by A. Sparrow
“Down low!” said Ubaldo.
I dove down flat, pressing my cheek against the soft and fragrant meadow as the pressure wave stomped and scraped over my back. When it had moved on, I looked up to see the sword still vertical. Moreover, the blade had swollen into a perfect cylinder and had doubled in length. The rod kept growing until it was taller than my head. It showed no signs of stopping there. Soon it was a huge pillar, as big and stout as a pine tree, much larger than the cracker that had served as its template.
One of the Hashmallim overseers abandoned all caution and sent his contingent of Cherubim storming after us. Slashers all, their psychic muzzles released, they came bounding after us now, bladed limbs raised and ready to strike.
A series of waves ripped through the ground, tearing trenches, heaping earth, tossing the Cherubim off their feet and dumping them into newly opened ditches. The neat formations of troops so carefully and artfully arrayed around us were twisted apart and upended. The ring road burst with the crack of bone. White shards flew through the air like shrapnel.
A shrieking falcon dive-bombed us, its forward cannon disgorging a sheet of stretchy plasma that came flapping and twirling at the now gigantic pillar that had been my sword. The substance came apart in clots and clumps that burned like acid wherever it touched. It slapped wetly against the column and dribbled off in gooey strands, cleaning off the grime, leaving it not only unscathed but gleaming, its full luster restored.
The root quake had now reached the outskirts of the city, cracking facades, peeling walls and heaving roofs. The color bleached out of the front-most rank of crystalline towers. They stood like dead teeth among their companions as they tossed about like unmoored skiffs in a gale, oscillating out of synch until some broke at their bases and crashed into their neighbors.
Towers went dark and toppled. The lower buildings crumbled and dropped into vast chalky crevasses. Clouds of white dust billowed everywhere and smothered everything. The cityscape had become a nightmare of jagged spires erupting with fireballs.
Chapter 66: The Parting
With awe and disbelief, I watched the cataclysm unfold and evolve from our weird, little bubble of quietude at the base of the column. The cracker roared and shook like a rocket booster, generating clashing waves that pulverized the landscape in every direction.
Apart from a high frequency vibration that buzzed my teeth like a dentist’s drill, the ground within twenty meters of the column remained unaffected. I suppose it made sense that the creators of an earthquake generator would design measures that prevented the device from destroying itself and its operators.
But beyond our refuge, thunderous explosions punctuated the rumble as the bedrock split and ripped apart. Walls of stone ground together like gnashing teeth, crumbling and churning boulders into grit. Here and there, clouds of dust billowed up as the land collapsed and filled the caverns and tunnels beneath.
What once had been a section of gently sloping meadow above a lake had become an isolated, steep-walled bluff. The lake was gone, drained through a ravine that now cut through the low range of hills separating us from the sea. Fresh water clashed with sea water flooding in from the new fissures splitting the headlands. Shaggy swaths of severed root squeezed into the newly created rifts.
The surviving Hashmallin had lost all control over whatever psychic reins they held over their assigned Cherubim. Now master-less and aimless, the slave soldiers meandered about the still heaving terrain, experiencing a freedom they had not experienced since the theft of their souls, yet had no will to lead them.
The Lords and privileged spectators of Penult in their cushy aero-lounges retreated with haste. Their flying machines, some bulbous, some sleek, herded back to safety under the close escort of a growing swarm of falcons. The ruins of Loomis no longer offered refuge. They were forced to seek safety in the hills of the interior.
A flurry of wing beats punched through the clouds of chalky dust wafting over us. I shrank away, expecting it some last ditch, spiteful and vengeful assault by the Pennies on their falcons. But the familiar glint of compound eyes reassured me. These were our insects! In quick succession, Karla’s robber fly, Olivier’s scorpion fly and Ubaldo’s wasp landed on our little refuge.
Blood streamed down Karla’s face and one of her eyes was blackened.
“What happened to you?”
“Just get on!”
She didn’t need to ask me twice this time around. Wincing with every move, I staggered over and climbed onto on the back of her fly, hauling myself up between its gangly and bristly hind legs. Karla grabbed my wrist to help me aboard, surprising me with her wiry strength.
Olivier was in no shape to walk or fly on his own. Ubaldo lifted him up and carried him over to his wasp, lashing him into place on his saddle. Olivier was so weak that he was barely able to raise his head. Solomon was already in the saddle of Yaqob’s trusty scorpion fly.
Karla twisted around, her eyes aglow with awe.
“You knew. You planned this thing all along. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have stayed.”
“What? You mean my sword? No. I had no idea.”
“Stop with the pretend modesty. We both know, this was you.”
“No. Really. I had no clue any of this would happen.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised, given my experience with ‘miracles’ in desperate times, but I was still in a state of shock over what we had just witnessed. I was too dazed to feel happy or victorious, though from the size of their grins, Ubaldo and Solomon did not share my inhibitions.
“Hold on!” said Karla. She stomped twice and the robber fly jetted off the hillock, rising in a wide, banking arc back towards the ocean, giving us a sweeping view of the damage below.
The land was torn apart for miles beyond Loomis. Further inland, yet another city skyline looming over the horizon also showed signs of disruption, with towers leaning or toppled, their formerly shining facades dulled.
Deep, gorge-like rifts had spread in all directions like the rays of a terrestrial supernova. Thick swaths of roots surged up through the gaps, like stuffing poking out of a battered teddy bear.
Several of the newer, quicker falcons shadowed us from afar, too shy to take us on, perhaps wondering what other tricks we had up our sleeves, though in truth, we were unarmed and defenseless.
Karla leaned back and kissed my cheek. Her lips lingered close to mine, expecting to be kissed in return, but I was too discombobulated to reciprocate even if I had wanted.
She hissed into my ear.
“You. Are. Amazing! See? This is why we needed you. No one else could have done this.”
I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing. This really wasn’t my doing. Sure, it was my sword that had been turned into a doomsday weapon, and I was the one who had activated it, but all of the art and craft that had gone into making it what it was had come solely from the mind of Victoria.
I had caught Victoria in the act of applying her enormous skill to modify the captured column, converting a simple utilitarian cracker into a superior weapon of mass destruction. Its power would have gone far beyond those that had laid waste to the pitted plains, the mesas and Frelsi. When she had turned her attentions to go after me, the intentions of her subconscious will, in all its complexity, had been misdirected to the sword I had pointed at her, trying to summon one of my own feeble and reluctant emissions of will.
And then, while the defensive avatars of Loomis had destroyed the original column, they were unable to detect the presence of its miniaturized but just as potent replica—my humble sword.
I had to wonder if Victoria had been on our side the whole time, acting as a double agent. Somehow, that didn’t seem likely. She gave every indication she was committed to the enemy’s cause when I had tussled with her in the grotto. Perhaps, she was just a good actress?
***
We landed just beyond the zone of the most serious root quake damage, on a windswept stretch of white sand beach
littered with wave-sculpted bits of what looked like bone.
Olivier was still bleeding badly. We laid him out on the sand and Solomon tightened his tourniquet, while Karla attempted to re-wrap the horrific gash in his calf with scraps of scraggly cloth.
“Jesus Christ!” said Olivier, through gritted teeth. “It had to be my leg, it’s always the legs!”
“Fate,” said Ubaldo, his eyes raised to the sky.
We were the sorriest looking bunch of raiders now. None of us carried a weapon of any sort and all of us but Karla were naked beyond the few shreds of partially unwoven cloth dangling from our collars and waists, exposing every bruise and scrape and contusion.
Solomon kept looking up at me. I stood with my arms held out at an odd angle, and I kept shifting my weight and grimacing.
“Are you uncomfortable?”
I bit my lip and nodded.
“Took a hit to my middle. My ribs got a little messed up.”
“I am thinking there is something wrong with your eyes,” said Solomon.
“Yeah, well, I got kind of knocked in the head, too.”
“No worries. He will fly with me,” said Karla.
I plopped down in the sand and brought my knees up to my chin, staring down the coastline at the freshly fractured bluffs. It bothered me that Urszula and Mikal had still not returned from their scouting missions. As time went on, the prospects of them returning grew ever bleaker. But I knew Urszula to be tough and resourceful. All hope was not yet lost.
“Okay. He is patched,” said Solomon. “I think we are ready to go.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for the others?” I said.
Karla shot me one of those looks. “Don’t be silly. We need to go.”
“What if they come back and nobody’s here? What if they need help?”
“If they are not here by now they are not coming back,” said Karla. “There is nothing to be done.”
“We don’t know that. Not for sure.”
“Mr. Olivier needs a flesh weaver or he will lose his leg,” said Solomon.
“Not again, Goddamnit!” said Olivier.
“Then take him back. I’ll stay.”
“You have no bug!” said Karla. “And the Pennies will be coming for you! What then?”
“Let them come. I don’t care.”
“What is wrong with you? You act like I killed your mother or something. Why do you hate me?”
Karla’s eyes bulged as she struggled to contain an outburst.
“This is not about you.”
“Urszula! You are worried for that Urszula!”
“And Mikal … and Tigger.”
“You are unbelievable!” There was fire and confusion in her eyes. But I just wanted her gone. It hurt my head and heart just being around her these days.
“I will stay with James,” said Ubaldo. “You three can go.”
“We will send you an escort from the other side,” said Solomon, as he helped Olivier into his saddle.
“Remember. Go east of north when you cross,” said Olivier. “That will keep you away from the beachhead.”
“Do not linger here too long,” said Karla, her cheeks suddenly damp with tears. “Come home soon.”
With a tremendous crash, a cliff-face crashed into the sea a short ways down the coast. Karla kept her eyes on me as she mounted her insect. Solomon squealed like he was calling a hog and the bugs exploded off the beach and out into the strait.
Chapter 67: The Black
We watched the flies and their riders grow smaller and smaller until they dipped below the arc of the way too near horizon and vanished beneath the waves. I wondered if I would ever see the other side of this strait again.
My head was a bit muddled on the topic of my continued existence. Part of me wanted to cling to life with every ounce of my strength. The other part wanted to just let go like Gandalf clinging to the ledge in the mines of Moria, even though I had no Hobbits to save from Balrogs.
It didn’t really matter to me what came next. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about any of my future prospects, at least none of the practical variety as in—likely to happen. Sure, I’d love to be a rock star or a famous writer or a billionaire inventor, but mere pipe dreams could no longer sustain my taste for life.
But that was okay. I was calm and accepting of whatever freight train full of fate was coming my way in either realm. No use freaking out. What good would come of that?
I mean, what was the worst that could happen? That I might blink right out of all existence? Was that so bad? At least that would get my head finally clear.
Vanishing into nothingness was actually one of the more favorable options available, but also the least likely to happen. There were worse places to end up than nowhere-ville. But many better ones, too.
Back when I was suicidal, nothingness was a big draw. But Root turned out to be way cooler than I imagined. So was the Deeps, for that matter, though that might be pushing it. But it was tolerable, unlike my life at times.
Knowing that souls more often than not keep on trucking regardless of what happens to their mortal shells really changed my perspective on things. It quelled a lot of my life and death. It lowered the stakes immensely, made risks less risky.
Yeah. Sure. I would prefer to live. Who wouldn’t? But if that simply was not going to be possible, then no biggie. Odds were good I could manage to find a semi-comfortable realm somewhere out there.
True, I might just as easily get stuck in some shit hole place, difficult if not impossible to wriggle free of. Like the Horus of the Deeps, that great trash compactor of spirits. And then there were also those creepy, de-souled Cherubim to think about and keep me from being completely at ease with the universe.
On the other hand, the unbounded freedom of the Singularity might be pretty sweet. Where souls roamed like winged wild horses, impossible to rein.
Wild or not, let’s not put the cart before the horse. I still lived. And life is life. Accept no substitutes, if you can avoid it. Though, that last sentiment was starting to ring hollow.
Cool wavelets lapped at my toes. The tide was coming in, which was news to me. I didn’t even know that this place had tides. It had a thing that looked like a moon but I could never be sure that it was real.
I was probably due for a fade, so it was time to take Olivier’s advice more seriously. I sat cross-legged on the damp and gritty sand and practiced how I might exert my will to track down and neutralize the poison in my body. Why not give myself every option instead of slamming the door on life?
So I sent my will probing down to my fingertips and toenails. It was a clumsy and uninformative process, like sticking a plumber’s snake around the bend of a dark drain pipe. My perceptions of my inner workings remained distant and vague. I’m not even sure I would be able to discern self from non-self.
In the Liminality, bodies were different in fundamental ways than the ones we possess on the other side. Here, if I wanted, I could stop my heart and make my blood flow backward. This place was not life, just an approximation, one step removed from the real thing. The Liminality allowed biology and physiology to break some of the usual rules without repercussions. That’s why the Old Ones could enter the long sleep, practically mummify and then pop up years later all spry and nimble.
Probably, the key to licking this poison would be to reach out and get the Singularity to help me. I had difficulty imagining where this ricin would go in my body, where it would disperse and how it would look at the cellular and molecular level. My will needed a visual or conceptual target to latch onto in order to exert any influence. That, only the Singularity could provide.
The Pennies were starting to get a little bolder. A pair of unusually sleek and jaunty flying contraptions with swept back wings bounced in the turbulent air along the fractured bluffs, but curtailed their approach before they reached our stretch of beach.
“I wish they would come,” said Ubaldo. “Only two. You and me, we could kill them. Easy.”
/> “Um, yeah.”
Ubaldo’s wasp chittered and fanned its wings, all fidgety and antsy to leave. He went over and rubbed the plate between her eyes and mandibles.
“Easy, Sophia. Take it easy.”
“I didn’t know your wasp had a name.”
“Why shouldn’t she?”
“I don’t know. I just … didn’t know.”
Sophia settled down and preened her antennae.
“You and the girl. Karla. You still have problem?”
“Well, yeah. We did,” I said, a little surprised by the question. “But it’s no big deal now. I’m over it.”
He just nodded and sat down beside me, saying nothing more, as if that were all the explanation he required. The crash and rumble of shifting rocks began to ebb. The root quake was finally winding down.
“Where are you from, Ubaldo?”
He gave me a queer look like it was the last thing he expected me to ask.
“Does it matter?”
I sighed. “Just making small talk. You don’t have to—“
“When I die, I was in New York. Upstate. By Hudson River. I worked in a brass mill. Making wire. But I come from a small island, smaller than this one. Filicudi. You know it?”
“Can’t say I do.”
He frowned. “No one ever does. It is a small place. Isole Aeolie. Near Lipari.”
Something large glinted above the remains of the bluffs where we had just seen the falcons patrolling. It was coming at us fast.
“Shit!”
I tried to rise but only got as far as my knees but a sharp jolt of pain in my middle kept me down
“No worries,” said Ubaldo, smiling. “This is one of ours. A dragonfly.”
***
My heart leaped, thinking it was Urszula returning safely, but the bug coming our way had striped wings and bore no riders. It was Tigger, which was great, but I kept watching the bluffs, hoping another bug would appear around them. But it was all in vain. Tigger came alone.
