Penult (Book Four of The Liminality)

by A. Sparrow

“Things are going slow this time. Luther’s making us do all the weaving ourselves. He says we need to learn. But once we’re done with the village, he says he’ll do the sky for us. He’s good at skies.”

  “I know.” I remembered the arc of artificial sky he had created for the first Luthersburg. It was almost as good as the real thing, with puffy clouds that floated by and morphed into dreamy shapes and at night, constellations and a moon more compelling than anything you’d see at a planetarium.

  “So make yourself at home,” said Kitt. “Or make yourself … a home … I should say. There’s lots of vacant space on the fringes. First come, first served, is the rule.”

  “Are you going to see Luther now? Any chance I could go with you?”

  “Well, duh. Of course. He’s gonna want to see you. I mean. You’re ‘the’ James.” She winked.

  We passed through the thick of the construction zone, way more chaotic and ramshackle than the Hemisoul shantytowns that ringed the Sanctuary of Frelsi. I just happened to notice a perfect little cabin with a thatched roof and stucco walls painted robin egg blue. A thin wisp of smoke trailed out of a chimney fashioned from rounded river stone.

  “Hey! That … that looks like….”

  I took off running.

  “Hey!” said Kitt. “Where are you going? What about Luther?”

  I came to a white picket fence and there was Bern standing in the middle of what he obviously intended to be a garden, but for now was just flock of stray roots he was attempting to marshal with his cane until they stood at attention.

  “Lille! They’re being stubborn again. They refuse to turn green.”

  “Oh, give it a rest, darling,” said Lille, from the porch. “This is virgin territory, they’re not used to being shaped.”

  Lille saw me standing by the picket fence and her eyes lit up like beacons.

  “What are you gawking at?” said Bern.

  “Look behind you, dear.”

  Bern wheeled around, and when he saw me, he lost hold of his cane and stumbled.

  “James?”

  Chapter 17: Old Friends

  Lille leapt out of her chair and flew across the garden, trampling the roots Bern was attempting to tame. She beat her partner to the fence, smothering me in hugs and pecks across the pickets. The burn scars on her face once again evident. All of the expert flesh-weaving she had received in Frelsi had regressed.

  “I’d better go,” said Kitt, backing away. “Luther wants us to see him anytime one of us comes down from up top.”

  “Cool. Tell him I’ll drop in later.”

  “Better make that sooner,” she said, arching her eyebrows. She skipped away, slipping between a pair of half-built hovels, roofless with walls of flattened and matted root.

  Lille reached over and pinched me.

  “Oh, Heavens! You’re just a skeleton! I thought you would have packed on some pounds being out of prison and all.”

  “Well, we’ve been on the road a bit. Now, we’re back in Wales. The goat farm burnt down. And the owner’s nephew was killed in a motorcycle accident.”

  “Oh my! So sorry to hear. A shame you’ve had no chance to enjoy your freedom.”

  “Well, it was nice … for a day. We went up to the Dolomites, but then—”

  “We’re at war, James,” said Bern, gripping my hand like it was an eel he didn’t want to slip away.

  “I noticed.”

  “Losing badly too, I must say.”

  “What they did up there … it’s really awful.”

  “Our life up top was too good to be true,” said Bern. “Too good to last. A paradise lost.”

  “Not so fast,” said Lille. “The fat lady has yet to sing. Nor the thin lady, for that matter.”

  “The will be the seventh … count them … seventh cabin I’ve built in the Liminality since before the old Burg. This time, at least, I think we have perfected the layout.”

  “Yes dear. This will be the best one yet,” said Lille, wrapping an arm around Bern. “If only we can get these roots to cooperate. They’re so damned stubborn!”

  “So how have you been, James?” said Bern.

  “I’m … okay.”

  Lille and Bern shared a glance.

  “And Karla?” said Lille. “How is she?”

  “She’s missing.”

  “What?”

  “I got up the other morning and she was gone.”

  “Where did she go?” said Lille.

  “I have no idea. She just … disappeared.”

  “Well, that certainly explains how you got here,” said Bern. “Nothing like a bit of loss to get the roots sniffing after your tail.”

  “There has to be more to this story,” said Lille. “Young women don’t simply vanish.”

  “I mean, we went looking for Izzie. Maybe her dad kidnapped her. But then again, she was mad at me. She kept wanting me to come here … but I was blocked.”

  “Come here? To do what?” said Bern. The row of roots he had been attempting to train was already beginning to sag.

  “Exactly!”

  “So you had a little spat,” said Lille.

  “Just a disagreement. No big deal. Nothing that should have made her leave me. She left no note. Nothing. Just up and disappeared. Didn’t even take her shoes with her.”

  “Oh no. That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I can’t rule out the bad stuff.”

  Lille shared another glance with Bern, their bows creased.

  “Are you hungry?” said Lille. “We’ve already had our dinner, but—”

  “I’m fine, actually. I fixed myself some ... roots. A bit muddy but they were good.”

  Lille gave me a cockeyed look.

  “Well, don’t just stand there on the other side of the fence. Come and sit with us a bit.”

  “I should probably go and see Luther.”

  “Oh, the old man can wait. He’s busy grilling his scouts.”

  ***

  I followed Bern and Lille onto the porch and took a seat on a sprawling wicker armchair. They hadn’t taken any pains to conceal the appearance of the raw roots that comprised the faux rattan.

  Bern caught me staring out into space. “James? Are you okay?”

  “I’m just … in a little bit of shock. I mean, between what happened with Karla and all that God-awful mess above.”

  “It was too good to last,” said Bern. “Life was good on the surface. Luther and Yaqob had become best chums. The Frelsians were behaving themselves, staying on their mountain. The new Burg was becoming a humming metropolis before the Seraphs came with their Cherubs and dissonance engines.”

  “But the new, new Burg is coming along just swell,” said Lille. “It will be like old times before you know it. Maybe even better. Luther has become almost… can you believe it? Sane.”

  “True,” said Bern. “No more freak shows. He limits himself to two legs now. And his ego has shriveled to almost human proportions. It is really quite amazing to see.”

  A patch of roots had come loose from the floor and were attempting to flee. Lille picked up a broom and swept them off the porch.

  “Let me put on some tea. I can offer some biscuits as well, but I’m afraid you might find them a little tough. The roots around here are all terribly refractory to weaving. They’ve never been shaped, apparently. It’s all virgin territory.”

  She put away the broom and slipped inside the cabin while Bern took a seat beside me on a rocker.

  “She’s not the same you know,” he said, his voice hushed.

  “Lille?”

  “Yes. She’s changed. She’s mostly still there, but they’ve changed her. She’s a different person. She doesn’t remember everything. She carries … false memories. They changed her … her … soul.”

  “But she seems like the old Lille to me.”

  “She is mostly. But I see the changes. I suspect they did the same to your mum.”

  “My mother was worse. Way wor
se. She didn’t even remember me.”

  Dishes clattered and Bern stiffened and looked away. Lille brought out the tea in little china cups, chipped and cracked. Her tea was intense and delicious as ever, but clear as spring water.

  “Do you guys know anything about the Friends of Penult?”

  “Friends?” said Bern. “I wouldn’t have thought Penult would have had any friends,” said Bern. “Not after what they’ve done up top.”

  “They’re on the other side. They … uh … they didn’t want me to come here. I wonder what they’ll once they find out I came.”

  “Well, that’s bad news,” said Lille. “If they’re active on the other side. I mean, I knew Frelsi had Facilitators. I even contracted one for a time. But Penult? That’s very bad news indeed that they can meddle on both sides of the wall.”

  “They’re powerful, James,” said Bern. “You saw what they did. If I didn’t know better I would have taken that power for the hand of God.”

  “You’re sure it’s not?”

  “Yes,” said Bern. “I’m sure. Don’t ask me how. But I’m sure.”

  A wave of queasiness swept over me. I thought it was the beginning of a fade, but I help up my hand and it looked as solid as ever.

  “Just so you guys know I don’t expect to be here much longer,” I said. “I could fade any minute now. I can feel it coming.”

  “Not before you finish your tea, I hope. You only just got here.”

  “Nah, I’ve been here a while. A lot longer than I expected.”

  “You’ll visit again soon, I hope?” said Bern.

  “Bern, don’t wish the boy ill.”

  “I’m just thinking, with Miss Karla gone and all, maybe….”

  “Perhaps she’s already returned and waiting for James at home.”

  “Do you think?” I said.

  “Of course!” said Lille.

  “I can’t help wondering if maybe she ran off to make me think something bad happened to her, I mean just to get me here.”

  “We can only hope that’s the case,” said Lille. “Though I don’t understand why she would want you here.”

  “She’s done with life, she says. She wants us to be Freesouls.”

  “What? A healthy young couple like you with your whole life ahead and everything left to live for? I don’t understand. Root is meant for damaged souls who want to go on living, or experience some reasonable facsimile thereof. It’s an upgrade for folks like me and Bern and … Luther. For you and Karla? I just don’t see the attraction.”

  “It’s the Weaving,” said Bern. “The magic. You can’t have that on the other side.”

  “On the contrary. I hear James can weave in both worlds, if I understand that right. I heard he can parquet floors into timber monsters.”

  “Who told you that?”

  Lille cocked her head at me and smiled. “A little bird. Before Penult attacked, while you were still in prison, Karla used to come by fairly often. She used to roam the tunnels checking every pod for Isobel. She would stay with us up top, until she faded back.”

  “She came back just the other day,” I said. “Before she disappeared. Did you happen to see her?”

  Bern and Lille looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “No,” said Lille. “She probably doesn’t know we’ve retreated below the surface, dear. We didn’t exactly leave any forwarding address. I’m surprised you found us.”

  “Thanks to Kitt,” I said.

  A man and a dog came appeared on the lane that led from the denser part of the settlement and approached the picket fence.

  The man waved. Bern waved back. The man removed a loose picket and they slipped through the gap, trampling the roots Bern had attempted to transform, which now lay flat against the dense mat that formed the base and walls of the bubble.

  The German shepherd had a stiff and jerky gait. He was clearly one of Luther’s automatons.

  “Be on your best behavior, Bern,” said Lille. “Remember, this one is sensitive.”

  “I’ll give him sensitive.”

  “No Bern. You don’t want to get on Luther’s bad side again.”

  “Who is this guy?” I whispered.

  “He’s a member of Luther’s war council,” said Lille.

  “Luther has an army now?”

  “A squad of thugs is a more apt description. They pose no threat to Penult, I assure you that.”

  “Hello!” said the man. “Mind if I join you?” He was neatly groomed. He wore a cardigan over a plaid shirt, and olive green cargo pants with pockets on the knees.

  “So long as you take care not to trample my zinnias, thank you.”

  “Zinnias?” He looked down at the matted roots under his feet.

  “Never mind Bern. Those zinnias are merely wishful thinking on his part.”

  The man and his dog came to the table. The dog stared at me. Its eyes looked dead, yet it panted and wagged like a real dog. I crouched down and scratched him behind his ears. “Does this one talk?”

  “Only in emergencies,” said the man. “Mr. Luther has taken to keeping them muted. Some of the community found their speech capabilities a little off-putting.”

  “Count me among them,” said Bern.

  Lille gave up her chair and went inside to fetch another. “Care for some tea, councilor?”

  “No, thank you,” he said. “I’m actually here to see Mr. Moody.”

  Lille paused. “Oh?”

  “Hello, I’m Alec Meredith,” he said, extending his hand for me to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Mr. Luther is requesting the honor of your presence in his war chamber.”

  “Honor?”

  “I’m afraid it’s urgent that you accompany me.”

  “You’d best go, James,” said Lille. “We don’t want Master Luther to throw another tantrum.”

  “Patience is not the man’s best attribute,” agreed Bern.

  Chapter 18: The War Chamber

  Neither Mr. Meredith nor his dog had much to say as we picked our way through the winding lanes and alleys of this burgeoning underground shanty town. He was friendly with the locals but he seemed nervous around me, avoiding eye contact, sneaking glances as if I were George Clooney or something.

  We paused at the edge of a broad open space surrounded by a motley collection of misshapen huts. The crudeness of every habitation confirmed the difficulty of Weaving in this virgin corner of the underworld. The outlines of would-be paving stones were etched by indentations in the surface of the densely matted roots. This was to become the main square.

  “That would be the palace,” said Mr. Meredith, pointing at a complex of lopsided blobs that had all the grace of a heap of turds. It was a far cry from the careful recreation of a grand gothic church that Luther had called home in the original Luthersburg.

  The buildings adjoining it were even less elegant, many had no roofs, no that a roof was necessary in a place that never rained. A scattering of Hemisouls labored on scaffolds, shaping the walls bit by bit. Some stalls had been set up at one end and people came to barter crafts for clothing, comestibles and newsletters printed on sheets of thick felt-like paper.

  I saw Kitt come strolling out of a shop, cradling a long and crusty baguette.

  “Yo!” I waved and she veered over to meet us. The dog panted and wagged just a real dog would encountering a friend.

  “Your turn, I see,” she said, smirking. “Good luck with him.”

  “Are you going back up top?”

  “Eventually. Going to try to catch a few winks. But I’m kind of due for a fade back. It’s been a while. Not looking forward to it.”

  “Where do you live … back home?”

  “South Carolina,” she said. “Not the best family situation. But you know how that goes here. Everyone’s got a sob story, or else they wouldn’t be here.”

  “Any idea what Luther wants from me?”

  “You’re in his bubble. That’s enough reason to want to see you.”


  “Mr. Moody is an honored guest,” said Mr. Meredith.

  “Whatever. Later guys.” She strolled off with her bread.

  Mr. Meredith led me across the ‘square’ to the ‘palace,’ which had no doors or windows. Maybe someday Luther would get it to look like his last abode, but for now I guess one just had to use their imagination.

  Mr. Meredith placed his palm over a small hole in the wall and the aperture curled open into a gaping cavity large enough to step through. The walls were at least a foot thick and formed of densely packed roots. The dog stayed outside.

  Inside was a large, open space furnished like a gentleman’s drawing room, with paintings of long dead men hung over dark wood paneling. Persian carpets covered a floor strewn with bulging armchairs upholstered in brown leather interspersed with crimson velvet chaises and couches.

  Luther, Olivier and a weathered old Duster sat facing a pale man spread-eagled on the floor, his limbs embedded in a thick slab of clear gel. I had learned to expect anything around Luther. This could be some kind of performance art, for all I knew. A conversation starter.

  It was startling but gratifying to see Olivier with a full set of limbs. I had known him in the Deeps only as a quadruple amputee.

  Luther watched me intently as we approached, maintaining a steady, subtle smile. He wore none of the cosmetic improvements I remembered from previous encounters in Root. He looked pretty much like the old man I had met in that nursing home in Geneva, with a little more hair, a few less wrinkles and much more vigor and mobility.

  Mr. Meredith took a seat next to Olivier and motioned for me to take the one empty armchair.

  “So … Mr. Moody. We meet again. What brings you here this time? Did your dog die?”

  “Karla wanted me to come and see. And then she … disappeared.”

  “And so this makes you … sad? Is that why you’re here?”

  “I guess,” I said, but of course, it was the only reason I was here.

  “If I knew that’s all it would take to bring you back, I would have arranged for an earlier disappearance.”

  My stomach churned. My fingers curled into fists. “Was it you guys? Did you take her?”

  “No. It wasn’t us. We don’t do such things, though maybe we should, the way things are going. Anyhow, now that you’re here we can get down to business. You might have noticed that there have been some hostilities up on the surface world.”

  “Wait. Don’t you even care? What happened to her?”

  “Why should I?”