Crossworld of Xai

by Steven Savage

  Brownmiller nodded, and took a swig of his beer. “Yeah. Now, see, that’s the kind of humor you don’t hear enough of. Enlightenment or not, its good.”

  Rake watched the two talk. It was nice to see them getting along. He wanted to believe they wouldn’t need it. He wanted to believe the night would end and they’d all go back to what served them for normal. He really wanted to believe that.

  “Rake?” HuanJen’s voice sliced through his reverie.

  “Sorry, ah, Huan, just …”

  The door to the back room flew open, Jade striding in. In tow was Dealer Zero, with a folder of papers under one arm. He appeared amazingly at ease; normally around more respectable members of Guild Esoteric, he seemed to be trying to withdraw into his signature trenchcoat and mop of long hair to hide. Here he seemed to have expanded to fill a previously abandoned space.

  “I have the latest charts.” The diviner dropped the folder on the table. “Brunelle says she can’t get a lock, figures like a lot of us, that it’s over. She’s keeping quiet.”

  “An Astrologer?” Rake and Ahn asked at once, neither sounding particularly pleased.

  “Hey, don’t knock it.” Brownmiller looked through some of the printouts. “We need al the tools we can get.”

  “And she is reliable,” Dealer Zero added.

  “As the, ah, go, I am sure.” Rake sat back.

  “Don’t argue.” Jade tossed herself into seat.. “If things get bad, we need to stay frosty. We fight, Zigguart Jack’ll pop up right under our noses and we won’t see him.”

  “I drew something.”

  A man sat on the edge of Temple Street. A few late-night passerbys ignore him. You see all sorts on Temple Street but there was something about him that makes him hard to see. The odd was normal on Temple street, street of mystery, street of gods-go-walking.

  The man looked up, a cloud was passing over the moon …

  … the empty alley was shaded in darkness for a moment, the drawing eclipsed …

  … and the drawing was gone.

  … and alley wasn’t empty, its occupancy having increased by one.

  It was Temple Street. If you wanted to do something unusual so the clerics and mystics wouldn’t spot it, it’s the perfect place to be. Under their noses.

  “I don’t remember. I have chalk … “

  “Let’s turn on the television. I mean Richard has it here for customers, right?”

  Ahn and Brownmiller gave Dealer Zero a dirty look. The card-reader shrugged.

  “Hey, look, it may be something. I mean you don’t even have a radio guys, is this Communicant paranoia?” Zero asked.

  “I think …” Ahn began.

  Rake interrupted. “It’s, ah, a good idea. Which is the one that, ah, interrupts the shows for, ah, news most reliably?”

  “Ten.” HuanJen answered. “In fact, I think Battle Chefs is on.”

  “Guys competitively cooking?” Zero asked. “Wow, you guys lead exciting lives …”

  The Maze was the underside of Metris; basements and corridors, secret passages not living up to their name, maintenance corridors and more. It was the worst-kept secret of the city, used by Gendarmes and apprentice Esotericists and more. There are legends about it, but this is Metris and Xai; there are legends about everything.

  Legends obscure legends. It’s how some legends survive, burrowed like parasites into the mind, into history, into tales.

  A legend walked through the Maze. Gelmoks skitter out of the way of stomping boot-clad feet that still make no sound. A coat billowed, but somehow doesn’t catch on pipes or sharp protrusions. The legend walked very deliberately, very precisely.

  There are places of Power in Metris. Some because they are remembered, some because they are forgotten and hidden away.

  “Ziggurat Jack is back. One for the people, and one for the pain, and it’s time to go stalking down the lane …”

  The voice didn’t use words. It never needed to. You could hear it just the same. It was the voice that made you hide under your covers as a child.

  Around a corner, and past a pipe, and opening a door that didn’t seem to be a door …

  “and …”

  The masked figure stopped and looks around the old chamber. There were people there, people in the secret place. A mind that was not a mind calculates the odds as robed figures approach, lit by portable electric lights. Robes in red and brown, familiar robes.

  “Historians …”

  “Ziggurat Jack?” The voice was precise, clipped, intelligent and sophisticated.

  “Yes.” A hiss of words. “Yes, what do you want?”

  “I am Historian Paldayne. We identified your ‘homes’ rather easily with a few decades of work. I’m pleased to meet you.” The speaker was tall, friendly-looking, with an age-lined face used to smiling. His eyes were penetrating, as if dissecting everything he gazed on.

  “I see.” Ziggurat Jack raised a hand. Something like a knife gleamed in light that wasn’t there. “I have work to do, scholar. You know the rules. Your people know much.”

  “We do. I have limited time. I am … not quite myself?”

  “As I can see.” The murderous specter ran a blood-red tongue along the blade. “Taking the god for a walk, are we? So you are ridden by He-Who-Knows. Will that stop me? No, Galcir is not Arodano. No. Leave. Or die. I have no flesh to slay.”

  Ziggurat Jack’s voice held a strangely conversational tone. It was talking to someone like it, a fellow professional.

  “No. You’re coming with us.” Paldayne extended a friendly hand. Zigguart Jack noticed the bandages on the historian’s arm, fresh with spots of blood.

  “Legends end, my friend, and become others. It is your time now …”

  A knife clattered to the cement floor, and vanished.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Rake stared at the table, the glasses, the finished meals, the bowls of peanuts. The remnants of a wasted evening waiting for a sliver of the Apocalypse to show up. He felt like an idiot.

  “Nothing,” The minister intoned, then relief hit him. “Thank God.”

  “Let us be thankful,” Ahn interjected. “You are not a fool, Rake, you were being careful.”

  “I know,” The Rake answered. “Christ above. Yet, ah, it still doesn’t feel right, I …”

  “I agree,” HuanJen said. “It doesn’t. Zero?”

  “What?” The diviner blinked. “Read cards for someone that may not exist?”

  “Oh, go on,” Jade nudged him. “Look, come on, get with the cause, OK?”

  “Fine,” Dealer Zero reached into his trenchant and brought out a small box. He set it on the table, the Borrekki sphere glowing somewhat brighter.

  “Is Ziggurat Jack alive.” Zero asked, not anyone, but just asked nothing in particular. He opened the box, and took out a deck of cards, then stopped.

  “Zero?” Jade asked.

  “I …” Zero pulled a card from the middle of the deck and held it up. His hands shook as if he fought restraints.

  “The World,” HuanJen identified the strange images on the aged card. “That means?”

  “Nothing.” Dealer Zero shrugged. “I don’t feel it, he’s … there’s just the world.”

  The World swam about Historian Paldayne. He was himself, yet he was not. Something happened, and ancient cycles tore through him like lightning.

  “Paldayne?”

  The historian looked up. A boys face, short blond hair, concerned, eyes older than him. Historian’s robe …

  “De . .. Scribe. Yes. Sorry. Misoriented.”

  Two other voices were in his head. He tried to make them a chorus. One a distant hum, one a red rage that wanted to kill everything yet couldn’t stop laughing.

  “The others have left, to Piscion and Cinnibar as you suggested. Are you ready, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  Paldayne struggled to his feet. He had three times the mind he needed, with only purpose to fuel it. The purpose was a bright l
ight in the back of his mind.

  “Sir?” Scribe’s voice was worried.

  “Yes?”

  “He, he is there? “

  “Yes. He … his power is with me. He has not stopped me.” Paldayne said thickly.

  “And Ziggurat Jack?”

  “He … was delicious.” Paldyane felt his face form into a painful rictus grin. “We have things to find Scribe. History to make, let us go all five of us.”

  “You’re still smiling sir.”

  “I’ll try to stop,” Paldayne gasped, a tear running down his right cheek. “I will try.”

  March 12th, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar

  And then vote on the Communicants was done.

  There wasn’t fanfare, there wasn’t rioting in the streets, there wasn’t anything. The people of Xai were tired. They watched the vote on television, or heard it on the radio, and then life went on.

  The Communicants were going public by a near-unanimous vote, to be put under control of the other Guilds as the Travelers’ has been decades before. There were no surprises, nothing. Predictions of chaos, fear of the old Guildwar, faded away in the light of real life, of real concerns, of everyday doings. You still had to take the garbage out after the world changed.

  It was over. All that was left was to develop a plan on how the Communicants were to be run, and the vote and the bad feelings could fade back into History.

  People could go back to their lives.

  March 13th, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar

  “Yeah, just like that.”

  Jade had sprawled out on the living room couch, phone in hand, and a glass of Spectral in the other. It wasn’t a dignified position, but she was alone, with HuanJen out on the porch, and it was her damn apartment too, so she could be undignified.

  “I’m glad it’s over.” Garnet said on the other end of the phone. “It’s been tough on Slate. It’ll be nice to have more time with him.”

  “I thought Lorne straightened him out on that?”

  “Oh, he did.” Garnet’s voice held a hint of lasciviousness. “But, limits are limits. Time and all. You and HuanJen are OK?”

  “More or less.” Jade glanced at the porch. “We’ve still got some crap to follow. The usual. Or the unusual in our case.”

  “I see, I … hey honey!” Jade heard the sound of a door opening on the other end of the phone. “Look, Slate’s home, I have to get going. Talk to you later?”

  “Sure, Garnet, take care,” Jade hung the phone up on the table, and took a sip of her drink.

  “Some crap.”

  Jade was thinking.

  She was always thinking; she had the kind of mind that was a jackhammer of ideas, always powerful, always penetrating. Lately though she felt more subdued, different. Deeper.

  Worried.

  HuanJen wasn’t the same, hadn’t been the same since that night at the Nax. He was more distant, more introspective, not cold, but not as affectionate as usual. His mind wasn’t quite with her or him, it was in the city.

  She looked at her lover, sitting on the porch, in his jacket, looking out over Metris. He was resonating like a tuning fork. Some unknown chord echoed within him.

  She’d tried to figure him out, figure herself out. She’d eased into her life, her choice to be an apprentice, these last few week. She and he were clerics, watchers, healers. Keepers. They were …

  What was Guild Esoteric? They were …

  … healer, monitor, repairer, holder, maintainer …

  “Well, shit.”

  The term, Jade realized, was ‘immune system.’

  It wasn’t all Guild Esoteric of course, it was the Gendarmes and at times Guild Medical, but that was what HuanJen was part of, a kind of immune system for Xai and Metris. A put-righter, a fixer, because it was what he did. You were hollow so the Larger flowed through you.

  The ideas drifted apart in her head, but a core remained.

  Immune System. She was part of it. The world was a bit larger, and … it wasn’t going away. There were things to be done that called to her.

  Jade stalked over to the porch and opened the door carefully.

  “Dear?”

  “Yes?” The reply was distant.

  “It’s not right, is it love?” Jade asked.

  “No,” The cleric shook his head. “No. No it’s not. I can feel it, others can, some of them. Rake can. The Magdelinics don’t. Some of the shamans do. Rabbi Shenkman said he had nightmares. Ahn didn’t feel anything. But me, I think it’s not right.”

  “Like an illness?” Jade tested her theory. “I think I can feel it.”

  “Yes, yes like an illness. Maybe like sickness remaining even when the worst has passed.” HuanJen looked over his shoulder, smiling. “You’re learning.”

  “I’m trying.” The Vulpine walked over to her lover and sat in a chair next to him. “I’m trying …”

  HuanJen reached out and took his lover’s hand. His eyes were dark fires.

  “I know. And what comes … we shall see. Afraid?”

  “A bit.”

  “I know. But you’re not alone.”

  “No, and Huan? neither are you. Don’t shut me out, and I won’t do the same.”

  “I won’t. These may be strange times, dearest Jade.”

  “But life is cycles and balance, coming from and returning. All times are like that.” Jade grinned. “How’s that?”

  “Quite well.” HuanJen kissed Jade’s furless palm. “Cycles change to. High to low, dark to light, predator to prey. That, and this is a confusing time.”

  “You’re not going to reassure me or anything, are you?”

  “Only when I’m sure I have something to reassure you about. But, I do love you. That, you can count on.”

  “Same here. It’s one thing we can count on. Nice to have, isn’t it …”

  LAWMAN

  March 14, 2000 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar

  My name is Lorne Thompson. I’m a Gendarme serving in Metris, the capital city of Xai. I’m also naked and wet, but that has nothing to do with my job.

  It has everything to do with the fact that I am taking my first, overly-long, luxuriant morning shower in what seems to be ages. It’s how I used to start the morning before the nonmandatory unavoidable “here’s the shit we expect to hit the fan today because of politics” sessions we all had to face on every shift. Unoficially of course.

  Officially, it sucked an important thirty minutes out of my day, thirty minutes I desperately needed. Sure I didn’t do beat as often as non-specialists, but then again as a Weaponeer, I’m the guy with the Really Big Guns to be called in in case of trouble. You want a lot of hot shower time when your city is unsettled and if something ugly happens, you’re the one that gets called in to wave around large firearms and be menacing.

  Of course now the city of Metris is settled, at least in theory, and the Gendarmes have lessened their patrols. The big vote over putting the Communicants Guild under control of the other Guilds is over. We have time - at least until people get over the rosy afterglow of a Council vote and realize they’ve got to enforce the decision. Of course, by then Gendarme patrols and whatnot will be back to high levels, but subtly, over time, unnoticeable.

  Until then, I have my shower.

  Lather. Rinse. Relax. Rinse. Note that I really need to get back to working out because I can feel love handles begin to form. Nature gave me a good strong body and what I think are nicely attractive looks, but she didn’t include maintenance. Clairice once said I looked like a model, which, as flattering as that is from a straight woman, didn’t take into account the fact that its easy to let yourself go.

  Which reminds me. Hair. Wash hair. Sometime I want to drop the ponytail but, well, I’m used to it. Being a Gendarme means a lot less dress codes than the Army regs I had to put up with - I probably wear it to compensate for how incredibly stupid I looked with a buzzcut. I used to feel like a walking forehead with a dusting of sand.

  I just step out of t
he shower and prepare to dry off when I hear the doorbell. Clairice was up late last night; a car accident on her shift or something. Poor thing - I don’t want her having to get out of bed. Time for a towel and a lack of modesty.

  It’s a quick sprint out of the bathroom, to the living room of the apartment, and too the door. Whoever was there probably knew us - they weren’t ringing like maniacs. Clairice and I hate that - when you sleep and work weird hours, you don’t need people acting like your doorbell is a musical instrument.

  A quick glance through the eyepiece confirms my suspicion. I throw open the door quickly.

  “Slate? Hey, shh. Bad night for Clairice.”

  My Vulpine friend glides into the living room like a silent gray-furred cloud. He looks tired; he probably doesn’t even have the energy to be noisy. Judging by his rumbled clothes, he probably just got off of work for Corona Security.

  “What’s going on? I go on duty in a bit.” I try not to sound annoyed as I close the door.

  “Good news,” Slate whispers. “It’s over. My latest assignment is over. You know what that means.”

  I smile.

  “Eighteen holes of relaxation,” we both say at once. Golf. The nature walk of self-competition. The peaceful sport that’s always more fun with a friend. And now he’s got time, again, and hopefully, so will I.

  “Also, some good news as well,” Slate yanks an envelope from his back pocket. “I got a bonus. Get this, seven-and-a-half K. Guild-tax free.”

  “What . .. great?” It hits me what that means for Slate. Its not just a nice chunk of his salary, its one step closer to the house he wanted. Slate, for a rather aggressive son of Colony, has a weird domestic streak. I think it’s one of the things I like about him.

  “I’m not telling Garnet.” Slate shoves the envelope back into his jeans. “It’ll be a nice surprise, I think I’m close to being able to confirm a house. I’m so close, Lorne.”

  “I know.” I nod. “Hey, listen, I have to get to work. I got a lot going on. And with the vote over, well, I hope to try and get things in order early.”

  “For Xianfu?”

  Oh. Lovely. The Metris Rumor Transmission system is in full gear, and I have an idea of who the major operators were. My love life seems to be a group sport for my friends.