Black Bottle

by Anthony Huso

  The humor was so dry that neither one of them smiled. Caliph was looking at his hand. The stitches were gone. There were no scars or traces of injury.

  “Look, I’m sorry you’re here. I know you didn’t want to come—”

  “Of course I didn’t want to come!” Baufent yelled at him. “Do you realize where I am? I’m fourteen hundred miles south of where I should be. Fourteen hundred!”

  “I know. We’ll get you on a ship headed for Stonehold—”

  “There aren’t any ships.” Baufent’s voice was a chisel. She chipped her words directly from his optimism. “Did you not look at the streets? When Ku’h said only some of them were left, he meant it. There isn’t anyone in Bablemum. There are no flights out of here!” Her cheeks sagged but her eyes looked bright and young and pleading.

  Caliph couldn’t reassure her so he changed tack. “What did Sena do while she was here?”

  “You think that’s going to help us figure—”

  “I want to know!” he barked. “What happened while I was asleep?”

  “I already told you.”

  “Tell me again.”

  Baufent glowered. “They had me in a cell. The Iycestokians I mean. Lady Rae let me out and told me you needed a doctor. We were on our way to the cockpit to tend to you when Sena walked onto the deck. She’s the one who fiddled with the controls.”

  “How did she get on board?”

  “The same way we all saw her leave the ship in Sandren. She just walked clean out of the sky!”

  “And she left the same way?” It sounded stupid but he wondered if Baufent might have seen her go into the city.

  “I didn’t see her leave. All I know is that she took the Iycestokians with.”

  Caliph noticed for the first time how quiet the ship was. He remembered the silver arms flailing, the hands pawing at him. “So there’s just the three of us now?”

  “As far as I can tell.”

  “And you never spoke to Sena?”

  “No.”

  Caliph found it hard to believe, but the fear on Baufent’s face as she remembered the event was clear.

  “Sena talked to Taelin. I stayed away. They moved you into the room over there.” She waved her hand toward the place he had woken up. “Then the ship started moving. I came back to find out what was going on and Taelin said we were headed for Bablemum.

  “I assumed she was delusional but she wouldn’t let me give her anything to calm her down.

  “Anyway, that’s pretty much it. Shortly after that I realized Sena was gone and so were the Iycestokians.”

  “Did you check the cockpit?”

  “I looked in. I’m not a pilot. I didn’t dare to touch anything.”

  “And you said we arrived here last night?”

  “That’s right. We drifted in low, through the trees. Ku’h showed up right away. Said he’d seen us coming from a lookout in one of the towers. He basically showed up and said hi, then left and didn’t come back until this evening. That’s when I came and got you.”

  “Did he say he wanted anything?”

  “He’s offering us dinner,” said Baufent. “Which I’d like to take him up on. We’re down to a few canned goods in the kitchen.”

  Caliph was hungry too but he remained thoughtful.

  “So,” said Baufent. “Are we going? To dinner?”

  “Indeed,” Caliph mumbled.

  After half a minute of silence Baufent asked, “What are you going to do?”

  Caliph looked at her. She was powerful and fierce, defiant of her own lack of options.

  “I’m going after Sena.” When Baufent didn’t reply he offered a few qualifiers. “It’s all I have left. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Sigmund’s dead. Alani. So many people.”

  “Well can you at least get me fed before discarding me for your silly quest?”

  “I’m not discarding you. What else do you want me to do? What makes sense? I couldn’t have planned for this. How the fuck could I have planned for this?” He saw the truth of it register in her face. He saw her regret her words. “You can come with me,” said Caliph. “Or you can do whatever you think is best. I’m not your king anymore. I’m not a pilot either. I can’t fly us back home.

  “I just need to understand what happened. How everything turned upside down. Even if it kills me.”

  “Again?” Baufent asked.

  “What?”

  “Even if it kills you again?”

  He studied her face for cynicism but she was unreadable. “You really believe that?” he asked. “That my organs are in jars back in Stonehold?”

  Baufent pawed the side of her face, a combination perhaps of pensiveness and nervous tic. “The organs you were born with? Yes,” she said. “Yes I do.”

  CHAPTER

  46

  Sena stood at one of Ulung’s many inroads, waiting for the Veydens. The flawless did not guard the borders to their empire. Those who stumbled in were presumed swallowed by the sewers.

  You ate here last summer, said Nathaniel.

  This particular gateway to Ulung was located in a cistern beneath one of Bablemum’s restaurants, not far from where the airship had moored.

  “Yes,” she said. Despite her eternal lack of hunger it was true.

  You made your pact with the flawless here?

  “Yes.”

  I don’t doubt they greedily accepted your terms. But you don’t need to be here. You don’t need to fulfill your promise to them. I’ve been infinitely patient, he said.

  “Patient, is it? Not desperate?”

  I’m far from desperate.

  “So it seems. You just returned from the ocean … I’ve been wondering—”

  Why isn’t the High King dead? Why are you delaying the ink?

  “When I need ink I’ll have it, Nathan.” He hated when she called him that. “But I’ve been wanting to ask you something—”

  Don’t try to turn this around.

  “Why did you send me to Soth—?”

  For my daughter. And the pimplot—

  “That’s a lie. You never loved your daughter. You saved yourself in that garden twenty thousand years ago—”

  You know nothing.

  “I think we could have found a substitute for the pimplota seed, don’t you?”

  I don’t know. You’re the one going to the jungles. You’re the one who wants to do everything with exactness—

  “The platinum wires. The rubies? You actually tried to use stones. You’ve made mistakes. But I don’t think you could have really believed—”

  So you think my journals are a fabrication …

  “Yes. An impressive fabrication.”

  You know the number is two, don’t you? I knew it when you came back from the Chamber. Who are you planning to take instead of me? After the ink is made, who will you take? Who?

  “I’m taking you.”

  Lie! Who?

  “It’s you Nathan. Who else can I take? If I don’t want you to sabotage the glyphs? I have to choose you, don’t I? Isn’t that what you’d do?”

  Metallic shrieking filled the lightless recesses of Sena’s head. She was genuinely worried that he might snap. This was the moment that would decide how the rest of the night played out. Nathaniel’s howls slowly dwindled into whimpers that faded across the world.

  “You can’t get out without me,” she said, hoping he was still listening. “St. Remora can’t speak for you. St. Remora can’t manipulate a pen. It’s you and me…”

  But he was gone. What was he doing? She looked across the intervening miles to St. Remora for a sign. Had she had a heart, it would have been pounding. She looked south toward his stone house in the jungles. Nothing. She looked everywhere but he was powerful in insubstantial ways. In the numbers of nonphysicality, he was expert from long meditation at the edge of the abyss. He hid from her with puissant ease.

  St. Remora ticked.

  The jungles blew in a damp wind off the sea.

  Se
na waited, more afraid than perhaps she had ever been.

  Fine.

  It was a dry hiss, desiccated and startling inside her ear.

  But I know about you. I know what’s inside you …

  Sena’s stomach turned on itself. Her entire body went cold. “Oh? What’s that?”

  Guilt. You feel guilty about what you’re doing.

  “You’d have no remorse—”

  No. I wouldn’t. That’s the difference between us. That’s why They chose you I think. They’re great connoisseurs of pain.

  Sena didn’t dare upset him with another question. She would let him say whatever he wanted. She would do whatever he asked her to do. Because she could taste the end from here. It was within her grasp. Yet if he found out, if he suspected—

  I think you’ve waited to make the ink because you have feelings for my nephew. Tell me I’m wrong.

  “You’re not wrong.”

  You feel guilty, so you want him to know. You need to apologize.

  Sena touched the corner of her eye with one fingertip. The strain was written in her neck, in her jaw.

  So go apologize to him. You have the tincture. I will give you three hours to say your good-byes. But I warn you. If you set one foot inside my house at Khloht—

  “I won’t.”

  The shade seemed to incline its head just slightly. Then it was gone.

  From the basement of the restaurant came a bang, the sound of a metal door swinging full back. The tramp of feet descended. A light slowly infused the cistern.

  Two Veyden men arrived at the bottom of a set of crust-caked cement steps and swung their lanterns over Sena’s form. Despite their great size and the weapons they carried, they looked at her with pale green faces and glossy eyes.

  “You don’t want a light down here?” one of them asked.

  “No.” Her small form had materialized silently in the middle of the room when their lights had struck it. They were Willin Droul. They wore the Hilid Mark. But they were not Lua’groc, which meant they could still feel fear. It was fear they enjoyed. The awe of the cult kept them invigorated and honest in their efforts to serve it, and it was also their reward. Sena knew this.

  “Have the flawless come up?” asked one of the Veydens.

  “No. I’m going down to them,” said Sena.

  Both men shifted uncomfortably. They were terrified and giddy to the point of euphoria. “The Shradnae Sisterhood has arrived in the eastern ruins—as you predicted,” one of them said.

  “Make sure they find the Grand Elesh’Ox.”

  “Is that where the sacrifice will take place?” the first Veyden asked.

  “Just do it,” she said.

  Both Veydens bowed.

  “Tell Ku’h,” Sena said, “that I want him to bring Caliph Howl to the tanks.”

  The Veydens wondered why. Why bring the king of Stonehold down to her council with the flawless? Would he be an offering? Would the flawless eat him? But neither man would ask this question. They were both too afraid.

  * * *

  AFTER talking to Baufent, Caliph took a shower. The stall was plated in mirrors and pierced by recessed lights. Creamy pearls of gold-brown soap ejected automatically into his hand from a liquid dispenser hidden in the wall. The tacky spore-filled stink of the jungle slid off him. Only after that, he imagined, did the desert grit embedded in his pores come up too.

  Under the lights, in the mirrors, Caliph looked at himself. Clean at last. He gleamed with uniform color save for a one-inch scar on his arm. He stared at it for a few moments.

  Then he got out and toweled off.

  He got dressed and went back to the room where Taelin and Baufent were waiting for him. He wanted to grill Taelin before Ku’h’s men returned, but she wasn’t talking. All she would say was that yes, Sena had talked to her, yes Sena had given her instructions, but that no she couldn’t talk about them.

  This came as no surprise to Caliph. He expected this sort of nonsense.

  “I don’t know whether you took advantage of her or not,” Baufent said as an aside. “But I think she’s suffering severe polymodal hallucinations. Multisensory. I’m not sure she can even tell what’s real anymore. She keeps claiming that you and she—”

  “What?” Caliph came momentarily unglued. “Gods no!”

  “I see. Well, she’s got a low-grade fever. I checked her, and her one arm is absolutely silver. She’s fighting it off thanks to the vaccine, I think she’ll make it, but … anyone she comes in contact with. Those Veydens for instance.”

  “I’m not worried about the Veydens,” Caliph groused.

  “Well, obviously they survived the plague here in Bablemum but … they might have stayed clear of physical contact. Taelin was all over that man—”

  “I said I’m not worried about them.”

  “I’m a doctor. It’s my job to worry about everyone.”

  “If you knew what I knew, you’d feel the same. Trust me on that.”

  “My stomach hurts,” said Taelin.

  “Give her one of your tablets,” said Baufent.

  Caliph rooted in a pocket for his bottle. What his fingers touched jarred him. He drew out a small cold steel flask, like a memento carried back from a dream. It did not belong here, in his hand.

  Staring at it, Caliph forgot Dr. Baufent; he forgot what he had been digging for in his pocket. All he remembered was a little girl with cold fingers who smelled of sugar and glue and Sena smiling as if happy for the first time in her life.

  He shook the flask but couldn’t tell if it was empty.

  “What’s that?” asked Baufent.

  He barely acknowledged her with a mumbled “Dunno. Some kind of tincture I guess.” He unscrewed the cap and peered inside. There was liquid, like dark tea, and a smell that made his mouth water.

  He clenched his jaw and screwed the cap back on. What is going on? He slipped the flask back into his pocket.

  “Everything all right?” asked Baufent.

  “Fine.” But now, with all the things he’d read, he began to postulate, against his logical nature, what the dreams Sena had showed him might have meant.

  He remembered the antacids and handed them to Baufent who took them with a growly look and gave one to Taelin. The priestess didn’t ask what it was. She munched it like candy.

  A knock sounded from the door that led to the airship’s deck.

  “Ku’h’s back,” said Baufent. Her voice held mild apprehension.

  “You should be happy,” said Caliph. “We can go to dinner.”

  CHAPTER

  47

  Umong was the name of a ruin that jutted like a rotten tooth fifty miles due north of Eh’Luhnah Usoh: Lake of the Sky. There were markers near the ruins—for the starline.

  The starline had carried the Sisterhood, which was safer and less costly than the way Miriam had traveled from the desert. Still, whatever had taken Anjie remained between the worlds, and it pressed the starline. Miriam felt it as the Sisterhood went south. She arrived in the ruins with one hundred seventy girls.

  It was a devastating blow. The witches had used the starlines with impunity for decades. They were the only ones that knew about them. How could they be attacked en route, while walking lines?

  Despite the shock, the dismay and the confusion that every girl felt, Miriam forced them to regroup and get organized. And while they muttered that it didn’t make sense, Miriam thought, What did? What did make sense? Certainly not that the Sisterhood had fallen to pieces, that the Country of Mirayhr had been overrun with silver ghouls. That the Willin Droul had taken the entire world by surprise and that, last of all—and most ridiculous—that the Sisterhood’s only hope of survival was to put every resource they had on chasing down one orphan from the islands …

  Going after Sena, thematically, didn’t make sense—mechanically it was the only thing Miriam had. The Sisterhood would serve out its purpose. She would see to that.

  Miriam’s skin prickled despite the warmth
.

  Though initially she had seen people near the ruins—huge green-skinned Veydens, looking like businessmen that had been stranded on a tropical island with only fine clothes to wear—they melted into the jungle at the Sisterhood’s arrival.

  The ruins consisted of a few scorched and green-carpeted walls that rose from an ancient pile of paint cans. Corrosion had made the cans thin. They resembled hollow cylinders of rust-colored paper, part of the metallic scrap dumped decades ago by the look of it, all shrinking slowly into a vine-solidified mound.

  Miriam got the Sisterhood moving right away.

  South of the scrubby savannah that spread north and west, tendrils of hungry green supplanted grassland. The city of Bablemum lay just inside the jungle. A seed of commerce and government bounded by ceontes and thousands upon thousands of miles of dense jade-colored rot.

  The Sisterhood did not follow the road. Even though their arrival had been noticed, Miriam took them along the jungle’s edge, through waist-deep grass. The sounds of birds, insects and leaves refuted the idea that this was a civilized place. There was no commerce along the road to the north. No people anywhere to be seen.

  In addition to scrying on Caliph Howl, the blood-filled dish back in Parliament had shown Miriam other cities. Ekron, Iternum, Nilora and Os. Dadelon, Norwytch, Loonal and Gath. She had glimpsed Horth Gar and Afran. Everywhere it was the same. Disease and madness.

  With a mix of compassion and regret, Miriam noticed the contrite and haunted circles around Autumn’s eyes.

  It took them the whole day to walk from Umong to the outskirts of the city, following the jungle’s edge. As they neared, pushing through fields of round-bladed grass, Miriam noticed a few Veydens standing on rooftops in the outskirts at a distance of a hundred yards. They must have used their own brand of holomorphy to evade her diaglyphs. Perhaps witch doctors protected them from disease.

  Keen as she was to establish contact and gather information, the Veydens withdrew before the Sisterhood could advance. But Miriam didn’t have to follow them. They retreated in the direction of the Iycestokian ship, the place she had pinpointed as Caliph Howl’s location.