by S. M. Beiko
Eventually.
I glanced down at Sil. I hadn’t seen any kind of fancy stone in Cecelia’s chest, yet she was the Paramount — did every house have one? I knew little about these stones, in general, except what Eli had revealed, and what I’d seen when I touched it. They were shards of Ancient itself and contained within them were the spirits of every Paramount that had borne it before. The only stone I’d come across was the green gem hidden in a busted fox statue. But that was as good as gone, lost to that shadow. After that everything had changed, and I hadn’t thought of, or seen the thing since. Maybe that was a good thing.
But the stones, like the one Eli had . . . they were not to be used lightly or trifled with. Doing so came with a certain madness. I wasn’t the best version of myself, he’d said. Maybe I’d shorted out the big shiny shard, maybe nothing was different. Maybe I’d partly forgiven him, but I didn’t admit it — even to myself.
Sil, Barton, Phae, Natti, and I were standing at the front of the assembly, near Solomon, completing our band of misfits that could activate the crystal targe hanging around my neck, inside my jacket. Seneca (his first name was Jordan, but it seemed no one called him that) was still recuperating from his cousin’s attack, but he sat in the front row, face relaxed, almost hopeful.
I examined the room, which was made up of representatives from the Families living in Winnipeg, Brandon, and the surrounding towns, all of which stood to be completely destroyed in the next few days, and which were the only line of defense if Zabor went further with her vendetta. She could go only so far as the river allowed, but she could cut new byways to the sea, and the world would be in the palm of her scaly claw if that happened.
The crowd was mostly made up of Rabbits, Owls, and — my heart caught — Foxes, of which I’d seen few. There were no Seals present, save for Natti and her brother, Aivik, who slouched nearby. There weren’t many Seals this far south, since most preferred colder climes closer to the ocean, and Aunty was busy protecting Cecelia. As for the Deer, there were none around that were still human except Phae. Many had already taken on their animal forms for good and fled. I didn’t blame them.
All in all, there weren’t very many of us. Denizens were thin on the ground in a town that fed their kids to the monster now threatening them all. There was as much animosity here as there was terror. And whatever happened, I was both the cause and solution.
Phae squeezed my hand, and I snapped out of surveying — the proceedings were starting.
Solomon had stood. “Denizens, by Ancient and the Five we serve, I welcome you here in this time of grave emergency. I have asked you all to convene here, as the Narrative demands.”
“The Narrative demanded my son, too,” said a Fox in the back. “And now you’re telling us you were wrong?”
I suddenly felt bad for the Owls, in spite of everything. Solomon’s face didn’t change. “Yes. We were wrong.”
The murmurs in the chamber bounced off the wall until their volume rose and the anger grew with it.
“Murderers!” someone yelled and had to be restrained. My pulse climbed. The last thing we needed right now was an angry mob.
“Please,” Solomon tried, his mouth a hard line. “Please. Yes, I will say it again. We were wrong. We felt we had no other choice. For the sake of Ancient. For everyone.” He looked at me then. “It was wrong. We did not feel we could defeat Zabor, and that trying and failing would only put the rest of this tenuous world in harm’s way. Letting her loose would have been catastrophic at any stage. We should have trusted that there was another way. And there is.” This time, he was speaking directly to me. I tried to control my face, but in the end my mouth just twitched.
“You’re up, chief.” Barton nudged me in the ribs. I forced myself to climb the dais and stand beside Solomon. Everyone said he should’ve been Paramount, but he was old, and for a while I wondered if he could handle this. Standing near him now, I felt his wisdom and experience, and above all his trust in me, and that was enough.
I turned to the furious crowd, barely containing themselves, and felt my face scorch.
I swallowed. When was the last time I’d done any public speaking? Maybe a presentation on The Great Gatsby in November . . . but that was a lifetime ago.
I saw Sil shift at Phae’s feet, but her eyes never left me.
“I’m. Uh . . .” I immediately lost my train of thought, my throat thickening. I coughed. “I’m . . . terrible” — Yeah, great start — “at these sort of things. I mean.”
I scratched the back of my neck, remembering the bloated worm I’d ripped from there. I thought of Eli, faltered, dropped my hand, and tried again.
“Err. Okay. Look. Here’s the thing.” I made an effort to keep my hands busy and opened them out in front of me. “This is a horrible thing to talk about. Because . . . because so many of you have lived in fear for so long. And because some of you had to literally sacrifice everything because you figured, Hey, I’m doing my part, right?” It didn’t seem like people were reacting, but I caught a nod somewhere in the crowd, and I realized it was Barton’s dad. So I went on.
“And no one should ever be asked to do what you did. But you did it. And . . . and I think you remember why. Because you believed it was the right thing. Thought that it really was for the best, ’cause you trusted Ancient to know what it was doing. Now, it’s like, Well, we’re all going to get eaten anyway, so what was it all for?”
Silence. Stillness. Shit. I could feel my face going from red to purple, and my super-heightened pulse wasn’t helping any. Wrap it up, Harken!
“But!” I accidentally shouted. Some people jumped — Good, they’re paying attention. “But . . . look.” I pulled the targe over my bushy haircut and raised the glistening gem. “I didn’t get this on my own. If it wasn’t for Eli, for the Owls, I would have never come out of the Bloodlands alive. He could’ve left me down there, could’ve destroyed the targe. But he didn’t. Because when it came down to it, even he believed we could do this.”
I heard Solomon make a choked noise, but I doubt anyone else did. I plowed on.
“And I know it’s a big ask. But I need you to trust, again.” I pressed the targe to my chest, suddenly afraid I was going to drop it my hands were shaking so badly. “Before any of this, I wasn’t really anyone. The only person relying on me was me, which was enough. Then it turned out I was even less of anyone. I was a toll to be paid for some demon and all for a crazy-ass mythological world that I had no idea even existed. I could’ve run off, or let Death have her way. But . . . but I trusted.”
This time I spoke to Sil, and I couldn’t help but imagine that her fur was sparking with involuntary pride. “It wasn’t easy. And it didn’t get easier. Not really my fault.” I slid the targe back around my neck. “But I trust we can do this. And I say we because I never imagined in my wildest nightmares that I could take on Zabor alone.”
I walked down the steps to everyone’s level. I made sure to study every face turned up at me, to imagine their fear, their hopelessness. I wanted them to see. “I trust. I trust that if Ancient is listening, it’d want us to stand up and fight. If we can. We’ve all got this Grace inside of us, and we can’t let it disappear because we’ve given up. If this is all about some story we’ve got to fulfill, some kind of order that has to be maintained — then we need to start writing the story ourselves before Zabor washes away what ink we’ve got left.”
There was a low murmur, but no one interjected or really responded. My words buzzed in my head over and over again until I was certain they sounded extremely stupid.
Then: “So . . . who are you, again?”
My eyes throbbed with my heartbeat. Wow, that’s what they got out of all that?
“Roan Harken,” said Barton, as he moved into full view next to me and put a hand on my forearm. His other hand was holding Phae’s, who was followed by Natti, who joined me on my other side, between Solomon and
me. “Roan Harken’s parents were Ravenna and Aaron. The two of them died trying to get half as far as Roan has, and her grandma gave up her body to help her get there.” Barton nodded at Sil, whose ears flattened and golden eyes flashed. I don’t think she was pleased about being outed in the middle of a crisis.
“She’s the Fox Paramount’s granddaughter?” someone objected.
“Her family gave up everything. And so has Roan,” Phae continued, eyes rolling white, and her great black mane knitting its blue, sparking antlers. “She brought us together. She made us believe. She and her family trusted that this could be done.”
Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked behind us, but Natti wasn’t about to let it distract anyone. “The targe needs a member of each of the Five to activate it, to send Zabor back down where she belongs. And we’re willing to do it. But we can’t do it without help. And we can’t let her destroy our home. No matter what part of this city we came from, or what Family we trace our blood to, this city is ours. If we can’t come together now, then we might as well abandon Winnipeg and let Zabor have her way with the rest of the world.”
Solomon nodded, grave but determined, and the other council members, for once, stayed quiet.
A Fox, a Rabbit, a Deer, a Seal. And an Owl. I touched the targe. As one, we stared out into the crowd to await their judgment.
Another wave of thunder, and in its wake, Sil rose, flames consuming her as her limbs stretched out and she became the Fox-woman, nine tails blazing, mantle rustling in the breeze of her holy heat. Her massive Fox head seemed to smile as she stood before the gathering, and she half turned, the snout melting back into flaming tongues, until the face of a woman with raven hair smiled out from behind it.
Cecelia, her true spirit, Paramount of all Foxes. From her back she pulled a flaming garnet blade.
And she clanged it into the dais before us like the warrior queen she was. An oath.
Soon, others came forward, too. Foxes first, following the example of their Paramount. Then Rabbits, Owls. Even Aivik pumped his fist in the back, releasing a firework of the water that everyone had dragged in and scaring those who were standing near him.
I smiled, but the lightning was getting closer now, the sheets of rain heavier above our heads.
“For Ancient!” someone cried out, and a cheer followed. My friends and I looked at each other, unable to join in the battle cry.
“For our families,” I said. And they nodded.
It was time.
*
The water had reached the legislative grounds. Louis Riel himself was drowning, but he faced the river head-on, rooted in place. The rain came down so hard and heavy that it was nearly a whiteout, and the chill in the air hadn’t improved with the storm front.
A single black shadow clung to Louis’s arm, rocking in the fierce winds and unwilling to leave its post.
“Brother,” Natti muttered. Aivik didn’t bat an eye — he knew she wasn’t talking to him. He adjusted his skater-hat, looking grave. Brother wasn’t moving, seemed a part of the statue, now. He’d heard his mother’s call and, though his loyalties were now divided, he whimpered and listened.
Natti and Aivik took the head of the pack and seemed to move together. I had to hand it to Aivik — he was all ponderous largeness, as tall as he was wide (like Aunty), but he had as much power and control as his sister. They raised their arms to move the deluge aside, allowing Solomon, Barton, Phae, and me to advance. Sil was at my side, still in her Fox-woman form, but the rain merely hissed as it struck her. We stood on the brink together. Waiting for the wave.
As Natti and Aivik pulled the rain apart like a heavy curtain, the lightning cut through, sharp, glinting fingers striking closer and closer to us. I counted — one one-thousand, two one-thousand . . . Another finger sliced directly in front of us, seeming to divide the river in half like a cracking bone.
We recoiled, and when I turned I saw Natti and Aivik standing next to us, faces turned up and afraid.
I did a double take from them to the river, which was still pulling back into its banks, forming an enormous wall of water.
Thinking it was them doing it, I shouted, “Hey, are you guys —”
Aivik shook his head, suddenly preoccupied by his hat being ripped off his head and carried away by the storm.
“It’s not us,” Natti said. “It’s her.”
Every bit of the river that had climbed over its limits and washed the city into despair pulled away from its holding grounds. Creeks, ditches, neighbourhoods, water mains — the water retracted, pulled inward like an embrace, coming back to the river like children flocking to their mother. From the air, this may have looked like a relief. From the ground, it was madness and catastrophe.
But I knew it was the beginning of something worse.
The river, penned in by an invisible fence, raised higher. The rain ceased but the sky stayed black, a bruise turning red and purple. The wind died.
And when things cleared, when the river finally pulled every last thread to it, we could see what the watery coffin contained behind the glass.
She was bigger than I’d ever had space in my mind to imagine. And more beautiful, too.
Her hair stretched and eddied behind her, a tangle of darkness. I couldn’t tell if it was all hers, or if it was the bodies of her hunters dancing around her head. Her arms covered her chest like a sleeping princess in a fairy tale, and there were no legs to mention, just a massive spiked tail that extended out of her ribbed, scaly belly. The tail went on forever.
And suddenly the water contracted, made her grow even more and, with a screeching inhale, Zabor’s eyes opened and we were blasted backwards by the force of the river that was hers.
Natti tried to stop the wall, which gave us a grace period of about a second before we were all airborne and smashing into each other or anything solid enough to stop us. When I shook the ringing out of my head, I got to my feet as quickly as possible, fast enough only to cry “Get down!” before the enormous tail swung out towards the Osborne bridge, and took it out like a dandelion.
Cars, concrete, and a bus took flight before crashing into nearby buildings or coming to rest in the water. The tail swept anything that might hinder the progress of the water as it rose and smashed down into the city that had grown around it.
Then a scaled claw as large as a tractor-trailer dug into the great staircase under Louis’s vigilant, doomed watch. The other found the opposite bank and, like an Ophelia rising from the dead, Zabor lifted herself free of her watery prison.
She opened her mouth and screamed.
“Jesus, she’s been sleeping for decades, you’d think she’d be in a better mood,” I yelled, though to no one in particular and for no other reason other than to crack the nightmare we were in. No going back this time.
The snake-woman stilled, her enormous breasts quivering as she turned towards the sound of my voice and rose on the tight coil of her tail.
“You,” shuddered Zabor’s toxic voice at about a hundred decibels above what my ears could handle. She pointed at me, rows of sharp, soul-rending teeth exposed in a mouth open enough to show her forked tongue.
Her hunters slithered by the hundreds onto dry land, but they didn’t advance far, clinging close to the shadow of their fearsome mother. Brother clung to the Louis Riel statue, burying its head in the stone, weeping.
“I demand the blood I was promised.” The screech tore a hole in my head and the words tried to stretch it wider. “I will not be disobeyed. I will be honoured! Or the world will pay!”
I felt paralyzed in place, felt like my bones were drying out and soon I’d blow away in the wind of Zabor’s fury. But my spirit eye opened wider, and in those razor teeth of hers I saw every person who she had churned up and destroyed. Every drop of Denizen blood at the back of her throat.
“The world has paid!” I screamed, ignit
ing from head to toe. “And now it’s your turn!”
Her expression of grim hatred sharpened into a glee I’d recognized in Urka’s face in the Bloodlands. Zabor’s peals of laughter set off car alarms and, I’m sure, shattered glass in nearby apartment complexes.
“I am the river! I am the ending of the Great Narrative! Your forebears could not quell me, and neither will a morsel!” Her tail lifted and cracked like a whip, throwing me off my feet and slamming an instant trench through the sidewalks and statues flanking the legislature.
The river hunters leapt up, and their clattering assured us we’d be dead before we could reach their maker.
I scrambled to my feet, unsure what the first move would be. This wasn’t a video game, there was no team-turn system. This was an all-out melee with no controls, no special moves, no second lives, or reset buttons. We each had one life to give, and when it was gone, it was gone.
The ground quaked, pulling Zabor up short. I twisted to see that the statues of the legislature, scattered on the grounds, toppled on their sides or carved within the building itself . . . were moving. With each pulse of the ground their bodies rippled and animated, pulling free of plinths and reliefs. And they were marching for the river.
Louis Riel himself lowered his hand, still wielding a proclamation. Then he pulled it back and smashed into three advancing river hunters, the force of the blow cleaving one in two.
“What the actual f—” I muttered, before realizing that all the Rabbits, including Barton, had come forward to form a line with him at the front, arms buried in the ground.
The other Rabbits’ fingers twitched, as though they were playing delicate, invisible instruments. Or, more likely, commanding marionette strings on their new Tyndall stone and bronze soldiers.
With the first blow delivered, the battle was on, and the promenade erupted into chaos.
Our side seemed to collectively cry out, and I ran into the breach, losing sight of my friends as they branched out to stop the incoming onslaught. I felt, for a split second, as though I was back at Omand’s Creek all those weeks ago, when the snow still ruled and the idea of having any power over myself was laughable. This time, I let the fire take me up in its embrace, and I spun into the fray like a flaming hurricane. I tore hunters aside, I grew as large and wild as a Fox on the run, and as they burnt away under my fists I thought that I could do this.
