak to defend yourself.

  “We’ve got one shot at this, Tamara. We can’t afford any mistakes. These people are like you, not very skilled but extremely powerful. One wrong move and we’re out of the game.”

  “Then teach me what you can. Please.”

  I feed her first. Chicken vindaloo with some naan and poppadoms at a no-name curry spot with bad service and the best booth we can find. We don’t speak as we eat. It’s a chore for her. I’m seeing the depression in her for the first time. Insanely spicy hot food gets no reaction.

  We’re aboveground. and she’s got her back to the door of the curry shack. Any of her enemies could come in, see her first and take a chunk out of the girl’s back before she had a chance to respond. I try and point it out to her.

  “My hair is usually lighter than this. I dyed it. I’m wearing makeup. I never do that. This is not my style. Before I was in skirts, hippy like. Plus, in case you forgot, I’m psychic. I’ve got stray thoughts from everyone in here.”

  “Me included?” I ask. Her brow turns down when she realizes she can’t read me. “You’re what we call a passive reader. Norms have no defense against you, but our type, we can defend against you if we know you’re coming.”

  “How?”

  “Different ways. Hard-core telepaths, the ones that only read thoughts, they’d just offer thought confusion for you like ‘What color does the sea sound like at dawn?’ Or ‘Math as the sense-making tool of the universe minus zeroes.’ Shit that’s confusing and intriguing at the same time. Hard-core telepaths find you peeking around their heads and get you interested in one of their thought puzzles.” I slap my hands together quick in front of her face. “They’ve trapped you. They can keep your mind in a vise for as long as they’ve got the energy to.” She nods, not wanting to refute me, just wanting to learn. As I am with Nordeen. The thought makes my stomach burn again. I think I’m angry with Nordeen.

  “Me, I think of a white sheet. Then I imagine totally pure milk poured on that white sheet. Soon I’ve got nothing in my mind but . . .”

  “A blank screen.” She nods her head. “It’s like meditation with a purpose.”

  “Exactly. So don’t always rely on what you can do. There’s ways around everything. Best to do what you can as a norm, and kick up the power only when necessary.”

  Tamara takes a few more bites of her food before she speaks again. “I knew you wouldn’t let anyone move on me anyway,” she says. I smile, then stop myself. I’m about to give her the semi-brushoff talk. The “I can help you but I’m not your friend” lecture. But she gives me a blow to the belly first.

  “Tell me about my mother.”

  “That’s not going to help us get done what we ne
ed to—”

  “It would help me,” she says softly. “I’m beginning to forget what her voice sounded like, what she smelled like.”

  “Rose petals dipped in lemon,” I say on instinct. Tamara stares at me as I try to ignore my own commentary.

  “My mother never told me much about you, aside from the fact that you were friends.”

  “Smart woman, your mother.”

  “You realize I’m a psychic, right?”

  “And you realize my white sheet is up, I’m sure.” I can feel her trying to pierce through my defenses. With proper training and time she’d be able to, if I didn’t try to stop her.

  “But surely that says something, right? What don’t you want me to know about my mother?”

  “Nothing.” I put my fork down. “Your mother was . . . a kindness to me when I didn’t know what kindness was.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  “This isn’t the time.”

  “Bloody wrong about that, you are. Way I see it, we’re about to go into what some might call war, yeah? Well, then, this is the part where I get to figure out who’s got my back and why.”

  “Not a chance you can just take it at face value that I’m here for you?”

  “That seem like the move of a smart girl, mate?”

  “I was at university.”

  “Which one?” She seems suspicious of the idea I was ever young, let alone a student.

  “George Washington University.”

  “Where the bloody hell is that?”