Octoberland (The Dominions of Irth Book 3)

by A. A. Attanasio

  Only the central figure appeared malformed, aged to a caricature of death itself. He smiled, showing tiny discolored teeth. "We are not ghosts. We are the living. Our bodies of light have been projected into these woods to reach you—to help you."

  "I heard you in the field. And I saw something before that in the deep woods." The apparition he had encountered in daylight had displayed color and more substance. "Who are you?"

  "We are Octoberland." Thin, fluorescent-tube arms waved him closer. "We have been watching you since you arrived in our world, Dogbrick. We have been trying to contact you. But we are far away, and it is difficult to project our bodies of light. Come. Join us in our dance and let us share our magic and our knowledge with you."

  Dogbrick hesitated, alarmed by the cruelty of their stares. "You frighten me. You look ... evil."

  "Have you looked at yourself recently?" The skeleton laughed with zestful mirth. "As you, we are warriors against evil. But, as we say in this world, one must fight fire with fire. And so we wear the ferocity of our enemies, the wicked ones who deceive their victims with cruel beauty. Look at me!" The revenant turned to reveal the knobby length of his spine, the palings of his ribs, and the flat razors of his pelvic bones. "I have worn myself to the brink of death fighting the wicked of this dark world. I have given everything I have to break evil and discipline madness. Now I am at the brink of death—but I do not despair. My life has been well spent."

  "You are wizards?" Dogbrick asked hopefully.

  "Yes, yes, wizards!" The bone ghost gusted forward as if borne on a forceful wind. "I am the wizard Nox. And this is Octoberland, my coven. We draw power from the sky, from the auroras, the magnetic field of the planet." Nox lifted a smoky hand and pointed a splintery finger at Mary. "And who is this? She seems a woman of our world. Is she ill? Perhaps our magic can heal her."

  "Can you?" Dogbrick stepped down from the mossy ledge and approached Nox. "She has tried to help me remember who I am—and she fell into a trance."

  "You have no recollection of yourself?" Nox asked, intrigued.

  "None." He lifted the tranced body of Mary Felix toward the phantom. "Can you wake her?"

  "Come—come into the circle." Nox waved toward where the coven wraiths had taken their places again. "We will use our magic to wake her."

  Dogbrick carried Mary toward the vaporous gathering of Octoberland. Before he reached the circle, a voice called from behind. "Dogbrick—stop!"

  Within a shaft of tarnished moonlight between the trees, a narrow figure emerged: a stern man with a trim beard wearing bright, tinsel raiment. Dogbrick did not recognize him and called out, "Who are you?"

  "I am the ghost of the wizard Caval," he announced in a bold voice as he advanced. His body vanished in the dark spaces and reappeared wherever thin shafts of moonlight lanced the glade. "I was slain in the Dark Lord's Palace of Abominations and my soul drifted into the Gulf to this cold world on the Dark Shore. Heed me, Dogbrick, and stand back from those evil ones."

  "He is the evil one!" Nox shouted. "Do not be deceived, Dogbrick! This is a spirit that has destroyed many a gullible soul. Beware!"

  Caval glared angrily at Nox. "Look at him! And regard me. Whom do you trust, Dogbrick?"

  "Appearances deceive," Nox growled, dashing to the protective center of the coven circle. "He is a master of deception. Use your power against him, Dogbrick! Smash him with your strength and protect yourself—protect the woman in your arms. Protect us!"

  "Dogbrick—" Caval turned a firm and benign aspect upon the beastmarked man. "I never met you among the dominions. As a ghost, I saw you in the garden of the Dark Lord's palace—with Tywi. I fought beside your staunch friend Ripcat. I served the margravine Jyoti Odawl and her brother, Poch. I opposed the lord of the cacodemons, Hu'dre Vra! Trust me! Come away from these vile creatures and spare yourself and the woman you carry."

  Dogbrick shook his maned head. "You confuse me with these names—Tywi, Ripcat, Jyoti, Poch..."

  "You recognize them—you must!" The ghost came forward in stripes of moon glow, tinsel-bound arms grasping. "Open your mind to memory…"

  "Don't let him touch you!" Nox shouted. "You will die!"

  Dogbrick dropped to his knees and rolled Mary onto the forest floor. With both hands, he heaved cold fire at the ghost, and it splashed over the striding figure in sticky flames.

  For a moment, Caval writhed in agony, then dissolved into sparkling motes that flurried like blown mist and thinned away on the wind.

  "You've saved us!" Nox stepped through the circle, his skullish face jubilant. "Well done, Dogbrick! Well done!"

  Dogbrick lifted Mary again in his arms. "Will you heal her now?"

  "Of course!" Nox ushered the couple into the circle. "Octoberland receives you into our care. Lay the woman at the center and stand back, Dogbrick. Stand back."

  Dogbrick did as instructed, gently placing Mary Felix among the enclosing wraiths. He stepped back from the circle and watched as the slow walking dance and drone-singing commenced again. In moments, a fog rose up from the bottom of his cranium, and his knees wobbled.

  "Sit down," Nox advised, stepping from the circle to his side. "We are using your power to undo what you have done to this poor woman. You are feeling groggy. That is not to be feared. Sit down. That's good. Sit and rest." Fingers of smoke touched Dogbrick between his eyes, and sounds became cottony. "Your power is joining ours to heal this good woman. Yes. Close your eyes. That is good. Close your eyes and sleep. When you awaken, all shall be well."

  How the Witches Live

  Reece watched from the gondola window as the Rainbow Forests of Bryse drifted below. Prismatic trees gleamed with jeweled daylight. At night, under the incandescent sky, the woods shimmered like the sea. He kept apart and refused the food the witch Esre offered from the dirigible's galley. When he slept, he strapped himself into one of the cushioned seats to keep his charmless body from floating about the cabin, adrift on the nocturnal tide that carried all charmless things into the Gulf.

  He dreamt of a large cat, a lynx or a bobcat. Jerked an inch off the ground by a harness, its claws scratched frantically for purchase. A leering charmwright held the harness, while a veiled witch slid famous manuscripts under the flying claws, shredding folios and scrolls beneath the panicked talons of the snagged beast—The Talismanic Odes ripped to confetti, the Gibbet Scrolls tattered...

  He woke with a start.

  Mount Szo, the glassy capital of Bryse, loomed on the horizon. Its heraldic, stained-glass towers and crystal spires flashed with dawn light at the summit of a mountain flanked by gorges of spectral trees and morning vapors.

  The dirigible glided into the trestle moorings of the city's sky bund. When Esre opened the hatch, a wisp of a witch garbed entirely in black veils entered. The scarred woman Esre curtsied deeply and stood aside with the solemn announcement, "Von, witch queen of the Sisterhood."

  The diminutive witch parted her black veils, showing a youthful almost perfectly round face, and smiled benignly at Reece. "Magus, thank you for heeding the summons of our Sisterhood."

  "Heeding?" Reece stood up angrily. Only the weight of his dream suppressed his ire. He understood that the frantic cat as himself, Ripcat, harnessed by his need for Charm to stay alive in the Bright Worlds. He had to calm himself, for the dream warned him that the witches would offer much of value, which his rage could destroy. "I was taken by force, Lady Von. And many others were sacrificed so that I might stand here with you."

  “The goblins force our hand, magus." The witch queen nodded to Esre. "Each of us in the Sisterhood has a gift from the Goddess that we give to life. There are healers, teachers, and mechanics in our service. I myself thrived as a veil dancer. Esre comes from the Brood of Assassins, and her assessment of danger and her survival skills served the Sisterhood. If she sacrificed others, they died for a greater good, I assure you. She is a witch, and her first priority is life."

  Reece held in mind his dream and its vibrant warning and s
imply nodded.

  "Come, magus." The witch queen took his hand and led him through the hatchway. "You are hungry and without Charm. I will feed and clothe you, and we will discuss the latest evil to beset the dominions."

  On the scaffold walkway of the sky bund, Reece winced against the glare of the brilliant morning reflected in the many facets of the glass city. He searched crisscrossed levels of catwalks and platforms and spotted the usual stevedores in their orange, padded bodysuits guiding giant crates and bales with the aid of hover charms—but no guards, security officers, or soldiers. The unimposing figure of Esre offered Von’s only protection. "The trolls have not attacked here yet?"

  "Not so long as I am here." Von waved a black scarf at a skyline of amber domes, belfries of peach glass, and pyramids of mirror gold. "This is a beautiful city. That is why I am here and not in my sanctuary at Andezé Crag. The goblins know better than to attack witches and warlocks. Goblins are telepathic creatures, and we have the skills to baffle and hurt them. But there are too few of us to protect all of Irth. Too few, indeed, after the slaughter of the Dark Lord's Conquest. That is why we need your help, magus."

  Esre opened the grilled gate, and they entered the cage of a drop-lift.

  "Lady Von—" Reece peered into the queen's round face, veiled again behind jet gauze. "I am no longer a magus. I lost my magic—"

  "I know." She patted his arm consolingly as barred shadows blurred with their descent. "You lost your magic on the Dark Shore. The devil worshipper Duppy Hob used you as he used Caval before you. And now Duppy Hob is dead and your magic is gone. Yet, you are still a magus—a man trained to climb between worlds, to converse with invisibles, to catch the dead. That is what brought you here among us, isn't it?"

  "I can't do those things anymore." He placed both of his hands on his naked chest. "I am just what you see. A man."

  "A man of the Dark Shore—here among the Bright Worlds." The drop-lift stopped softly at ground level, and Esre opened the gate on a brick street fronted by corrugated storehouses. "You are a unique man on Irth, and one who has encountered evil before and triumphed. You were central to the downfall of both Hu'dre Vra and Duppy Hob. That counts for much against the monstrosities we face now. The goblins fear you, and you are worthy of their fear."

  They emerged among the sadder regions of the radiant city. Among the impoverished purlieus in the shadow of the sky bund, the near-charmless scavenged a dire existence from the castoffs of wealthy importers. People grown old without Charm labored in a refuse lot, rummaging for kindling among damp, discarded crates. Others spooled spider skeins of wrapping nets. Families in loose rags filed past with sleepy children, inspecting the gutters for whatever edible produce had toppled off morning delivery trucks. In warehouse alleys, squatters watched Esre and Reece with worn eyes, then lolled their heads when the witch provided no charity.

  A tent of faded awnings and weather-bleached canvas occupied a desolate lot between ramshackle storage sheds. Long ago abandoned by importers, street people now used these hovels. The witch queen invited him into the tent. "My residence on Mount Szo."

  "You live here?" Reece gawked at crude cane chairs and up-ended fruit crates that served as seats. Several rope hammocks had been secured to the interior tent walls like macramé hangings to make room for a splintered trestle table.

  On the table lay some mold-peppered boxes of herbs and plant cuttings, a hide box, a cast-iron jar, purses of bones, several hand-blown bottles of oily unguents, a small alcohol burner, and pins and cloth strips—the crude tools for crafting witch amulets, talismans of humble Charm sufficient to keep the charmless from drifting away on the nocturnal tide.

  Reece glanced at black newt's eyes in the iron jar and white star pearls in the hide box, the cheapest hex-gems. "You are the witch queen. How can you live like this?"

  "Some of my predecessors preferred more opulent surroundings, it is true." Von sat on a melon crate and offered a cane chair to Reece. "I have chosen to live as most of the Sisterhood lives. Each witch is a wife of darkness. We are married to what most requires the light of the Abiding Star. That is our purpose, to tend the needs of the charmless."

  "A noble calling, Lady Von." Reece allowed a hint of ill humor in his voice. "But don't you think your energy would be best spent converting wealthy Peers to stamping out poverty?"

  "Oh, magus, you misunderstand our purpose." The witch queen parted her veils to show a concerned frown. "We do not hope to overcome poverty. Poverty will heal itself when darkness no longer shrouds the human heart. We live to bring light to the darkness. That is why we called you here."

  The Return of Ripcat

  The tent flap opened, and several witches entered with burl bowls of steaming porridge, small loaves of berry bread, and a basket of fruits. "Please, eat." The witch queen accepted a clay flask from one of her attendants and unstoppered it. "Sparkling Szo water, the finest in the dominion. Please, drink."

  "Though I would like to help you, Lady Von, I cannot." Reece sipped from the flask to wet his dry throat, the better to explain himself. "My friend Dogbrick is stranded on the Dark Shore, and I must go back for him. If you will help me, I will do all that I can—"

  Reece stopped in mid-sentence. A chill widened through him and melancholy, as if he dwelled inside great sadness, inside chance where all will had been forfeit.

  "Remain calm." Lady Von swept to his side and put her warm hands on his icy face. “The Szo water has been charged with wort of Gabagalus. Not much. Not enough to induce telepathy, only receptivity."

  Reece grabbed the witch queen's wrists, wanting to push her away. Before he could act, she pressed her veiled forehead to his brow. An image fluttered over his sight through a windy scrim: Flames strobed from windows and rooftops of a tiered jungle city.

  "New Arwar—" Reece groaned, transfixed as the vision zoomed along mazy, cobbled streets frantic with trolls. People lay eviscerated and dying in the gutters—and among that gory crowd he glimpsed Jyoti's brindled topknot, her face lacquered with blood, her torn body a rag doll stabbed by the claws of a monster. He struggled to push to his feet.

  "Calm yourself, magus." The witch queen's breath smelled resinous as a split pine, and he knew that some magical plant worked in her. "What you see has not yet happened. But it will. The Sisterhood and Brotherhood have both seen this, and it is certain. Unless—"

  Reece stared with fevered eyes at her face. "Unless what? What do you want of me?"

  "Not you, Reece Morgan." She moved back from him and drew gauzy jet veils again over her face. "We need Ripcat."

  He tried to rub the frostiness from his face and told her with glum truthfulness, "I don't have that magic anymore. I have lost my beastmarks."

  "The Sisterhood will provide the magic—if you will once more wear those beastmarks."

  He shook his head. "I'm just one man. What can I do that all your witches and wizards cannot?"

  "You can save your lover, Jyoti Odawl," Esre said gruffly, "and New Arwar, and all the cities in all the dominions of Irth."

  Lady Von placed a restraining hand on the maimed witch. Through a slit in her sheer mask her dark eyes fixed on Reece. “The goblins are telepathic, but they cannot reach into your mind when you are Ripcat—a man from the Dark Shore shielded by beastmarks."

  Esre nodded. "No one else on Irth can track them down and kill them before they use the trolls, the ogres, the basilisks, and everything else they can inflame to kill us. Only you."

  "What about the Goblin Wars of the past?" He shot her a harsh, sidelong glance. "You defeated them then."

  "We didn't kill them, magus," Lady Von answered. "We drove them into exile. It took thousands of days and many thousands more in lives, whole dominions driven mad." She laid a hand upon his shoulder, and he felt her placid strength. “The dominions are far weaker now than we were then. Hu'dre Vra has slain too many of the best among us. We can't win against the goblins this time. And they know it. That's why they've come back."

&nbs
p; "What about Dogbrick?" Reece asked, weakly. "I can't leave him marooned on the Dark Shore."

  "Do you want to bring him back to an Irth ravaged by goblins?" Esre whittled her voice to a sharp whisper, not wanting to panic the people outside the tent. "Do you want to return and find New Arwar a heap of ash and your Jyoti gutted by trolls?"

  Reece's shoulders sagged, and he spoke with cold resignation. "Give me your magic, witch. I will wear the beastmarks—and we will kill goblins."

  Esre grinned. "When we are done with the goblins, Reece Morgan, I will accompany you to the Dark Shore, to retrieve your friend."

  Reece nodded sullenly and accepted the small, dark emerald that Lady Von produced from the folds of her robes.

  "Grasp this hard," she instructed. "The Charm in the hex-gem will provoke your beastmarks."

  For Jyoti's sake, he took the emerald and closed his fist around it. A fiery strength blazed behind his eyes. Sounds poured into him more brightly: Distinctly he heard his heart slamming, witches whispering, chanting behind their veils, and drop-lifts several blocks away, winching bales of goods from trade dirigibles to trucks waiting in their berths.

  Colors sharpened. He eyed the tiny, tight weave of the witch queen's gossamer mask and behind it the shadowy details of her staring eyes, wide, alert, watching the changes coming over him.

  He glanced down at his hands and chest. Blue fur hazed his flesh like mist he could swipe away. When he brushed at it, the fumes tightened to a pelt with a nap dense as velvet. His furred fingers pulsed, and black claws curled from their tips. He retracted them at once and fisted his hands, shaking them at the witch with a curling howl.

  The witch queen did not budge, other than to reach to the table, upend the plate of loaves, and hold the silvered disk toward him. The oval mirror at its center reflected a round head with cub ears and slant brow under a mantle of short blue fur. Oblique green eyes blinked, and snarling black lips exposed two braces of fangs.