by A. Sparrow
I continued on. What else was I to do? Maybe I would get lucky. Or at the very least, find something cozier than the place the Dusters had dumped me.
For whatever reason, Victoria had wanted to find a pit less accessible to mantids. I wondered how she could possibly find me again, unless she had the nose of a blood hound or some sort of soul-sensitive radar.
Something snorted loudly, like a breaching whale. I dropped to the ground and crawled up the edge of a dune, peering over the top. A huge lump of a creature lapped and slobbered noisily from a pond about fifty meters away between me and the hills. It sure looked and sounded like a Reaper, and when the wind shifted in my direction, the odor was unmistakable.
Whatever equilibrium I had gathered during my solitary walk was flushed away. Victoria had mentioned nothing about these things coming topside. That changed everything. Again, I had to consider myself prey.
But there were smaller shapes standing by the moonlit water. People. A group of maybe five or six. The Reaper reared back and bellowed into the night. Someone went over to it, rubbing and patting its hide as if they were soothing a horse.
The others climbed on top of the Reaper’s back, which was fitted with some kind of multiple saddle. There was a sharp whistle and the Reaper lifted its body on what looked like a hundred legs that advanced in waves to either side, very much like a millipede.
I hunkered down behind a patch of shrubs until I could see that they were headed towards the hills. Why hadn’t Victoria warned me about Dusters patrolling at night? Unless, of course, these weren’t Dusters.
I mustered the courage to continue on only after they had become a tiny and distant blotch on the landscape. The sighting had shifted my priorities. My refuge now had to be both mantid and Reaper-proof. But was any place safe from those shape-shifting beasties? Even at the bottom of the narrowest well, those things could squeeze themselves down and come get me.
But inside a pit, at least I would have access to roots and the potential to Weave my way out of any encounter. I was glad to have that sword with me. Hauling it around suddenly felt like much less of a burden.
I had only walked a short while before another weird sound split the stillness. I hit the ground again, crawling behind a boulder. This noise was a high, reedy and noodling whine. At first I supposed it might be some kind of giant cricket. It took me a while to recognize what I was hearing as music.
It sounded like a kid learning how to play violin, with a shaky vibrato and an intonation that was consistently flat. The tune being played was light and playful and repetitive. In bluegrass circles, it might pass for old-time, except for some moody minor elements that sounded like Klezmer.
I got up and followed my ears. I went over a rise and into a crease in the land where water trickled down through a series of gentle cascades. The music grew louder. A flickering glow appeared, outlining the perfectly circular rim of a collapsed sinkhole. A slender waterfall caught and reflected the light of a fire.
This was it! The sinkhole! I went to the overhang and spotted a little cottage tucked against the bottom of the wall, windows illuminated by a roaring hearth. It was ringed by a low picket fence and what looked like unplanted flower beds. A table and two chairs graced a patio out front.
As I made my way to the ladder, my heart sprang free from whatever Marianas Trench of self-pity it had wedged itself.
Chapter 14: Lost
A thrill rose up inside me. I could almost taste the clear but flavorful tea that Lille would be determined to brew at the first inclination she had a guest.
The ladder was exactly where we left it, but had been embellished with a handrail and stouter, wider rungs. I tucked my sword through a belt loop and descended quietly, thinking I would surprise them, not that they would have heard me with all that screeching. I wondered how wise it was to leave the ladder in place with those Reaper people roaming the plains.
Replicas of gas lanterns lined a walkway leading up to the base of the ladder, illuminated by glowing clumps of root. The cottage perched on a dry ledge beneath the overhang. It was almost a perfect copy of the one they had in the ‘Burg, although its flower beds were barren and the gingerbread around the eaves and windows was a bit less frilly.
The fiddle strains persisted. It was a rare note that came out of that thing true to pitch, but the rhythm of the playing was bold and confident, never veering off the beat.
I went right up to the door and started clapping along. Bern was there, hunched over on a stool, playing as if possessed. Suddenly his eyes popped open and he lurched back. A string snapped. His bow screeched across the bridge. He slid off the stool, fiddle clattering against the floor.
“Bloody hell, boy! Haven’t you ever heard of knocking? An-an-announcing your presence? I practically swallowed my own stomach.”
He scrambled to his feet, rushed over and nearly shook my arm out of its socket before smothering me in his arms with a lengthy and hearty bear hug.
“Oh my Heavens! I thought we’d never see the likes of you again. You poor bastard. It’s so horrible to see you again, but nice as well.”
Bern was looking more disheveled than I had ever seen him, his shirt un-tucked, hair sticking out every which way. Whiskers roughened his normally clean-shaven cheeks.
“Where’s Lille?” I said.
His eyes whipped away and flitted about unable to rest on any one spot in comfort.
“I … uh … I lost her.”
“What do you mean you lost Lille? How?
He blinked away tears and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.
“We had only begun to settle into our new place. These grey men with blotchy faces came riding in on the backs of these giant winged insects. Nasty blokes. Complete ruffians. They turned our cabin to powder, if you can believe it. And we had just gotten the roof thatched and the walls chinked.”
“I was there. I saw what was left.”
“Powder! Turned everything to powder, even our clothes. They mocked and manhandled us, treated us like vermin. Tore Lille right out of my arms. This bug took me in its jaws and dropped me in some Godforsaken bung hole. I didn’t even get to see where they took Lille or what they did with her. By the time I climbed out of that cave, they were long gone.”
“They got me too,” I said. “The same way. I was hiking up into the hills and they ambushed me.”
“Then, you know the drill. Flinging us around like livestock. The humiliation!”
“Lille’s probably out there somewhere, in one of these pits! There’s hundreds of them just like this one.”
“You think I don’t know. I’m out there every day disguised as a bloody bush, stopping every minute to scan the skies like some hare looking out for a hawk. Come here. Look.”
He led me over to his table. The smooth top was marked with charcoal sketching the location of every sinkhole in the plains.
“And this is just the immediate vicinity.” He pointed at a wall. “That’s the Eastern sector. The western sector is scratched into the ground outside. I’ve only just begun to go deeper into the plains to the north, but things get mighty sparse out there. Every day from sunup to sundown I’m out there searching. At this point I’d be grateful for a carcass.”
“Don’t say that. The fact that you haven’t found anything. That’s a good sign, right?”
“Good? Are you daft? With the bloody Reapers roaming the scrub lands at night and insects big an ox by day? That’s good?”
“Might she have faded?”
“Lille hasn’t faded once in the three years I’ve known her. She has no reason to. She’s in a coma.”
“I’m so sorry, Bern. I’ll help you search. Maybe between the two of us….”
He shook his head. “There’s no hope. How many days has it been? I don’t even know. I do it, because what else is there for me to do? It gets me through my days. It’s still better being here than in that bloody prison.”
“Don’t give up, Bern. She might still be in one of these holes, waitin
g for you. Or … maybe she went back to the ‘Burg.”
“No. Lille would never do that. Never. She hated that place. Hated Luther.”
“Don’t worry. Together, we’ll find her.”
“It’s sweet of you to say that, son. But I know better. I know a lost cause when I see one. Why waste your time?”
“It’s no waste. I want to find Lille, too. I missed you guys.”
He pointed at his fiddle. “See? I’m learning to play. That’s the one thing Lille could never stand. Hearing me try to fiddle. Don’t blame her. It doesn’t have the nicest tone. I’m not much of a luthier, I’m afraid. Maybe if I had a better instrument.”
“Sounds great, Bern. Really. Quite good.”
“So how’s Karla? You’ve been with her, I presume? On the other side?”
I took a deep breath. “You mean … you haven’t seen her here? She hasn’t been…?”
Bern looked at me blankly and shook his head. “I am afraid not. When I found this pit again I immediately set up shop, thinking somebody, anybody would come back through here. But it’s been weeks and you’re my first visitor, son.”
“Crap. I thought for sure….”
“But that’s a good thing. It means, on the other side—.”
“Yeah, I know. It means things are swell for her.” I blinked at him, fighting the moisture that was trying to well up. “I should be happy.”
Bern’s eyes rolled back. “Oh no. Not you, too. Will you look at the two us? Have you ever seen such a pair of miserable sad sacks? How about some tea?”
“That … would be nice.”
I sat down at the table, hands on my lap, afraid of smudging his charcoal map. It was remarkably true to scale, both in terms of distances between pits and even their shapes and sizes. I could trace my path back to the huge arena size hole where I had begun my evening.
Bern saw me with my elbows off the table.
“Oh don’t worry about touching all that. I’ve covered that territory over and back three times. I should just give the damned thing a good wiping. Lille’s not in any of those pits. She’s not coming back and that’s that.”
“Stop it, Bern. We’ll find her. We’ll find out … at least … what happened.”
“I’m not sure I want to find out,” he said, filling a kettle. “I’ve seen some terrible things out there. Unspeakable things.”
“Like what?”
“I said they were unspeakable!” He stopped and looked at me, his eyelids pegged open at their widest. His face trembled. “But if you must know.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I saw mummies. Living mummies.”
“What?”
“It’s true! They were embedded in the ground at the base of some hill. Moss growing on their heads. Staring at me, as if they could see into my heart. There was a cold, cruel intelligence behind their eyes.”
“Are you sure they weren’t corpses?”
“They were alive, I tell you! Terrified me. I ran and I haven’t gone back.” He tapped a spot on his wall map. “It was here. In the southwest sector. Where the foothills start. It’s no loss, not going back there. As you can see, there are no pits to speak of in that area. I was just performing my due diligence.”
I recognized the shape of the land that he had sketched on the wall. Two canyons side by side separated by a narrow ridge.
“I was there,” I said. “That was near where the Dusters nabbed me.”
“Dusters?”
“The bug riders. That’s what Victoria calls them. I didn’t mention. Victoria paid me a visit. She’s going to take me … us … to Frelsi when she’s done with her rounds. Has she … come by here?”
“I’ve seen her,” said Bern, fetching a pair of mugs from a shelf. “And I’m pretty sure she saw me even though at the time I was dressed like a shrubbery. Hm. She wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“Maybe she was busy.”
“I think not. I think my soul doth not impress her.”
“When she comes, I’ll have her vet you. I’m sure you’ll pass.”
“Vet me? You mean there’s an application process for Frelsi?”
“Kinda.”
“How … bureaucratic … of them.”
He plopped the two mugs down on the table, and proceeded to fill them from his steaming kettle.
“You’ll have to pardon the tea service. I don’t quite have Lille’s touch with fine bone china.”
“Oh, they look fine,” I said, blowing off the steam. The tea smelled interesting, very different from Lille’s, but it was still too hot for me to taste.
“Bern, I mean it. I’ll help you look for her. I mean, you’re not giving up, are you.”
Bern settled his frame onto the opposite chair. He sighed. “No. I’m not giving up. Not that I expect to find her intact. But I’d be satisfied with some token of remembrance. A purse. Her hat. Some gloves. Oh, and don’t be surprised boy if I fade away at some point. For some time now, I’ve had a strong hankering to go back. I’m hoping to have my lawyer place a call to her hospice. See if she’s still admitted. To confirm … what I already fear.”
“Stop being such a downer Bern. Maybe it’ll be good news.”
Bern slurped his tea and looked up at me. “Son. There’s a better chance of you fading before I do. Would you mind, placing the call? She’s in St. Brendan’s hospital in Bermuda. I don’t have the number but—.”
“Bern, I don’t think I’ll be able to.”
“Why not?”
“Because Karla’s dad has me locked up in a church basement.”
“What? Against your will?”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t … volunteer.”
“And he won’t let you out?”
“Not until I tell him where to find Karla. And I have no clue.”
“Oh my. What a predicament. We’re two peas in a pod, you and me. What a pair of sad sacks we are. Both of us locked away. At least you’ve got a chance of getting loose. Me, I’m a lifer. They’ve got me in solitary because they think I can’t get along with the other inmates. Little do they know I’m there out of choice. I engineered it.”
“What did you do, Bern? Why are you in prison?”
He looked down at his feet. “I’m not proud of it. But I killed a man. He was my sister’s husband. Malicious bastard he was and a drunkard to boot. She’s better off without him. She would never admit that, of course, but it’s true. She’s better off. She did love him. But love does funny things to people. Puts fine women in nasty situations.”
“But you’re always here, Bern. I’ve never seen you fade. How do you manage to stay alive, on the other side?”
“Stomach tube,” he said, matter-of-factly. “They think I’m on a hunger strike or something. Got me stuck in a high security psych ward.”
I took a sip of tea. It was hot and steamy, but it tasted like fermented hay. For the sake of Bern’s pride, I resisted the urge to spit it out.
Chapter 15: Nate and Joe
Bern offered me some bread and jam. I was a bit leery of it after experiencing his wretched tea. But other than a hint of earthiness, it tasted pretty good, considering he had conjured it from bits of root.
We chatted and commiserated until the oval patch of sky visible through the sinkhole began to pale.
“Good Heavens!” he said. “What ever happened to the night? Let’s try and catch forty winks before we head out onto the plains.”
“I’m not that tired,” I said. “We can go now if you want.”
He sucked air through his teeth and shook his head. “Not advisable. The bug men patrol in the early mornings. Evenings, as well. Midday’s the best bet if one wants to go about unmolested. And even then, not without vigilance and disguise. Besides, it would be nice to recharge our batteries. Endurance and metabolism are greatly altered on this side of things. But a good nap sharpens the mind.”
He slung a hammock for me between two posts in the corner and fetched a flattened cushion from a wicker chair for me to u
se as a pillow.
“I can weave you a blanket if—.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “It’s not cold at all.”
“Alright then. Let’s try to head out about noon.”
I washed my face in a perpetually flowing tap that trickled into a groove beside the hearth. Bern lay down on his little double bed and was snoring before I had even climbed into the hammock.
The pillow felt like a sack of concrete under my head, so I dropped it over the side to the floor. I was reluctant to rest, fearing what might come if I let my guard down. But the sway of the hammock seduced me. I succumbed, laying back and staring out the window up at our ovoid porthole into the sky.
I liked this place. It felt homey, not quite as cozy as Karla’s old chamber, but the cottage was familiar and comforting.
And this sinkhole was a good a location as any to stay in this world—defensible from whatever creatures roamed the surface, cut off from the nastiness below.
Besides, it was a nexus. If or when Karla ever reappeared, it would most likely be in this vicinity, given it was likely the last place her soul had known of Root.
If Victoria came by again, I wasn’t sure I would accompany her to Frelsi. Certainly not if Bern couldn’t pass her vetting.
I was so glad to have found Bern, but I missed Lille. She had been like an aunt to me; warmer, in fact, than any of my flesh and blood relatives. Despite the optimism I projected around Bern, I thought the prospects of finding her were grim. Someone as clever and resourceful as Lille would have found her way to Bern in the weeks that had passed since the Dusters had obliterated their cabin.
I could feel my heart rate wind down. My breaths came slower. I noticed then, that the hammock had stopped swinging. I shifted my weight to get it going again but it wouldn’t budge.
And then it hit. My body went rigid with pain. My toes curled. An involuntary moan wriggled out of me.
I opened my eyes to find myself looking at the weak splash of light etching the shadows in that cell in the church basement.
I groaned, seized with that ever-present and all-consuming pain in my middle. I wasn’t ready to be back here so soon. I squinted towards the door, trying to adjust my eyes to the dimness. There was some food sitting by the door, an apple this time and a bowl of long-congealed oatmeal.
