by Clive Barker
“I doubt that,” Umagammagi said. “Sweet Judith—”
Still shaking, Jude took a moment to respond. “I’m not afraid of death,” she said to Jokalaylau. “Or cheap tricks.”
Again, Umagammagi spoke. “Judith,” she said. “Look at Me.”
“I just want Her to understand—”
“Sweet Judith . . .”
“—I’m not going to be bullied.”
“. . . look at Me.”
Now Jude did so, and this time there was no need to pierce the ambiguities. The Goddess appeared to Jude without challenge or labor, and the sight was a paradox. Uma Umagammagi was an ancient, Her body so withered it was almost sexless, Her hairless skull subtly elongated, Her tiny eyes so wreathed in creases they were barely more than gleams. But the beauty of Her glyph was here in this flesh: its ripples, its flickers, its ceaseless, effortless motion.
“Do you see now?” Uma Umagammagi said.
“Yes, I see.”
“We haven’t forgotten the flesh We had,” She said to Jude. “We’ve known the frailties of your condition. We remember its pains and discomforts. We know what it is to be wounded: in the heart, in the head, in the womb.”
“I see that,” Jude said.
“Nor would We have trusted you with knowledge of Our frailty, unless We believed that you might one day be among Us.”
“Among You?”
“Some divinities arise from the collective will of peoples; some are made in the heat of stars; some are abstractions. But some—dare we say the finest, the most loving?—are the higher minds of living souls. We are such divinities, sister, and Our memories of the lives We lived and the deaths We died are still sharp. We understand you, sweet Judith, and We don’t accuse you.”
“Not even Jokalaylau?” Jude said.
The Goddess of the High Snows made Herself apparent to Her length and breadth, showing Jude Her entire form in a single glance. There was a paleness moving beneath Her skin, and Her eyes, that had been so luminous, were dark. But they were fixed on Jude. She felt the stare like a stab.
“I want you to see,” She said, “what the Father of the father of the child in you did to My devotees.”
Jude recognized the paleness now. It was a blizzard, driven through the Goddess’s form by pain, and pricking every part of Her. Its drifts were mountainous, but at Jokalaylau’s behest they moved and uncovered the site of an atrocity. The bodies of women lay frozen where they’d fallen, their eyes carved out, their breasts taken off. Some lay close to smaller bodies: violated children, dismembered babes.
“This is a little part of a little part of what He did,” Jokalaylau said.
Appalling as the sight was, Jude didn’t flinch this time, but stared on at the horror until Jokalaylau drew a cold shroud back over it.
“What are You asking me to do?” Jude said. “Are You telling me I should add another body to the heap? Another child?” She laid her hand on her belly. “This child?”
She hadn’t realized until now how covetous she felt of the soul she was nurturing.
“It belongs to the butcher,” Jokalaylau said.
“No,” Jude quietly replied. “It belongs to me.”
“You’ll be responsible for its works?”
“Of course,” she said, strangely exhilarated by this promise. “Bad can be made from good, Goddess; whole things from broken.”
She wondered as she spoke if They knew where these sentiments originated; whether They understood that she was turning the Reconciler’s philosophies to her own maternal ends. If They did, They seemed not to think less of her for it.
“Then Our spirits go with you, sister,” Tishalullé said.
“Are You sending me away again?” Jude asked.
“You came here looking for an answer, and We can provide it.”
“We understand the urgency of this,” Uma Umagammagi said. “And We haven’t held you here without cause. I’ve been across the Dominions while you waited, looking for some clue to this puzzle. There are Maestros waiting in every Dominion to undertake the Reconciliation—”
“Then Gentle didn’t begin?”
“No. He’s waiting for your word.”
“And what should I tell him?”
“I’ve searched their hearts, looking for some plot—”
“Did You find any?”
“No. They’re not pure, of course. Who is? But all of them want the Imajica whole. All of them believe the working they’re ready to perform can succeed.”
“Do You believe it too?”
“Yes, We do,” said Tishalullé. “Of course they don’t realize they’re completing the circle. If they did, perhaps they’d think again.”
“Why?”
“Because the circle belongs to Our sex, not to theirs,” Jokalaylau put in.
“Not true,” Umagammagi said. “It belongs to any mind that cares to conceive it.”
“Men are incapable of conceiving, sister,” Jokalaylau replied. “Or hadn’t You heard?”
Umagammagi smiled. “Even that may change, if We can coax them from their terrors.”
Her words begged many questions, and She knew it. Her eyes fixed on Jude, and She said, “We’ll have time for these works when you come back. But now I know you need to be fleet.”
“Tell Gentle to be a Reconciler,” Tishalullé said. “But share nothing that We’ve said with him.”
“Do I have to be the one to tell him?” Jude said to Umagammagi. “If You’ve been there once, can’t You go again and give him the news? I want to stay here.”
“We understand. But he’s in no mood to trust Us, believe me. The message must come from you, in the flesh.”
“I see,” Jude said.
There was no room for persuasion, it seemed. She had the plain answer she’d come here hoping to find. Now she had to return to the Fifth with it, unpalatable as that journey would be.
“May I ask one question before I go?” she said.
“Ask it,” said Umagammagi.
“Why did You show Yourselves to me this way?”
It was Tishalullé who replied. “So that you’ll know Us when We come to sit at your table or walk beside you in the street,” She said.
“Will you come to the Fifth?”
“Perhaps, in time. We’ll have work there, when the Reconciliation’s achieved.”
Jude imagined the transformations she’d seen outside wrought in London: Mother Thames climbing her banks, depositing the filth she’d been choked by in Whitehall and the Mall, then sweeping through the city, making its squares into swimming pools and its cathedrals into playgrounds. The thought made her light.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” she said and, thanking them, made her departure.
When she got outside the waters were waiting for her, the surf lush as pillows. She didn’t delay, but went straight down the beach and threw herself into its comfort. This time there was no need to swim; the tide knew its business. It picked her up and carried her across the basin like a foamy chariot, delivering her back to the rocks from which she’d first taken her plunge. Lotti Yap and Paramarola had gone, but finding her way out of the palace would be easier now than when she’d first arrived. The waters had been at work on many of the corridors and chambers that ran around the basin, and on the courtyards beyond, opening up vistas of glittering pools and fountains that stretched to the rubble of the palace gates. The air was clearer than it had been, and she could see the Kesparates spread below. She could even see the harbor, and the sea at its walls, its own tide longing, no doubt, to share this enchantment.
She made her way back to the staircase, to find that the waters that had carried her here had receded from the bottom, leaving heaps of flotsam and jetsam behind. Picking through it, like a beachcomber granted her paradise, was Lotti Yap, and sitting on the lower steps, chatting to Paramarola, Hoi-Polloi Peccable.
After they’d greeted each other, Hoi-Polloi explained how she’d prevaricated before committing herself to
the river that had separated her from Jude. Once she jumped in, however, it had carried her safely through the palace and delivered her to this spot. Minutes later it had been called to other duties and disappeared.
“We’d pretty much given up on you,” said Lotti Yap. She was busy plucking the petitions and prayers from among the trash, unfolding them, scanning them, then pocketing them. “Did you get to see the Goddesses?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Are They beautiful?” Paramarola asked.
“In a way.”
“Tell us every detail.”
“I haven’t time. I have to get back to the Fifth.”
“You got your answer, then,” Lotti said.
“I did. And we’ve got nothing to fear.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” she replied. “Everything’s well with the world.”
As Jude started to pick her way through the debris, Hoi-Polloi said, “Can two of us go?”
“I thought you were going to wait with us,” Paramarola said.
“I’ll come back and see the Goddesses,” Hoi-Polloi replied. “I’d like to see the Fifth before everything changes. It is going to change, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Jude said.
“Do you want something to read on your travels?” Lotti asked them, proffering a fistful of petitions. “It’s amazing, what people write.”
“All those should go to the island,” Jude said. “Take them with you. Leave them at the temple door.”
“But the Goddesses can’t answer every prayer,” Lotti said. “Lost lovers, crippled children—”
“Don’t be so sure,” Jude told her. “It’s going to be a new day.”
Then, with Hoi-Polloi at her side, she made the hour’s second round of farewells and headed away in the general direction of the gate.
“Do you really believe what you said to Lotti?” Hoi-Polloi asked her when they’d left the staircase far behind. “Is tomorrow going to be so different from today?”
“One way or another,” Jude said.
The reply was more ambiguous than she’d intended, but then perhaps her tongue was wiser than it knew. Though she was going from this holy place with the word of powers far more discerning than she, their reassurance could not quite erase the memory of the bowl in Oscar’s treasure room and the prophecy of dust it had shown her.
She silently admonished herself for her lack of faith. Where did this seam of arrogance come from, that she could doubt the wisdom of Uma Umagammagi Herself? From now on, she would put such ambivalence away. Maybe tomorrow, or some blissful day after, she’d meet the Goddesses on the streets of the Fifth and tell Them that even after Their comforts she’d still nursed some ridiculous nub of doubt. But for today she’d bow to Their wisdoms and return to the Reconciler as a bearer of good news.
Twenty-two
I
GENTLE WASN’T THE ONLY occupant of the house in Gamut Street who’d smelled the In Ovo on the late-afternoon breeze; so had one who’d once been a prisoner in that Hell between Dominions: Little Ease. When Gentle returned to the Meditation Room, having set Monday the task of bringing the stones up the stairs and sent Clem around the house securing it, he found his sometime tormentor up at the window. There were tears on its cheeks, and its teeth were chattering uncontrollably.
“He’s coming, isn’t he?” it said. “Did you see him, Liberatore?”
“Yes, he is, and no, I didn’t,” Gentle said. “Don’t look so terrified, Easy. I’m not going to let him lay a finger on you.”
The creature put on its wretched grin, but with its teeth in such motion the effect was grotesque.
“You sound like my mother,” it said. “Every night she used to tell me: nothing’s going to hurt you, nothing’s going to hurt you.”
“I remind you of your mother?”
“Give or take a tit,” Little Ease replied. “She was no beauty, it has to be said. But all my fathers loved her.”
There was a din from downstairs, and the creature jumped.
“It’s all right,” Gentle said. “It’s just Clem closing the shutters.”
“I want to be of some use. What can I do?”
“You can do what you’re doing. Watch the street. If you see anything out there—”
“I know. Scream blue murder.”
With the windows shuttered below, the house was thrown into a sudden dusk, in which Clem, Monday, and Gentle labored without word or pause. By the time all the stones had been fetched upstairs the day outside had also dwindled into twilight, and Gentle found Little Ease leaning out of the window, stripping fistfuls of leaves from the tree outside and flinging them back into the room. When he asked it what it was up to it explained that, with evening fallen, the street was invisible through the foliage, so it was clearing it away.
“When I begin the Reconciliation maybe you should keep watch from the floor above,” Gentle suggested.
“Whatever you suggest, Liberatore,” Little Ease said. It slid down from the sill and stared up at him. “But before I go, if you don’t mind, I have a little request,” it said.
“Yes?”
“It’s delicate.”
“Don’t be afraid. Ask it.”
“I know you’re about to start the working, and I think this may be the last time I have the honor of your company. When the Reconciliation’s achieved you’ll be a great man. I don’t mean to say you’re not one already,” it added hurriedly. “You are, of course. But after tonight everyone will know you’re the Reconciler, and you did what Christos Himself couldn’t do. You’ll be made Pope, and you’ll write your memoirs”—Gentle laughed—“and I’ll never see you again. And that’s as it should be. That’s right and proper. But before you become hopelessly famous and feted, I wondered: would you . . . bless me?”
“Bless you?”
Little Ease raised its long-fingered hands to ward off the rejection it thought was coming. “I understand! I understand!” it said. “You’ve already been kind to me beyond measure—”
“It’s not that,” said Gentle, going down on his haunches in front of the creature the way he had when its head had been beneath Jude’s heel. “I’d do it if I could. But Ease, I don’t know how. I’m not a Messiah. I’ve never had a ministry. I’ve never preached a gospel or raised the dead.”
“You’ve got your disciples,” Little Ease said.
“No. I’ve had some friends who’ve endured me, and some mistresses who’ve humored me. But I’ve never had the power to inspire. I frittered it away on seductions. I don’t have the right to bless anybody.”
“I’m sorry,” the creature said. “I won’t mention it again.”
Then it did again what it had done when Gentle had set it free: took his hand and laid its brow upon his palm.
“I’m ready to die for you, Liberatore.”
“I’m hoping that won’t be necessary.”
Little Ease looked up. “Between us?” it said. “So am I.”
Its oath made, it returned to gathering up the leaves it had deposited on the floor, putting plugs of them up its nose to stop the stench. But Gentle told it to let the rest lie. The scent of the sap was sweeter than the smell that would permeate the house if, or rather when, Sartori arrived. At the mention of the enemy, Little Ease hoisted itself back up onto the sill.
“Any sign?” Gentle asked it.
“Not that I see.”
“But what do you feel?”
“Ah,” it said, looking up through the canopy of leaves. “It’s such a beautiful night, Liberatore. But he’s going to try and spoil it.”
“I think you’re right. Stay here a while longer, will you? I want to go around the house with Clem. If you see anything—”
“They’ll hear me in L’Himby,” Ease promised.
The beast was as good as its word. Gentle hadn’t reached the bottom of the stairs when it set up a din so loud it brought dust from the rafters. Yelling for Monday and Clem to make sure all the doors were bolted, Gentle s
tarted up the stairs again, reaching the summit in time to see the door of the Meditation Room flung open and Little Ease backing through it at speed, shrieking. Whatever warning the creature was trying to offer, it was incomprehensible. Gentle didn’t try and interpret it, but raced towards the room, drawing his breath in readiness to drive Sartori’s invaders out. The window was empty when he entered, but the circle was not. Within the ring of stones two forms were unknotting themselves. He’d never seen the phenomenon of passage from this perspective before, and he stood as much aghast as awed. There were too many raw surfaces in this process for comfortable viewing. But he studied the forms with mounting excitement, certain long before they were reconstituted that one of the travelers was Jude. The other, when she appeared, was a cross-eyed girl of seventeen or so, who fell to her knees sobbing with terror and relief the moment her muscles were her own again. Even Jude, who’d made this journey four times now, was shaking violently and would have fallen when she stepped from the circle had Gentle not caught her up.
“The In Ovo . . .” she gasped, “almost had us. . . .”
Her leg had been gouged from knee to ankle.
“. . . felt teeth in me. . . .”
“You’re all right,” Gentle said. “You’ve still got two legs. Clem! Clem!”
He was already at the door, with Monday in pursuit.
“Have we got something to bind this up?”
“Of course! I’ll go—”
“No,” said Jude. “Take me down. This is no floor to bleed on.”
Monday was left to comfort Hoi-Polloi, while Clem and Gentle carried Jude to the door.
“I’ve never seen the In Ovo like that before,” she said. “Crazy. . . .”
“Sartori’s been in,” Gentle said, “finding himself an army.”
“He certainly stirred them up.”
“We were about to give up on you,” Clem said.
Jude raised her head. Her skin was waxen with shock, and her smile too tentative to be joyful. But it was there, at least.
“Never give up on the messenger,” she said. “Especially if she’s got good news.”
It was three hours and four minutes to midnight, and there wasn’t time for a lengthy exchange, but Gentle wanted some explanation—however brief—of what had taken Jude to Yzordderrex. So she was made comfortable in the front room, which Monday’s scavengings had furnished with pillows, foodstuffs, and even magazines, and there, while Clem bound her leg and foot, she did her best to encapsulate all that had happened to her since she’d left the Retreat.
