Emergent, Book One : Isobel

by Virginia Nikolaou

  ~

  Isobel caught up with Montgomery on the concourse lobby, which was empty save a few residents filling their vessels with water at the fountain. Ash was there too, getting his fill of water, lapping it up noisily right next to a little girl who was bent over with her tongue in the water, imitating him.

  "Isobel, you can't be serious about Babbocks Cove," Montgomery stated as they walked through the lobby.

  "We might not have a choice, Montgomery. Admiral Vin and Beatrice agree."

  "But Admiral Vin is as crazy as you are, and we don't even know the full extent of his craziness," he murmured.

  "That doesn't even make sense, Montgomery. And I'm not crazy."

  "Oh, I see. Last night we didn't really breach Bucky."

  "No, it happened," she replied.

  "Well, that's crazy then. Normal people don't do things like that, Isobel."

  "I think it's crazier to stand by and do nothing at all."

  Montgomery opened his mouth to reply when the transdermal transponder in his wrist went off. "Damn. I knew she'd be checking up on me soon. I can only turn it off for so long before she gets suspicious," he griped. Raising his arm, he flicked his wrist with a practiced snap, a hologram of his mother, Tullia Bird, appearing before him. A rather portly woman, she wore her hair in tight, brown curls, close to the head like a thick knitted cap, perfectly framing her kindly, plump face.

  "Montgomery, what in Evanders' name are you doing at the station?" she asked, puffing up like a hen. She craned her neck to and fro, her tiny mouth skewed in motherly concern. The worry lifted from her face when she caught sight of Isobel, her round apple blossom cheeks beaming through the hologram. "Isobel, dear girl, you should be home. Very strange times. Very strange indeed. Your mother must be very worried."

  "Thanks, Mrs. Bird. I'm sure you're right," she lied, averting her gaze. She'd disabled her own annoying transponder a long time ago. Her mother had never even noticed.

  Montgomery sighed in frustration. "Mom, I'll call you back. I can't talk right now. The reception's bad," he said and switched her off with another flick of his wrist. She reappeared a moment later.

  "Son. You need to come straight home. There's talk of a draft. And pick up your brother on your way. He'll be waiting for you at the usual place." Montgomery flicked her off again with a growl of frustration.

  "Sorry, Isobel. I have to go. Let's talk later, in a couple hours, I'll meet you at the central hub. We can decide about Babbocks Cove then," he said.

  "Right, but bring provisions, in case. I'll head home and pack what I can. I'll meet you at the alley in a few. Sure you don't want me to disable your transponder? I disconnected mine a while ago. It's easy."

  Montgomery vacillated momentarily. "That would panic my mom. No. I'll keep it for now. And I've already had enough pain for one week," he said wryly, his wrist ringing again. He flicked it again, cutting his mother off without answering. "I might take you up on that offer. After the war though. I've got to get going. Be careful at central if I'm late."

  "Will do," she promised, watching after him as he left the station lobby. She called Ash from the fountain, and turning, collided with Elder Bardo.

  He reached out and grabbed her hands in his own to prevent her from falling, the worry beads jammed uncomfortably between them.

  Isobel had only known this most esteemed of Elders from a distance, and as she stared into his milky white eyes, she realized that the irises had once been deep green. Pale pink veins bulged along the surface of his eyeballs like ancient riverbeds.

  "Pardon me, child, my eyesight isn't what it used to be," he chuckled, staring past her. His enormous ears, heavy with studded gold beads, bent down at the fuzzy tips. His face was inked, and the once vivid images gracing his younger skin had shrunk under the deep, crinkly wrinkles of age. He loosened his grip on her and chuckled again. "Allow this blind old fool to make it up to you, would you, dear? Join me below for a warm spot of cardamom brew?"

  Isobel had never been invited in to one of the resident's dwellings, and to be welcomed into Elder Bardo's home was an honor. "Of course. But I can't stay long. I'm meeting someone a bit later," she explained.

  "You have my word. A spot of brew, we exchange a few lies, spin a few tall tales, and you're on your way."

  Isobel laughed. "I might be able to do that," she replied.

  Her chest swelled with excitement and anticipation as she followed Elder Bardo to the lower level and along the main passage between tiny homes, stopping in front of a small circular cabin. Waiting for her to walk ahead as he followed, he opened the round wooden door, which smelled faintly sea salty, and with a sweep of his arm, welcomed her in.

  Isobel stepped into the warm, spicy-scented home, and much to her surprise, found it to be larger than the exterior led on. Elder Bardo motioned for her to sit in the worn leather armchair by the fire crackling in the deep set hearth. He grabbed a pair of hefty ceramic mugs on the way, and with the accuracy of a seeing man, poured a bit of brew for them from a small iron kettle which hung over the fire. The spicy aroma wafted through the room, and she inhaled the fragrant steam as he handed her the mug.

  Bardo sat down opposite her. "To the sweetest nectar of ages," he toasted, raising his mug in salutation.

  Isobel raised hers as well, taking a sip of brew.

  "What are you called, child? I'm sure I haven't had the pleasure."

  "My name is Isobel," she answered, licking her frothy lips.

  The low ceiling was supported by curved wooden beams that, in the low, flickering light, looked very much like the fossilized rib cage of a gigantic animal. Farther back, she could see another room, next to a kitchen, but it was dark.

  Bardo quietly considered her name as the firelight played on his face and the cinnabar beads clipped in the silence. "Ah. Isobel. A name of strength and honor, in Old reserved for those of noble birth. I am Elder Bardo. Landgraevan has no use for these ancient bones of mine. But your young man, he should be careful, Isobel."

  "I'm worried about the draft as well," she said, staring into her mug as the crackling fire drew her in. "He told me I was crazy just now," she uttered.

  Bardo held his beads quiet for a moment. "What was he thinking, stating the obvious," he chuckled. "Insanity is the realm of the thinkers, Isobel. The insane are the chance takers and the dreamers, the true caretakers of our future. I may not know you, but my intuition tells me that your young man is right, though I prefer the word unique. May I?" he asked, pointing to her forehead.

  Isobel drew in closer and he traced the imprinting with his finger. He sat back when he was finished and resumed his bead work, staring blankly ahead.

  "You wont tell anyone about this, will you?" Isobel asked.

  "Tell whom about what? I am blind. I see nothing. But that scar is not what makes you crazy. You weren't born imprinted. You were born different," Bardo explained, flinging the beads around his tight fist.

  Isobel studied him. "How so?" She waited expectantly, forgetting to breathe, but the old man flung his beads round and round, seemingly lost in thought.

  "I'm not a mystic, Isobel. I am simply an old man with a different set of eyes. I cannot tell you how you are unique other than I sense in you a kindred spirit," he replied.

  Isobel laughed. "You're calling yourself crazy, Elder Bardo?" The warmth of the room wrapped around her like a soft blanket. Ash had settled at her feet, his presence reassuring as she ran her fingertips through his thick fur.

  Bardo guffawed. "Unlike you, I value my insanity above all else, wearing it proudly for everyone to see."

  Spiraling embers flew from the hearth into the air, the tiny glowing amber specs landing on the flagstone floor at their feet. Isobel bent down to study a large ember which had landed at the toe of her boot when a dull thump sounded behind them. Ash rose and growled.

  "Give it no mind, Isobel. It is my pet, Grimalkin, waking from her nap. She is a bit of a recluse and has some bad habits, but
she's got a good heart."

  "What kind of pet?" Isobel asked. Standing, she peered into the dark room by the kitchen and heard another loud thump, followed by another, and another. Then, after a long pause, an enormous black ball of fur hopped languorously into the room, glinting ruby eyes staring straight ahead. It hop hobbled along, past Isobel, headed for Bardo, and Ash kept his eyes averted, pretending not to notice the obese rabbit waddling past him.

  "An animal of the feline persuasion, last I checked," Bardo laughed, and held his hand out to the cantankerous rabbit. Grimalkin twitched her pink whiskered nose, sniffing here and there, long, floppy ears draped to the floor like heavy black velvet.

  Isobel held back her laughter, wanting to explain to Bardo that Grimalkin was a rabbit not a cat. "I've never seen anything that fat," she exclaimed.

  Grimalkin paused, turning her twitching nose and red eyes to Isobel with thinly veiled contempt.

  "She's a bit sensitive about her weight. We don't talk about it."

  "I see," Isobel said, eyeing the rabbit, and sat back into the armchair. "You've been here a long time, Elder Bardo. What do you know of the tunnel rats?"

  Bardo held his cinnabar beads steady. "Tunnel rats, you say? Why are you interested in those beastly creatures of the underground?"

  "He wasn't beastly, really. He was almost human."

  "So you met one. I see. That's rare. Quite surprised that you lived through the encounter. They are the ancient natives of Landgraevan, the Eanderas, forced underground centuries ago. This was their land for thousands of years, their sacred ancestors buried deep under the asphalt roadways and concrete buildings of Landgraevan. Had they not retreated into the tunnels they would have been slaughtered. Every last one of them. They were a gentle people at one time, worshiping the very land which ultimately consumed them like a living grave."

  "Gentle. That's an odd word to describe them. There was nothing gentle about how he flung me around."

  "What would you have him do, Isobel, invite you to tea and crumpets? You are his enemy," he admonished. "After centuries of persecution and genocide they somehow lost their compassionate nature. Fancy that."

  "He left me for dead."

  "Oh, he knew that you were alive. Make no mistake. He let you live for a reason," Bardo said.

  "He mentioned something about taking a message to my leader, as if I had one. Can't remember the message though."

  "Pour us a bit more to drink and I'll tell you about the Rat Queen, her demons, and their Pythean ancestry. Perhaps the rat's message will come to you," Elder Bardo offered, holding out his mug for more brew.

  "Okay. But I can't stay long. I'm meeting Montgomery at the alley in central in a few hours," she replied sleepily.

  "Very well, I'll give you the abridged version. We wouldn't want to keep your young man waiting."

  Chapter Eight