by Mick Farren
Argo looked mystified. “What do you mean, I’m ready for anything?”
“Get high and have an orgy? And dress it up as our part in the fight against the Evil Empire?”
Raphael, who was lying prone and drained beside Jesamine, lifted his head and looked at Cordelia. “We all know that’s not true.”
Cordelia slowly uncurled like an angry cat and rose to her feet. “And what would you know, Raphael, late of the Provincial Levies and former virgin? You’re over there with her? You’ve fucked both of us? That’s all you really wanted out of this, wasn’t it? To jump from my bed to her bed and make up for all the time you lost as a Mosul recruit.”
Jesamine quickly sat up, raising a warning hand. “Wait.”
“What?”
“Don’t you see what’s happening?”
“And what the fuck do you think is happening, Concubine Jesamine?”
“You’re reacting, but the rest of us can feel it.”
“What are you feeling, except maybe Raphael’s cock?”
Jesamine’s teeth clenched, her eyes narrowed, and she attempted to rise to her feet to confront Cordelia, but Raphael caught her by the arm. “Wait. This is all wrong.”
Cordelia clenched her fists. “Damn right it’s all wrong.”
Argo did not move, but his voice took on an unprecedented authority. “We are dissatisfied because the bonding is not complete. Cordelia seems to feel it worse, and she’s the first to get angry.”
Raphael nodded but continued to hold on to Jesamine. “She’s right. It hasn’t worked. We were helpless in there. We couldn’t move ourselves. We had no power and no direction.”
Jesamine abruptly sat down with a faltering sigh. “Then we have to…”
Cordelia shook her head, cutting Jesamine off in midsentence. “No, no more. Not now. I already gave. How much fucking is a girl supposed to do in one afternoon?”
“It has to be finished.”
“I said no. Which part of ‘no’ causes you a problem?”
“You’re missing the point.”
“I am? If we’re flat-backing our way to victory, I think I just completed my shift.”
“Girl, I have worked in a whorehouse, and that wasn’t close to a shift.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I, not being a runaway Mosul tramp.”
Argo and Raphael jumped to their feet, ready to separate the two women, but, to everyone’s total surprise, Jesamine suddenly burst into helpless laughter. She waved an unsteady hand in the direction of Argo and Raphael. “Will you look at those two? Bare-ass naked and ready to stop the catfight.”
She stumbled towards a now-baffled Cordelia and placed a hand on her shoulder, as much to steady herself as a gesture of friendship. “This final act has nothing to do with either you or me. We have done what’s expected of us.”
Cordelia suddenly realized what Jesamine meant. Her jaw slowly dropped, and a truly wicked smile spread across her face. “Oh, yes, I see.”
Jesamine pushed back her hair and looked at Argo and Raphael. “It’s your turn, boys.”
Cordelia nodded. “Drink the drink, rub in the cream. Then kiss each other nicely. Let the square be completed.”
Cordelia and Jesamine became a triumphant double act. “We’ve already walked that path.”
“We’ve already ploughed that furrow.”
“Boys need to do what girls have already done.”
Argo protested. “But it’s different.”
Raphael agreed. “It’s unnatural.”
Cordelia and Jesamine were smiling broadly, and the more the boys baulked, the broader their smiles became. “That’s the point, though, isn’t it? Everything’s different.”
“What’s natural once T’saya’s potions have done their work?”
Cordelia took Jesamine’s hand. “Let the square be completed.”
“While we girls watch the live show.”
“And give encouragement.”
THE FOUR
They rose as one. The bonding was complete. The links were forged. The exultation was under their command. The Four had a brand-new, multiple, and totally surprising sense of free will. At the same time, they acted as one and also as separate individuals that were part of that one. Each was a component, and yet each was free within confines of their common purpose. They did not have to agree; they simply knew what was to be done. They brought their own personalities with them, their own intelligence and their own memories, but they shared so much more. The commonality was greater than any one of them, greater perhaps than the sum of all four, but neither was it oppressive nor an imposition. Acting for the commonality was the same as acting in individual self-interest, and if ever it should seem confining, the freedom and power that came with it was more than sufficient compensation.
They were swimming fast and without effort, like exotic fish in a sea of light and color, delighting in their newly discovered abilities and feeling as though nothing was impossible. They flew like birds in a sky without clouds but filled with bright, mobile stars and planets. They shifted from one experimental formation to another, discovering that the rectilinear position in which they had started this first perfect voyage of discovery was merely an initial arrangement that could be changed at will. Very quickly, their personalities were revealed in the way that each of them related to this novelty of motion in the Other Place. Cordelia tended to surge ahead, while Argo followed like her wingman, ever watchful for unexpected danger. Jesamine could usually be found in a center position, and her inclination was to function as an anchor. Raphael was pragmatic and cautious; he brought up the rear and was constantly sensitive to what might suddenly appear behind them. Without the presence of the commonality reminding her of the presence of the others, and her need to remain linked with them, Cordelia might have streaked ahead and been lost on her own, but she instinctively knew that, without them, she would not have the speed and maneuverability that she so relished, and, even so, the linkage between them could be stretched so the parts of the Four were positioned like the points of a radically extended trapezoid.
In the first, wild flush of freedom, the temptation to soar and dive and frolic was too strong to ignore, and the Four allowed themselves the brief luxury of testing their apparently limitless power and reveling in the heady excitement of the first outing, with all the parts in place and all the vitalities fully functioning. Unfortunately, a landscape rapidly appeared under them, and their vibrant sea bottomed out, according the metaphor that presently ruled, reminding them that the pressure of time, no matter how oddly configured, demanded that even this primary, beginner’s delight be severely curtailed. This landscape was one of shocking and violent combat, a parallel representation of the battle already raging in the world they had left behind, that manifested itself as a flowing field of destructive crimson energy flecked with poisonous silver that flashed, cracked, and sparked, and hummed with small chain reactions and, at regular intervals, burst forth in concentrations of larger and more damaging flares that rose in mushroom clusters, dark with the negative energy of human death.
As the geography of the new complete world of this adjacent dimension unfolded, the Four knew rather than saw that they were not alone. Much later, and with much more experience, the saying would be coined, “If you see them, it’s probably too late.” On this initial excursion to the Other Place, they had sufficient prudence to maintain what Cordelia would come to call “dream-altitude,” but, below them, close to what, for ease of communication, they thought of as the ground, winged entities fluttered and followed the explosions of destruction, feeding on the ghost-gust streams of ruined mortality.
“Mothmen.”
Raphael communicated the name to the others.
“What are Mothmen?”
“They fly. They are fierce and savage and have edges that cut.”
Energy spikes immediately formed around Cordelia as she armed herself. She was the first to discover how to do this, but, as she knew, the othe
rs knew, too. Raphael and Jesamine eased back the momentum of the Four, or, without them, Cordelia would have power-dived in exuberant plunging attack, bearing down on the Mothmen, screaming out of the stars, but she was curbed by Argo using the collective will.
“We do not engage.”
Glitters of disappointment surrounded Cordelia, but the bonds of the Four were in no way strained. A star formation of five Mothmen rose and dipped as if building violence with their energy-dance in preparation for the climb to the dream-altitude of the Four.
“They prepare to engage us.”
“We break and return.”
“We return?”
“They are savage and have edges that cut.”
“And we are novices.”
A final flicker of thwarted fury. “We return?”
“We return.”
JESAMINE
“Before it happened, we were almost ready to tear each other apart.”
“I called her a Mosul tramp.”
“And I was going to rip her stupid red hair out.”
Argo nodded in agreement. “It was tense there for a moment.”
Raphael grinned wryly. “As it was when Argo and I found we had to…”
Argo interrupted. “I don’t think that needs to be discussed.”
Slide raised an eyebrow. “But you’re fine now?”
“We’re fine now, but for how long? When are we going to discover some new imbalance?”
“You did it, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes, we did it.”
“So don’t look for fresh problems.”
“You have achieved the linkage. You are the Four. You never have to go through that part again.”
The Four were being debriefed by Slide and T’saya. Outside was night. A lull in the fighting seemed to have ensued, and the big guns only fired spasmodically. In the manor house kitchen, time had all but ceased to exist, and only the guttering candles indicated the passage of the day. T’saya, although she did her best to hide it behind a venerable and all-knowing sternness, was plainly fascinated with everything they had to say. The Other Place where the Four flew was clearly beyond her extensive knowledge. Slide, on the other hand, seemed to know it all in front, as though he was a regular visitor to such netherworlds.
“You did right not to engage the Mothmen. The things you face are neither intelligent nor overly sophisticated. They are death feeders. That’s how Quadaron-Ahrach attracts them to do his bidding, but they are the best he can get.”
Cordelia frowned. “So why didn’t we take them if they’re so pig stupid? I was ready, but the commonality held off.”
“And you were disappointed?”
“I was.”
“The commonality was right. The Mothmen and the Dark Things are low on the dimensional food chain, but never underestimate them. They are powerful, brutal, and always hungry. Had you attacked them, it might well have been the last thing that you four ever did.”
Raphael nodded. “I was attacked by a Mothman in a dream, back in the camp. It all but cut me in half before I could wake up.”
Slide had brought a bottle of whiskey to the debriefing, and glasses had been distributed. Now Cordelia stared thoughtfully into the amber liquid in her glass. “I don’t get it. Why do we have to hold off? What use are we if we run from every fight?”
“My dear Lady Cordelia, you will have more than enough fights presented to you sooner than you think. Do not go looking for combat when it’s not looking for you. Especially on your very first outing after you bonded. Let’s face it, you really hardly know each other.”
Jesamine, was who beginning to feel a little drunk, could not help herself. She burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but you’re wrong, Yancey Slide. After what we had to do to complete the bonding, I’d venture to say that we know each other damned well.”
Slide swallowed his whiskey and refilled his glass. “In combat terms you’re only just getting acquainted.” He extended the bottle to Jesamine, offering her a refill. She nodded, and he poured. “From what you’ve told me, you’re already getting a feel of each other. Cordelia is headstrong and spoiling for a fight. While at the other extreme, Raphael is protective of himself and the rest of you. Although I hate to admit it, the Mosul taught him well, particularly that squad leader. What was his name?”
Raphael helped himself to more whiskey. “Melchior.”
Jesamine sipped hers. “And what about me? Where do I fit in this wonderful balancing act?”
Slide looked round at the others. “From what I’ve heard, you may be the actual balancing point.”
“You’re calling me a fulcrum?”
“That would seem to be how it is.”
“And what about Argo?”
Slide looked at Argo. “Where do you think you figure in all this?”
Argo looked like he did not know what to say. He thought and finally shrugged. “I do my part. What else? You taught me. Back in the hills when the Mamalukes were coming.”
“Are you saying you’re dependable, Argo Weaver?”
“I guess I am.”
Jesamine looked hard at Slide. She was now quite drunk, and that was probably how she found the courage to ask the question. “And what about you, Yancey Slide? What are you?”
Suddenly every eye around the manor house kitchen table was on Slide to see how he would react. He stared at Jesamine for a long time and then spread his hands. “I am the entity who is going to forge you four into a formidable weapon.”
Jesamine shook her head. This wasn’t the answer that she wanted. “No, what are you really?”
Slide’s gaze was unwavering. “I am a creature with time.”
“A creature with time?”
“I am a creature with plenty of time, my dear. I’m damned for eternity.”
“Were you ever a living man?”
Yancey Slide made a gesture that was both ultimately smooth and, at the same time, totally inhuman. “Do I look like a living man?”
A series of explosions suggested that, outside, the fighting was heating up again.
ARGO
Argo woke to gunfire that sounded closer than where the line was being held on the north bank of the river. His first sense was one of unthinking, mindless alarm. The Four had made a half-dozen more practice runs into the Other Place the previous evening, and after that he had dropped into his bed and fallen into a deep and surprisingly dreamless sleep. On their final excursion, they had encountered three Mothmen, linked in triangular formation, way up in their dream-altitude, perhaps a patrol, if such things as patrols existed in that world. The commonality loosed the restraints on Cordelia, and, with the other three in line beside her, she had led them against the enemy. Cordelia’s skill had proved nothing short of amazing. She conjured shining shards of sharp-edged energy out of nowhere and directed them at the target with unerring calculation and precise aim. The straggler of the three power-flamed for a moment and then vanished, and Cordelia had her first kill, if such a term could be used about a thing that might not have been alive in the first place. When asked later how she had been able to do such things, she had not given it a second thought, and, with wide-eyed, childlike innocence, she had told them, “I just knew.”
With one gone, and a seemingly dangerous and efficient quadruple adversary bearing down on them, the other two Mothmen had fluttered and fled, diving for the crimson battlescape below. Cordelia had led the others in a hot and spiraling pursuit, but that had almost proved their undoing. Some kind of dark alarm must have been sounded, because suddenly an entire swarm of Mothmen, far too numerous to count, was rising to intercept them. Jesamine had swiftly spun the Four away and set them racing to lose themselves in the protective cover of a tumbling thunderhead of purple cloud, glowing from within, that Raphael had deftly created behind them, and which was large enough to hide them for enough time to return to the real world. When asked how he had managed to so effectively save their paranormal bacon, he had repeated Cordelia’s none
xplanation almost word for word. “I somehow just knew.”
Even though all the action took place outside their natural world and dimension, the transformation of the Four left Argo mentally drained and physically tired. He could only liken the result to that of having run a long way with a heavy rucksack while solving complex problems of mental arithmetic, and it took him a minute or so to be properly awake. Raphael was faster and was already dressing while Argo was still trying to focus his eyes. The rhythmic coughing of the largest model of Bergman started, and it seemed to be just outside the manor house, and someone was shouting. “The Mosul have broken through! The Mosul have broken through!”
“You think that’s true?”
Raphael spoke with the brevity of a Mosul grunt. “Sure as shit sounds like it.”
“What do you think we should do?”
“I think we should go out there and take a look.”
Argo took a deep breath. From one kind of combat, they seemed about to be plunged into another. Argo quickly climbed into his uniform, then, realizing that if the Mosul really were through the river defenses, they would need weapons, he picked up the carbine that the Rangers had given him, the dead man’s gun that he had managed to hang onto through all the adventures in the Mosul camp. As an afterthought, he stuffed the old two-barrel pistol that he had stolen from his stepfather into his belt, more as a talisman than any effective piece of firepower. Raphael had the revolver that he had taken from the Zhaithan in the bunker. “Shall we go?”
“What about the girls?”
“I guess we’d better wake them.”
Argo nodded. “Yeah, wake them and let them get themselves together while we see what’s really going on.”
Through the connecting door to the girls’ bedroom, they discovered that Jesamine and Cordelia required no waking. They were much more than together—they had already gone. Frowning at the fact that they had been left behind, Argo and Raphael headed for the corridor, where, after only a few paces in the direction of the stairs, they ran into the two women coming back the other way, looking flushed, excited, and also a little scared.
