 
FRELSI

A. Sparrow

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 by A. Sparrow, All Rights Reserved

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To Pop

Chapter 1: Cwm Gwyrdd Farm

Who knew that a Welsh goat farm could restore my appetite for life? It was a bizarre turn for me, but no more surreal than the weirdness that had gone on before I had ridden down here on the back of Sturgie's motorcycle.

The man who owned the farm, Renfrew Boyle, was a veteran of the Falklands War, a Royal Marine commando who had stormed ashore at San Carlos Bay and seized Mount Kent from the Argentineans. But that wasn't how he lost his leg. He also happened to be a Type II diabetic with a fondness for cheesecake.

Renfrew wore an old school, second-hand prosthetic cobbled from leather strapping and steel. He had picked up at a flea market for fifty quid after refusing the springy, high-tech carbon-fiber contraption the government had offered. He said it made him feel like a grasshopper.

Renfrew made goat cheese that drew raves from gourmands and restaurateurs from Cardiff to London. Cwm Gwyrdd's aged rounds won an award in 1999, and ever since the orders kept coming without the need for any marketing. People literally came beating on his door to buy his cheese.

Sturgie, his nephew, had been in line to take over the cheese business, but that was no longer in the cards. He had left the farm that summer to pursue a degree in communications at the University of the Highlands and Islands in Inverness. Shuttling me to Brynmawr on his motorcycle had been Sturgie's way of making a peace offering to his uncle.

When I showed at the farm unannounced, Renfrew had been skeptical and dismissive of this dirty-faced and broke American kid devoid of any useful skills. Why wouldn't he be? But eventually, with the steady but inexorable pace of a glacier, he had come to appreciate my presence.

Renfrew had a grand time mocking my noobness, but he also had vast reserves of patience and tolerance. He knew when to dive in to rescue me before things got out of hand.

He had me doing things I never imagined. Trimming hooves. Mending broken horns. Pressing curds into cheese. Every day there was some new task I was expected to figure out on the fly.

Milking time was when I really earned my keep. Since I didn't quite have the touch, those does didn't let me anywhere near their udders. So I functioned mainly in support, disinfecting the equipment, emptying pails, getting does in and out of their stanchions.

Twice a day we went down to the barns. Each session took an hour and a half. With a hundred fifty goats, it could get pretty hectic.

Most does hopped right up into the stanchions eager to be relieved of their burdens. When their udders went flaccid they got fussy and then it was just a matter of getting them out of the way for the next eager doe.

Some goats wanted nothing to do with the stanchions, and it was like wrestling demons. I can't say I blamed them. They reminded me of the wooden stocks the old Puritans used to punish sinners.

These goats were Saanen and Nubian crosses, breeds whose milk produced the high fats and solids ideal for cheese-making. Saanens were big beasties, uniformly white or cream. Like little cows they were, nothing perturbed them and they minded their own business.

Their alter egos, the floppy-eared Nubians, were the troublemakers, always testing the defenses. Their coats were uniquely splashed with ink blots of black and brown, so I got to know them as individuals not just interchangeable members of a herd. I came to love their curiosity and spunk.

Otherworldly creatures, these goats. With those horizontal slitted pupils, how could you look at them and not think of aliens?

I served as their concierge and bodyguard. I got them fed, brought them where they needed to go, kept them safe and out of places they had no business being—like Renfrew's little vineyard.

Some of the buggers had squeezed through a gap in the fence and plundered his vines, destroying a good third of the crop. When I had run to tell Renfrew he just tossed me a coil of stiff wire and told me to go fix it. At least it got me out of the evening milking.

So here I was, weaving the wire in and out of each square of mesh and pulling it tight. My patch work was ugly and amateurish, but Renfrew wouldn't care so long as it kept his goats out.

It was a losing battle, if you asked me. His goats lusted over those grapes and did everything they could to get inside that fence. I didn't blame them. Those grapes gave off a glorious aroma under that late September sun. I was tempted to nibble some myself.

Folding the end of the wire into a hook, my hand slipped and it caught my finger. I winced and yanked it free. A large drop of blood beaded on the throbbing tip. I wiped it across my lips, salt mingling with the metallic tang of dirt and rust.

I stepped back and surveyed my handiwork, already knowing it would be inadequate. These goats were crafty little buggers.

***

And so, my strange life came to revolve around goats and slag heaps in the south of Wales. The daily rhythms and routines of farm life replaced my wandering. Natural replaced supernatural. But nothing could fill the hole in my heart that leaving Karla had made.

The goat farm was supposed to have been a temporary haven. Karla had warned me not to stick around too long. I was supposed to have kept on the move, keeping one step ahead of our enemies including Edmund, her brutal, religious freak of a father who—lucky me—was newly added to my list.

But I had gotten attached to this place. The kind and quirky people. My cozy space in a barn loft. Three square meals a day. If only I could have learned to like goat cheese (I never could get over that pervasive muskiness).

They even gave me spending money—below minimum wage, but I didn't complain. I was illegal, for one thing, and my needs were modest. This was a hard situation to give up.

But there was another thing that kept me anchored here. Karla knew how to find this place. If I moved on, she would have no means of contacting me, just as I didn't know where to find her in the great big city of Glasgow.

Of course, not being able to find each other was supposed to have been the whole point of this arrangement. I guess the isolation was supposed to make us sad and desperate. That way our soul could surf down the spiral of deep depression into the Liminality or 'Root,' as I liked to call it—that nether place twixt life and death only the truly suicidal get to witness.

Karla, you see, had given up on life. She was firmly committed to Root. She had friends there—Bern and Lille. And those friends had heard rumors of a community of souls who had found a way to take up permanent residence in its upper reaches, none of this flitting back and forth that us 'surfers' had to do. Frelsi, the place was called. I even looked up the name to see if it meant anything. The best I could figure, it was Icelandic for 'freedom.'

Root had been a revelation when it first came calling, offering me escape from a life where I came to dread every sunrise. Back then, I wanted the world to stop so I could get off. Root gave me an alternative.

But I liked my life these days. I liked me and I liked this world I lived in. I didn't want to feel so depressed some threshold of the afterlife comes after me. I didn't want to die.

And it hadn't. Not since Inverness, in that train station where the bounty hunter tracked me down, had I crossed over into Root. My memories of it now seemed like wisps of some old dream.

But I didn't miss Root. Not one bit. I missed Karla. Five weeks apart felt like forever. I had no pictures of her to obsess over and my mental image had already started to blur around the edges. All that persisted was the memory of the way she made me feel when I had been with her in Root. I pined for more.

Every day when the mail came, I would peek in Renfrew's box, hoping for a letter or a postcard, something to let me know that she was alive and that I remained in her thoughts. But no letter ever came. I died a little, every day without her.

You might think that the misery would build enough to send me spiraling back to Root where maybe I could see her. But there was too much hope in my soul.

That was because of Sturgie, my trump card. He knew Linval, Karla's cousin, who had driven her and her sister Isobel down to Glasgow the night we parted. And if Sturgie could tell me how to find him, chances were Linval would know how to find Karla.

That was by no means guaranteed if Karla had moved on and gone to extremes to erase their path. But it was a shred of hope and enough to squash any chance of going to Root and seeing Karla under her own terms.

***

As the sun fell behind the hills, I realized the Renfrew's staff was all gathered in the milking barn by now, making do without me while I bolstered Renfrew's anti-goat, grape defense system.

I daubed my bloody finger on my jeans and tucked the wire cutters into my belt. Fence duty had excused me from the evening milking and I needed a break, so I took the path through the reclaimed slag heaps into the heights that overlooked the town.

I liked coming up here to think. Brynmawr looked purer from afar. The falling sun glazed its rooftops and twinkled in its window panes. Not that it was an especially ugly or dirty town. Like any place, it had its quaint parts along with the warts. It had never been wealthy, but some fancy houses remained from the glory days when coal and iron ruled the local economy.

The foundries were nothing but ruins now, jumbles of stone arches and chimneys. There were acres of overgrown slag heaps that could have passed for the burial mounds of giant trolls. Funny, how the slanting light of a September evening could make even a slag heap look pretty.

The barren and blunted ridges stretching into the distance looked nothing like the Scottish Highlands, but something in the air triggered memories of my ill-fated jaunt up the Llarig Ghru. I wondered what faerie worlds lay hidden here, visible only to human souls on the brink of death.

I decided to wait until dark before going down for dinner. The milking was likely done by now, but Renfrew had a habit of waylaying me for one last chore when my heart had packed it in for the day. Helen usually came to rescue me before dinner got cold, cursing Renfrew for exploiting me, telling me to put my broom down and finish up in the morning. Not that I was lazy or anything. I just wasn't used to fourteen hour work days.

She was a saint, that Helen. I mistook her at first for Renfrew's wife, but their relationship proved nothing of the sort. They regularly traded flirtations but Helen was divorcee who wanted nothing to do with men anymore. Her best friends were a trio of lesbian painters who shared a studio loft in town.

The farm's entire staff lived on the premises and shared Renfrew's dinner table. Besides Renfrew, Helen and me, there was Jessica and Harry.

Jess was the enigma. She could be as bold as a pit bull and shy as a fawn. She would talk your ear out one day and clam up the next. She was young, maybe half Helen's age but she had this battle weariness to her that made me think she was a lot older than me. Mid twenties, I would guess, though I could never find a tactful way to ask her.

There wasn't much to say about Harry, because Harry never had much to say. I took him for a simpleton when I first arrived, which only proved that all of my first impressions had been wrong. Harry was a jack of all trades and I mean ALL. Besides pitching in with the regular chores, he maintained Renfrew's web page and handled all relations with the network of hoity-toity gourmet shops in Cardiff and London that stocked Renfrew's cheeses.

He was an ace mechanic too. He could fix anything from tricycles to bulldozers. I consulted with him regularly in my efforts to restore an old motorcycle I had uncovered from the junked heaped in back of Renfrew's storage barn.

***

As I watched the underbellies of the clouds turn pink, a twig crunched behind me. I jumped out of my skin as the very vision of a faerie princess came up the path, a strand of braided hair circling her brow like a crown.

"Renfrew's got a job for you," said Jessica, gazing down at her feet and the nubs of grass in the overgrazed meadow.

"Don't tell me. He wants his manure pile turned."

"Nah. He wants you to drive to Cardiff. Harry was supposed to go, but he's fallen out of the loft. He's not going anywhere but the clinic."

"Oh man! Is he okay?"

"He'll survive. Broken ankle, Helen thinks. So anyhow, Ren wants you to drive his lorry to Cardiff. He's got a shipment of cheese, needs to get to London."

"Why not you... or Helen? I mean, I don't even have a license."

Jessica frowned. "Because you've got testicles and we don't. Ren won't trust a woman to drive his truck."

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "It's just how he is."

"But I've never driven on the left. I don't even know the way to Cardiff."

"If it ain't you, it's gonna be him fiddling with that one good leg. One time his straps broke and he had to drive all the back from Pontypool in first gear."

"I don't understand why he won't he let you guys drive."

She shrugged. "What can I say? He says it's a stiff clutch. Fit only for a man, the wanker insists."

"Uh... let me go talk to him."

***

Trying to talk Renfrew out of something he had his mind set on was like trying to convince a boulder it was a frog. He wanted his cheese sent to market and he wanted me to be the one to take it to Cardiff.

The lorry was an old brick red Leyland with a raised bed and a canvas awning. It looked like a snub-nosed pickup truck, the cab shunted forward almost on top of the engine. It had to be at least thirty years old, but it didn't look a day over twenty. I just couldn't see myself driving it, but I didn't have a choice in the matter.

We sat out on a picnic table in the tractor yard sharing mugs of bitter while Jess gathered her things from the guest cottage she shared with Helen. My own quarters were in a converted loft in one of the barns. My toilet was an outhouse. I showered under a hose out back.

It was a poor man's solar heater. A sunny day gave me two minutes of tepid water in the afternoons, cold water when it was cloudy. Renfrew offered to share his bath, but I didn't like intruding, though I might have to take him up on his offer if I was still around come winter.

"I'm not sure this is a great idea," I said. "That steering wheel on the passenger side really freaks me out."

"Oh, it's nothing," said Renfrew. "Five seconds on the road and you'll have the knack. It's no harder than combing your hair with your left hand. You just flip your brain around and it all becomes natural. You'll have Jess by your side to coach you. No worries, lad. None at all. I had Sturgie driving this beastie before he was even twelve."

I got up and peered into the grimy windows of the cab, grimacing at shredded seats exposing the springs beneath. "How many gears?"

"It's a simple five-speed. Single clutch. Take care in the shifting. The upper gears are sometimes reluctant to engage. Other than that, it's a piece of cake. The cheese is already packed. Two coolers on wet ice. A trial run for a new shop in Waverly."

Jessica appeared around the corner of the barn, clutching a large canvas bag packed with sundries.

"So where did you want us to bring this stuff?"

"Cardiff Central. Jess knows the way. Just do what she says and you can't go wrong."

"Wait a minute, isn't that a... a train station?"

Chapter 2: Caerdydd Canolog

It was already dark when I got the lorry started and popped it into gear. Jessica was in the cab with me, a thermos of coffee and fleshly baked sweet buns in her bag.

Harry was back from the clinic, his leg in a cast. He and Renfrew, the pair of gimps, looked on from the lighted porch with wicked grins, as if hoping I would mess up.

If so, they were disappointed, because starting up a truck and riding the brakes as we rolled down a hill was pretty much idiot-proof. Helen had already trotted down to swing open the gate for us.

When we reached the paved road, I went to up shift and found that Renfrew wasn't kidding about that clutch. It resisted like someone had wedged a rock beneath the pedal. And when it gave way, it collapsed completely, like someone giving up an arm wrestle. There was only a narrow range near the top where it actually engaged the gears.

Nevertheless, I managed to get it into second, and then third as we trundled down the main road. And I was doing it! Driving on the left. It was disorienting, making me dizzy and slightly queasy.

The engine started to whine. "Feel free to shift, any time now," said Jessica.

I slammed down the clutch and searched for fourth gear. Jessica watched me struggle before sighing and reaching for the stick. "Here. Let me help." She reached over and slipped the shifter into place with a firm jiggle and a shove. I engaged the clutch as smoothly as I could, my thigh trembling from the strain.

The engine revved down. "Ah, that's better," I said. "Maybe I'll just stick with this speed. You're not in any hurry are you?"

"It isn't about me. The last train leaves for London at nine thirty."

"Well, it's that not that far to Cardiff, is it?"

"No, but I wouldn't dilly-dally. You never know what we might encounter on the way."

I sighed. After what had happened to me in Inverness, my skin crawled at the thought of visiting another urban rail station. It was probably ludicrous to expect there to be bounty hunters looking for me at every train stop in the UK, but once bitten, twice shy.

"Want to do anything, while we're in Cardiff?" said Jessica.

"Not particularly."

"But you've never been to Cardiff. I can show you around."

"Isn't it gonna be kind of late?"

"Not really, but...." Jess sighed. "What is it? Are you tired? If so, I can drive back. That way you can sleep. Just don't tell Renfrew."

"That's alright... I just want to get this over with."

Traffic was light, the road straight and flat, lined by scrubby trees and the flanks of barren hills, their outlines only implied by the headlights. I tried turning on the radio but it didn't seem to work. It picked up only static, so I turned it off.

Jess kept looking over at me, agitated, as if she wanted to say something, but couldn't summon the courage.

"James?"

"Yeah."

"I know it's none of our business, but Helen and I were wondering... might you be you gay?"

"Say what?"

"You don't have to answer, we just—"

"No, it's okay. I mean, no I'm not. Not that I know of, anyhow. What made you think I was?"

"It's just... you're different. For a young guy like yourself... you don't show much interest in girls."

"Well, that's because... I already have a girlfriend."

"Oh? You mean back in the States?"

"No, she's in Glasgow. I think."

"You think?"

"Well, she might have moved on."

"Without telling you?"

"It's kinda complicated."

"Are you separated?"

"Kinda. Not really. But kinda."

"Well, it's obvious you don't want to talk about it, so I won't press any further. But if you ever do... want to talk, that is."

"Thanks."

We rolled through Blaina, where the houses closed in tight on the road, like a canyon. At the other side the lanes parted around a traffic circle. Jessica gasped.

"What's wrong?"

"You just went the wrong away around that roundabout."

"Oh crap! Sorry about that."

"No harm done."

Another mile and we came to a crossroads. I suffered a moment of confusion, contemplating a right turn that would me swinging out wide across a lane. It felt unnatural. I waited for the traffic to clear, and when there was a nice, big gap, I went for it.

Second gear, third gear locked in just fine. Again, the dang transmission refused to accept fourth.

"Give it a nudge and hold it," said Jess.

"I am nudging it and holding it!"

Jess leaned over and grabbed the shifter from me. "I'll push it in. Put your hand over mine so you get the feel for it."

"Wait. Let me try again. I need to—"

"Just do it!" she said sharply, as sharp as I had ever heard her speak.

I put my hand over hers. Her fingers were long and cool, but her knuckles were rough with callous.

She gave the shifter a little wiggle, and the transmission locked into gear. "Now come up easy on the clutch."

I did as she said and the engine spun back down, as if relieved.

"Now did you feel how that went? That firm little jiggle you need to show it who's boss?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"You'll get it yet," she said. "You just need practice."

"So you've driven this thing before?"

"No," she said. "Not Renfrew's But I've driven lorries in sadder shape than this. Bigger ones, too."

"Hmm. Never took you for a trucker."

"My Pa had a sand and gravel business. In truth, I'd rather be doing that than making stinky cheese."

"So why aren't you?"

"He got caught up in some bad investments. Had to sell. He's early retired out on the isle of Jersey. Left my mom behind in Cheltenham. Divorced."

"Sorry to hear that."

She shrugged. "They're both better off for it. My mom would've made a good spinster. She's like a middle-aged version of me."

"Huh? You're no spinster. You're only like, what... twenty-five?"

She took a breath and pursed her lips.

"What's wrong?"

"You think I'm twenty-five?"

"Just a guess."

"I'm nineteen. I turn twenty in a month."

"Really?"

She touched her face. "Is it the crow's feet?"

"Not at all," I said, scrambling to recover. "You have got a young face, you just act really... mature... for your age."

"Mature?" She gave me this look of such disbelief and disappointment. I didn't understand.

It killed the conversation. She just sat there the rest of the way into Cardiff, hands folded in her lap, her head tilted towards the window. I was on my own when it came to shifting.

***

Cardiff turned out to be nowhere near as horrible as I had imagined. I had pictured some destitute industrial city, grimy with coal soot, smokestacks and crumbling brick walls. Instead I found a place that looked as tidy as Inverness and maybe even a little more gentrified. But then again, the night had a way of making everything look shiny.

By now, I had gotten really comfortable with driving. Renfrew had been right. It was really no big deal once you got the hang of switching to another side. I still had trouble shifting, but if I kept at it, it would eventually snap into gear.

It felt so liberating to be here after all those weeks, stuck on the farm and Brynmawr. I wondered if Renfrew ever did any business in Glasgow, if I could volunteer to make a delivery run or something. The thought of going back up to Scotland gave me tingles.

"Take a left here," said Jessica, breaking her silence. "Two blocks and it will be on out right."

"And what are we looking for again?"

"Cardiff Central. The main train station."

I took a deep breath at the mention of the word 'train.'

"Something wrong?"

"Um... well... I just have this thing about train stations."

"You mean like a phobia?"

"Yeah, kinda." I couldn't very well tell her I was worried about bounty hunters.

"Scared of choo-choos, are you? Did you have a traumatic experience as a child?"

"No, it's... it's just this... thing. It's not rational."

"Well, I promise you won't have to go anywhere near the tracks. You just stay with the goods and I'll go find the gentlemen who'll be taking the cheese to London for us."

Cardiff Central was a modest marble building with 'Great Western Railway' carved in large block letters above the entrance. I parked in a lot around the corner. Each of us lugged one of the coolers. They were fairly small but remarkably heavy.

When we ducked inside that lobby, the smells and sounds of that place made my heart rate accelerate. It was probably silly to be so worried. Weeks had passed since the run-in at Inverness. Bounty hunters wouldn't still be monitoring every transportation hub in the UK. Would they? How big a grudge could those Cleveland bastards hold over small potatoes like me, a mule who tried to sell a truck packed with their dope

"You wait right here," said Jess.

I stacked one cooler atop the other and stood behind them, as if Styrofoam and goat cheese could protect me.

The lobby was cool, but I was sweating through my shirt. My palms were slick. I knew I was over-reacting but I was powerless to stop it. It wasn't like that incident in Inverness had been all that traumatic. Sure, there had been guns and a knife drawn, but not a drop of blood had been spilt.

My fear was proof that I had chosen life over Root. That was quite a step for a kid who had been regularly contemplating suicide a couple months before.

I scanned the crowd, homing in on a young guy browsing a magazine near the entrance to the train platforms. He wore a rakish hat with a narrow brim; another one of those ubiquitous loners I had been seeing at train stations all over Europe. He kept glancing up as if he were waiting for someone.

He caught me looking at him. Our gazes stuck until I could rip mine away. Oh crap! Next he would be checking his cell phone for the photo that the Cleveland traffickers had broadcast to every corner of their cartel's global network. And then they would have me.

I paced and fidgeted. Where the hell was Jessica? My breaths came quickly. I started to get dizzy.

"Excuse me son, but may I ask what you have in those coolers?"

I turned to find this guy in a uniform standing beside me.

"It's none of your business!" I snapped, startled.

"Now, now. No need to get testy." His salt and pepper mustache wiggled when he spoke. He showed a silvery badge pinned to the inside of a wallet. "I'm with station security. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to have a look inside those coolers."

"It's cheese, for Christ's sake. It's just goat cheese."

"Maybe so, but from the way you're acting, I think we had better make certain."

Jessica came walking up with two men in tow, an older guy in a rumpled shirt and tie and that kid with the magazine. "What's going on here?" she said.

"This guy wants to sniff our cheese," I said, eyes flitting to the kid with the magazine.

"No worries, officer. We're from Gwyrdd Cym Farm up in Brynmawr." She peeled off a long strip of wrapping tape that sealed the lid. "James, this is Jackie Taylor and his son Ralph. They'll be taking the cheese for us on the London train."

"H-hi," I shook their hands. My fingers trembled.

"Are you feeling okay James? You're looking mighty pale."

"I'm fine."

She pulled off the lid of the first cooler and went to work on the second while the security guard poked around through the little round cakes of pure white goat cheese sealed in plastic, each adorned with a sticker depicting a ruined foundry. Not the most appetizing logo, but it was distinctive.

"Alright then," he said, nodding. "Everything seems to be in order." He stood up and shook hands all around. He lowered his voice. "This lad needs to calm down. We get a lot of trafficking through here, and I must say his posture and behavior do fit the profile of a drug smuggler."

"He just has a phobia," whispered Jessica. "A fear of trains."

My eyes had already fixated on another young loner who had walked into the station.

"Jess, can we go now? Please?"

Chapter 3: Dirty Laundry

The attic smelled of dust and turpentine. The odor had permeated all of their belongings, but to Karla it was the smell of freedom.

She gathered her and Isobel's dirty clothes from the mass collected in the corner, sorting what absolutely needed a washing from what could be worn again. Linval had no washer in his flat. She would need to haul them to the self service launderette down the street.

Isobel lounged in a tattered armchair, engrossed in one of Linval's George R. R. Martin paperbacks. Fantasy fiction was a revelation for her. That entire genre had not been allowed in the Raeth household. Not even C.S. Lewis or J.K. Rowling Especially not J.K. Rowling.

Karla peeked out the little grimy window in the gable. "Hmm. The sun seems to have come out. Isn't that nice? I thought it was going to rain all day."

She stuffed the filthiest of their filthy clothes into a pair of pillow cases.

"I'm heading off to do the wash. Do you need what you're wearing cleaned?" Isobel did not respond. "Izzie?" The armchair was empty. Footsteps creaked down the attic stairs.

"Now, where has she gone off to?"

She grabbed the overstuffed pillow cases and hauled them down the stairs. Down in the main flat, the drapes were drawn to block the light. Linval snored on the couch after another late night gig. He had returned home barely an hour before dawn.

Karla knew this because she had spent a fitful night, full of anxiety for no good reason. That happened sometimes, when her accumulated worries caught up with her and bubbled to the surface.

A shape whirled to face her in the shadows of the kitchenette. Something clicked against the counter. "Izzie," she whispered. "What are you up to over there? You're not cooking, are you?"

"No," she said, standing there stiffly with her arms by her sides. "Just getting myself a drink."

"Well don't bang around any pans. Don't want you waking Linval."

"Don't worry, I won't." Isobel stood there with that weird posture, sporting a strained smile. Karla stared, wondering why her sister was acting so squirrely.

"Those jeans you're wearing. Need them washed?"

"No. They're good. They passed the sniff test."

Karla rolled her eyes. "I'll be back in an hour or two. Stay out of trouble, you."

She tied a kerchief around her head and bolted down the back stairs. Her newly shorn hair still felt strange. Both girls had shed the shoulder length locks they had possessed since they were little and sold them to a wig maker. They had gotten top money for what the dealer had called 'virgin' hair, never exposed to chemical treatments.

Their new butch cuts were cool and much lower maintenance. As a bonus, it had altered their looks dramatically.

They had also shed the long dresses their Sedevacantist family required them to wear, replacing them with jeans and low cut tank tops from a secondhand shop—items blasphemous to their extreme Catholic sect.

Five Sundays in a row now they had not been to mass, although Karla had caught Isobel simulating one under her blanket, humming the hymns, whispering recitations from memory. She couldn't even bring herself to visit a mainstream congregation. As far as she was concerned, if she ever went inside a church again it would be too soon.

She pushed the door open and stepped out into the alley, pillowcases beating against the doorframe. After the morning sprinkle, it had turned into a balmy day by Glasgow standards, a veritable heat wave. She skipped across the street, heading to the commercial district by the roundabout.

Linval's neighborhood straddled the Springboig and Barlanark wards of East Glasgow, one of the poorer parts of the city, but not nearly as bad as its reputation among upscale Glaswegians.

Karla felt more at home here than she ever had in Inverness. It was almost like being in Rome again. She had independence and anonymity, luxuries she could not enjoy up north, where her father's cultish friends and acquaintances seemed ubiquitous.

She passed a grocery, a news agent and a medical clinic before veering into the propped open door of the launderette, steamy from the wall of spinning dryers.

Only one of the smaller washers was available and she pounced on it. It would have been better to split the load into lights and darks, to separate delicate from heavy, but beggars could not be choosers. She stuffed the contents of both pillow cases into the one hopper, poured in a small packet of detergent purchased from a vending machine, fed three pound coins in the money slot and pushed the button to start the cycle.

There were some plastic chairs beside a table bearing a stack of ravaged, coverless magazines. She took a seat and thumbed through a glamour rag, taking note of any person who came into the shop or even walked past the window. She had yet to relax her public vigilance and had come to realize it might never happen.

That magazine was a window into a world more alien than any she knew. People lounging by pools, drinking, dancing and loving so openly. Were these real people?

And then she hesitated on a picture of a shirtless young man in a vodka advert. The guy looked like James—a prettier, more stylish version, of course, but the geometry of his face sent a pang jabbing through her.

She had stumbled into traps like this before. Faces in the crowd, the way certain men walked, American accents—each was enough to send her soul sinking. When it happened she became aware of the shadows of roots lurking just beyond her perception.

She found it ironic that thoughts of James were about the only thing that could bring her down these days. It was he who had wanted her to give life a chance. And now that she had, he was gone from her world.

She enjoyed her days now, no matter how poor they were, how dependent on Linval for food and shelter. James had been right. She had given up prematurely. There was hope enough in this world to build a tolerable life.

She had grilled Sturgie for news of James when he had come to Glasgow for one of Linval's gigs. But Sturgie was useless. He was not on speaking terms with his uncle, so he knew nothing.

James was probably long gone from Brynmawr by now. If he was smart, he would not have let anyone know where he had gone, not with bounty hunters on his trail.

She wondered if James still visited Root, if he wandered the tunnels in search of her. But she could not afford to indulge in the deep funks and fugue states that brought Root calling in a situation as precarious as theirs. She needed to remain present and aware in this world. When she couldn't push him out of her mind completely, she tried thinking nice thoughts of a happy James, content wherever he roamed.

Isobel, as well, had not been back to Root. She was out of the woods, so to speak, now that she was out of Inverness and away from Papa. She was moody as any pre-pubescent girl, but her moods were no longer extreme, never suicidal. Her epic silences had pretty much evaporated. She loved their modest life in East Glasgow.

Karla picked up another magazine. The theme was food this time, another alien world of gourmet delicacies, a world beyond boiled eggs for breakfast, bread, butter and Marmite for lunch, cheap pasta for dinner

A man came loping down the walk, a tall man, wearing a tweed jacket despite the warmth and a long, blocky beard, black with a grey strip down the center.

Karla threw down the magazine and scrambled on her knees down the row of washers, crawling behind the one at the very end. An old, black woman folding clothes glanced down and glanced away without a word.

Karla chanced a peek. The man came up to the door, perhaps attracted by her sudden movement. She ducked back behind the washer. The ache of remembered damage spread through her bones. It was Edmund—her father.

***

Karla did not dare look again. She gazed up at the old woman. "That man, is he still there?"

For the moment, the old woman kept mum, folding her clothes, eyes straight ahead. "He just stepped away from the window. Just now. Who is he, darlin'? Your landlord? Your boss?"

"He's... my father."

Calculations cycled behind the old woman's gaze. She nodded, as if she had deciphered Karla's life story from three words and a look.

Isobel was alone in the flat with Linval! If Papa went there and she answered the door...!

Karla bounced to her feet and rushed to the door. She peeked warily down the pavement. Edmund was paused at the end of the block, consulting his leather bound prayer book. He glanced up at a street sign and then over his shoulder. Karla ducked into the launderette.

The old woman looked on, her eyes burning with concern.

"Honey, there's a back room if you need to—"

"No, it's okay." She looked again, Edmund had moved on, his grizzled hair bobbing past a group of chatting ladies "He's leaving."

She fished around in her purse for something, anything that would be useful in defense... or offense, something sharp, something she could spray in his eyes, but she found nothing but coins, receipts and old hair ties.

The shotgun was back at the flat, tucked away in Linval's closet. Isobel would never think to bring it to the door.

She saw him cross the street. A bad sign. He was heading straight for Linval's flat. She waited a bit before following after him. There was a broken bicycle chain lying on the ground. She scooped it up.

How strange it was seeing that loose-limbed gait again. How many places had they walked together like these, she following at least one step behind as was proper for a deferent daughter.

His clothes were looking baggy. She wondered if he was doing his own cooking. Not that she felt any pity. He had beaten any capacity for empathy out of her years ago. Edmund had become an object to her, a nasty thing to be avoided and forgotten.

How had he found them? Linval had zero contact with his mother in Inverness anymore. She had sequestered herself deep within the fold of the Sedevacantist cult. From time to time, he spoke to his father, a Jamaican immigrant living in London, but as far as she knew, Linval had never told him about his new roommates.

Karla swooped down and pried a whitewashed rock from the border of someone's tiny front garden and slipped it into her purse. She discarded the bike chain. It would likely only sting him and make him mad, and then he could turn it against her as a garrote. Her purse now had the mass to take him out with a well-landed blow. Any move towards harming Isobel would be his last.

Edmund took long, determined strides. Karla picked up her pace to close the gap between them, screened by a couple strolling handing in hand. The stairway to Linval's flat opened into an alley between two tenement blocks. If she timed it just right, she could come up behind him as soon as he started up the stairs. Isobel would not even have to come to the door.

She was ten paces behind him now and he was still walking fast, clutching the prayer book to his chest, lips moving in silence. When did the man not pray? Even in his sleep he sometimes muttered psalms.

As he approached the alley, she took up the slack in her purse straps, wrapping them around her knuckles. Did she really have it in herself to strike him down? How many opportunities with him slumbering on the sofa had she passed up? Even in the midst of their most turbulent days she could never bring herself to harm him, despite what he had done to her. Such was the bond of blood.

But things felt different now. She had broken free of his grip, and the time and distance had caused her heart to grow colder and meaner.

She tensed as he approached the opening to the alley, but he strode right past it without a hitch in his gait. Clearly, he did not know exactly where Linval lived. He probably had no address, just a vague sense of what neighborhood to search.

She slipped behind a tree at the head of the alley, letting him walk on. He glanced back once as he turned the corner. His eyes lingered on the hawthorn, but he kept on walking. As soon as he was out of sight, she sprinted for the landing.

***

The keys slipped out of her jittery hands. She picked them up off the welcome mat, opened the lock and slipped inside the foyer, pushing the door shut firmly behind her, making sure the latch engaged. She pounded up the stairs, and unlocked the second door leading into the flat itself.

Linval still rasped away on the sofa. Isobel still stood there in the kitchenette, an empty water glass before her. Her palms lay flat on the counter, her posture again unnatural and strained.

"I just saw Papa," said Karla, breathless.

"Where?"

"He just turned down Cranmore Terrace. Grab your things, we're leaving."

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know, but we have to go. Now! Get your things!"

Karla brushed past her sister into the kitchenette, took a paper sack from a drawer and began loading it with damsons, buns from the breadbox, half a jar of olive paste.

Linval's phone tinkled on the counter as a text message arrived. Isobel sidled over and reached for it. Karla slapped her hand.

"What are you doing, snooping at Linval's messages?" Karla glanced at the display and her ire exploded.

"Gwen! Your best friend Gwen is texting you on Linval's phone? How dare you, Izzie? I told you we needed to stay incognito. How long has this been going on?"

"Not very long."

"How long?"

"A week maybe. I was feeling lonely. So I sent her a little note."

"Izzie! Did you tell her we're in Glasgow?"

"No. I mean, well, maybe kind of. Not outright. But it's just Gwen. She wouldn't tell anybody. Besides, Glasgow's a big place."

"Phones can be tracked, Izzie."

"But she wouldn't. Why would she?"

"Maybe not her, but her parents? Get your stuff together. We're leaving."

"But where will we go?"

"I don't know yet! Collect your things!"

They ran up into the attic and tossed things into their one shared suitcase. They didn't have much to pack—their few clean clothes, Izzie's book, a trinket from Rome, sanitary towels, a doll.

"My good jeans! They're not here."

"They are in the launderette, you doofus. We will stop by and get them. We will have to take them wet."

"Take them where?"

"I told you. I don't know yet. We will figure something out."

"We should wake Linval, to say goodbye."

"Let him sleep," said Karla. "Better he doesn't know anything, for his own protection."

"We can leave him a note."

"No. That would prove we were here. Now come. Let's go."

They went back down the narrow staircase and entered the flat, treading softly past Linval, whose mouth hung open, head tossed back. Wheat straw dreadlocks dangled halfway to the floor.

"Bye Linnie," whispered Izzie, blowing him a kiss. "Thanks for everything."

Chapter 4: Motorcycle

Inspired by our little field trip to Cardiff and no longer intimidated by British motorways, I re-applied myself to a project I had already started—fixing up Renfrew's old motor bike. It wasn't much of a motorcycle—a late 70s Suzuki GT 185 that hadn't been ridden in years. Mice had shredded the vinyl seat and passed untold broods in the nest they made beneath it. But Renfrew told me that if I could get it to run, it was mine to use.

Until Harry stepped in to give me a hand after hours, I had made only dribs and drabs of progress. But Harry was a wizard with engines. And once he got involved in a project, his obsessive/compulsive nature kicked in. Throbbing ankle and all, he would be there in the garage with me till all hours of the night, dissected motor parts strewn across a sheet of canvas, while I was nodding off on my feet.

And he had no desire to even ride the thing. He just felt impelled to make it run. He was that way with everything—computers, watches, electric mixers.

It was a revelation the day we finally got that engine cranking in a cloud of blue smoke. I took it for a test run, to find it had no brakes. I was forced to stop by plowing into one of the overgrown yew hedges in front of the milking barn.

That just made Renfrew's day. He came out of that barn guffawing like he might cough up his liver.

When I wheeled it back into the garage, Harry was already at the bench, ready to pounce on it with a screwdriver. Jessica came by after a spell, with some beers.

"Dinner'll be ready in a few."

"What's on for grub tonight?" said Harry.

"Renfrew's favorite," said Jessica.

"Shepherd's pie, again?"

"Thanks for the bitters, Jess," I said.

"Cheers!" said Harry. We clinked our bottles.

"Quite a show that was, guys. I bet Renfrew'd pay money to see it again."

"He's too easily amused," I said, threading a new brake wire through its protective sheath.

"How's your ankle doing, Harry?" said Jessica.

"Itches like a bugger. Can't wait to get the bloody cast off."

"How long will you need to keep it on?"

"Two more weeks, God willing."

"You think God really cares about your ankle?" I said, tightening a cable on the brake drum.

"Say what?" said Jessica.

"I just think, if there's a God, She's probably got bigger things to worry about than Harry's ankle."

"Why would you say such a thing? Are you an atheist?"

"No," I said. "I happen to know for sure that there are higher powers in this universe. I just don't think they've got time to micromanage us humans. And I'm not so sure they're benevolent."

"Oh? You're saying the devil's in charge, then?"

"I'm just saying there's not much separation between good and evil."

Jessica cocked her head and squinted at me. "You haven't known true love, then, have you?"

"Love? And which category is that, then? Good... or evil?"

She expelled a burst of breath and shook her head. "What a cynical, hopeless thing to say."

Harry squeezed the brakes. "Feels kind of stiff, like it's hanging up somewhere."

"Well, the wire was kinked in places," I said. "Maybe it'll straighten itself out with time."

"Squirt a little silicone in there. That'll help." I took a swig of my beer.

"I still can't believe you think God is a bad egg," said Jess.

"There's no good or bad. It's all a bunch of grey. But bad things happen when there's no adult supervision. Foxes get into henhouses."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Let's just say, I've been places, I've seen things most people don't get to see."

She tilted her head at me. "Like what? Disneyland?"

I was saying too much. There was no way a regular person could understand what I had been through in Root. I sighed. "Just take my word for it; nobody's watching the henhouse much these days."

"James Moody, you're an odd duck."

"Better to be a duck than a hen, apparently," said Harry.

Helen clanged on the propane cylinder that served as our dinner bell.

"Come on Harry, let's go eat," I said. "We can fiddle with that later."

Looking around for something to wipe my hands with, I moved a bundle of letters and cards off some rags. The string binding them snapped and they fluttered to the floor of the garage.

Jess stooped down to help me pick them up. "I wouldn't have taken old Renfrew for the sentimental type. It seems he saves every Christmas and Easter card he gets."

Most of the cards had local return addresses, but a few came from Scotland. One in particular caught my eye. It was from Glasgow, a guy named Linval Mathers. There was something about that name that rang a bell.

"This Linval fellow. Is he a relative of Ren's?"

"Nah. He's an old school friend of Sturgie's. Used to come down here when Sturgie still lived on the farm. They were in a band together for a time."

My heart lurched. I remembered now. That last night in Inverness, he was the guy who had picked up Karla and Isobel in the Fiat.

I slipped the letter into the pocket of my hoodie and followed Jess and Harry out of the garage.

***

That night I lay back in my bunk, under the reading light, studying that Christmas card from Linval.

Linval Mathers

77 Budhill Avenue, #301

Springboig, East Glasgow

G32 0JJ

It wasn't much of a card. Just a generic snow-covered woodland scene with Linval's name scrawled inside—no message of any sort. The envelope was addressed in a loose but legible scrawl.

Yet, here it was, a tangible, Google-able address of the person who had escorted Karla to Glasgow, a person who was quite likely to know where to find her. This was what the CIA might call 'actionable intelligence.' How could I ignore it?

For over a month I had honored Karla's request to stay away from Glasgow. My fear of bounty hunters helped keep me in place, but now that trip to Cardiff made me realize that maybe they weren't actually lurking around every corner.

And it was becoming clear that if I was ever going to see her again it was not going to be in Root. On top of that I had this extra bit of temptation in front of me—an actual address where I might knock on a door and have a reasonable likelihood of having her or who knew her answer it.

Shades of Ardconnel Terrace and Inverness. That hadn't worked out so well. But that was then and this was now. I had wheels, road experience, confidence and a place to go—there was nothing stopping me now.

I slept very little that night. When morning came I went to the milking barn early and waited for the others to show. I kept mum amidst all the usual rowdy and risqué banter. Only Jessica seemed to notice, from all the long glances she sent my way, but she said nothing.

After cleanup I tracked down Renfrew in his cramped little office against the wall of a barn. He looked up and gave me this leery expression, as if I were a stranger come to sell him life insurance.

"I was wondering if I could have a couple days off."

"What for? It's not as if you're being overworked."

"I just need some time to get away. A couple days. I'm going up to Glasgow."

"Glasgow? Why in bloody hell would you want to go to Glasgow?"

"My friend lives there."

"I see. And how do you expect to get there? Jess tells me you have this thing about trains."

"Well, I was hoping to take the Suzuki. If... if you didn't mind."

"What, with no brakes?"

"They work now. Harry and I fixed them."

Renfrew sighed and crossed his arms. "Well... I suppose I give you a day or two. I mean, why not? This is the first time you've asked for a holiday since you've come to work for us, so you're certainly due. I have to warn you, though, that's not the best motorcycle for cross-country riding. I mean, I did it, back in the day, but—"

"Don't worry. It'll be fine."

Renfrew took a long slow breath. "Suit yourself. I just don't understand why you'd want to go all the way up to bloody Glasgow. Why don't you have your friend come down here?"

"Well, it's supposed to be a surprise."

He shrugged and opened a desk drawer, handing me a squarish metal plate painted yellow and embossed with 'AEK 206.' "Take this and bolt it on the back. It's one of Sturgie's old plates. It's not valid anymore, but it might spare you some trouble with the authorities, as long as they're not too diligent with their databases."

***

The next day, I hit the road at dawn after making myself an American-style breakfast of bacon and eggs in Renfrew's kitchen. As I started up the bike, Jess came out on her stoop to wave goodbye in the first light. I hadn't told anyone the specifics, but she had probably figured out that I was going to see Karla. There was a wistfulness in her eyes that reminded me of Marianne back in Florida.

Heading north, I kept to the smaller roads like the A465 and the A49 which were more my speed. Sturgie had taken me down the M6 superhighway, but that was on a 1200cc BMW. Renfrew's little 185cc putt-putt had no trouble overtaking tractors and Ford Fiestas, but Beemers and Audis kept roaring up and blowing me off the road.

After a glorious time zinging through a countryside dappled with sun, I took an early lunch in place called Moss Side, just outside of Manchester center, which turned out to be the dodgiest place I had seen since leaving the states—mile after mile of brick and decay all squished together in claustrophobic maze. My meal, taken in a greasy spoon joint, matched the ambience: an egg sandwich slathered with some kind of salty brown scum that nearly made me barf.

It was a relief to blow through Manchester and enter the more verdant districts beyond. Busy, tree-lined suburbs opened up into some wide and lonesome spaces on a road called the A6, on the fringe of the Lake District. I passed low green hills and fields criss-crossed with brown stone walls, mottled with groves of larches and firs. The kilometers piled up behind me.

I pulled over to refuel in a town called Carlisle, near the Scottish border. All the rattling on the back of that little bike made me feel like I had mowed a hundred lawns. Every muscle and bone in my body thrummed. My bum ached from the rebuilt seat, padded only with cardboard and electrical tape.

I bought a soda and some crisps at a little grocer's and took a break on the little bench outside. A couple came by, walking a beagle and a terrier. They chatted about some poachers who just gotten apprehended. What anyone could possibly be poaching around here, I had no idea. I hadn't seen any wildlife along the roads.

Refreshed and girded for the last leg of my journey, I buckled on my borrowed helmet and started up the bike. I reaffixed some of the tape on the seat, which was starting to come apart. Next time I fixed it up, I would have to make sure I added a little more cushioning.

Not an hour down the road I passed a brown 'Scotland Welcomes You' sign and my spirits soared. With every beat of my heart, I was getting closer and closer to Karla. That heart seemed to speed ahead of my motorbike, leading the way to Glasgow.

***

East Glasgow seemed a bit rougher and poorer than Cardiff, but its poverty was patchy and less daunting than the massive brick warrens that I had witnessed in Manchester. Its banks of row houses were interspersed with tidy little parks and single family homes with lush, green yards.

I pulled up to a man carrying a trombone case.

"Excuse me sir, but how would I get to Springboig from here?"

"Springboig? You're practically there already. It's butt up against Barlanark. Just keep going the way you're going to Shettleston. Pass the rail station and go over the tracks. Hang a right at the circle. And there you'll be. Springboig."

A woman walking a terrier came up behind him and both she and the dog gave me stern looks.

"What he just told you will take you to Springboig Road," she said. "Is that what you're after?"

"I was actually looking for Budhill Avenue."

"Then you'll want to go left not right at the circle," said the woman.

"True," said the man. "Right would be the continuation of Halhill to Barlanark. Shirley, how goes the old man? I heard he was admitted to the hospital."

"He'll live. Unfortunately," said the woman, dryly.

"Um... thank you both very much!"

I roared away from the curb, pleased with how smooth everything was going. This was going to be way easier than finding Karla's old place in Rome. What a difference it made actually speaking and understanding the local language. And I had no trouble with that here, no matter how thick the brogue.

I found Budhill Avenue right where they said I would, amidst a blocked crammed with all sorts of little businesses as well as the Springboig Post Office. Number seventy-seven was just beyond a small park. My palms were getting slippery now.

I sat there idling on the bike for a few moments, before pulling into a drive that led to cobbled lot out back. I had no lock or chain so I tucked the motorbike behind a large bush, hoping no one would notice it right away. This was not the kind of neighborhood where unsecured property stayed put very long.

Number 301 was accessed up a staircase off the alley. The outer door was ajar. I took a deep breath and started up the creaky stairs, worried that Karla would be mad at me for coming up to Glasgow. I hoped she didn't slam the door in my face.

But if she missed me a tenth as much as I missed her, she would fly into my arms and not let go. Or at least I would get to see the briefest flash of joy in her eyes before the scolding began. A guy could only hope.

I knocked three times. I heard a chair scrape, a muffled shout. The door opened. A man stood there, his sandy-brown hair combed in a sweep across his forehead. He wore a broad smile, accentuated by a boyish face, glossy and devoid of stubble.

"Yes?" he said. "Can I help you?"

"Hi... um... I'm a friend of Karla's... Karla Raeth? I thought she might be staying here. Am I in the right place?"

"Oh yes. Most certainly. You are in the right place. Come right in. I'll fetch her for you."

I stepped inside. The apartment was dark. The shades were drawn. The lights were off. Something didn't feel right. I was a second away from turning around and leaving.

Someone sat at the kitchen table with their back to me, head slumped forward, dreadlocks obscuring their face. Was that Linval?

The guy grabbed my hoodie and hauled me forward. I tripped and stumbled into the side of a sofa. He slammed the door shut, tripped the lock and set the latch. A tall man emerged from the pantry. His eyes had a crazed Charles Manson gleam to them; his beard, a skunk stripe down the middle.

Chapter 5: Brynmawr

The Stagecoach bus from Abergavenny let them one block away from Brynmawr's market square, which was in truth, a semi-circle. Dazed from their naps, they wandered at random through the tidy town center, struggling to orient themselves. Hunger drew them into a place called Pat's café where Karla bought a pasty for them to share.

"So where are we going to sleep tonight?" said Isobel, her eyes still heavy.

"I don't know," said Karla. "Hopefully James' floor, if he has the space."

"Do we even know how to get to his farm?"

"No, we don't."

"You should have gotten the directions from Sturgie."

"I didn't dare call him, not with Papa after us. He'd be incriminated."

"Then you should have kept in touch with James."

"Izzie! Enough with the should-haves!"

"I'm sorry, but we would be in less of a pickle right now if we had just run away with James."

Karla expelled her breath in frustration. "You know I wanted to get back to Root. Being with James interfered with that."

"Wanted? Does that mean you've changed your mind?"

Karla gazed down at her feet. "I don't know. Glasgow was nice, while it lasted. But finding Frelsi has been my dream ever since I learned of it. Free souls get to live forever, Iz. Forever!"

"Stuck in a horrid place like that? I wouldn't exactly call that living."

"Oh? And what we had in Inverness was any better?"

"Inverness is history," said Isobel. "We've broken free. We have new lives now."

"But for how long? You realize as a minor, when they find you they will make you go back to him."

"Who's going to find us? It's going on six weeks and we haven't been bothered."

"We can't count on that, Izzie. The law could catch up with us any day now."

"And so what if they do? I'll just tell them what Papa did to us. They'll put him in jail. Then we find ourselves a nice foster home with a family that goes to church only on holidays."

"It's not that simple. You don't think I've tried to turn him in? Once, I went to the constabulary and told them everything. They didn't believe me. They just nodded their heads and rolled their eyes. When I was done, they just drove me back home... to him! Papa was all smiles and sweetness until they left. And then he beat the crap out of me."

Isobel looked determined. "Then we stay on the move, like gypsies. Maybe we go to Switzerland, go see Grandpapa."

"Not a chance," said Karla.

"Why not?"

"Because he's a cold-hearted, selfish pig. If we go anywhere, we go to Roma. James said he liked it there."

Karla got up from the table and went up to the counter where a woman was wiping the fingerprints off a glass display case with a spritz of ammonia.

"Pardon me, ma'am. But we are trying to find a certain farm... a goat farm."

"A goat farm is it? Which one are you after?"

"They make... cheese... there."

"Well, they all make cheese. That's why they raise goats in the first place. Do you happen know the name?"

"I am sorry. I do not."

She reached into a refrigerated case and retrieved two small white rounds of goat cheese and handed them to Karla. "Could it be one of these?"

One bore a crude drawing of a prancing goat, the word Merlin in a swirly font. The other depicted ruins with Cwm Gwyrdd Farm printed in an arc around the top of the label.

Karla just stared at them blankly. Neither name rang a bell. "There's an American boy who might be staying at one. His name is James Moody. Would you happen to know him?"

"Sorry, I don't," said the woman. "The only Americans I see come through here are tourists."

"Well, I guess then, we'll just have to go and see both. One at a time." She held up both cheeses to Isobel. "Izzie, pick a cheese."

"Um... the one with the unpronounceable foreign name."

"That's not foreign, my dearies. On the contrary, it's Welsh."

"Really?" said Isobel. "You guys have your own language down here?"

"Well, it is a bit moribund, but it's still spoken widely."

"So what does 'kawum ga-word' mean?" said Isobel.

"It's actually pronounced more like 'comb queer duh,'" said the woman. "It means green valley."

"Is it far from here?" said Karla.

"Oh, not at all. You can actually walk it. You go down to the roundabout and take the Blaen-Afon Road east out of town. It's a couple kilometers down on the right. You'll see a metal gate and dirt track going up the hillside. Don't be alarmed by the nasty old forge and those slag heaps. The farm's just beyond. Personally, it's about the last place I would have chosen to raise goats, but that's Renfrew for you. He bought the land for a pittance, and God bless him, he's making it work somehow."

"Thank you!" said Karla. "Come Izzie. Let's see how prescient you are."

***

They made the turn onto Blaen-Afon and trudged down the pavement, pulling their little suitcase behind them. They passed through a light industrial zone before breaking out into the countryside.

"This is a long way to walk on a lark," said Isobel. "What do we do if this is not the right farm?"

"Worst case, we catch a ride back to town, have another pasty, find a place to sleep. But I bet all the goat farmers all know each other. Someone is bound to notice an American like James."

"Can we stay at a hotel?"

"Not with our present funds. I was thinking more in terms someone's garden shed."

"Phooey. I hate camping."

They passed empty fields, recently stripped of their hay. Low hills, devoid of trees, stretched away to the south and west.

"I'm sure glad we stayed in Glasgow," said Isobel. "There's absolutely nothing down here. It's a blasted wasteland."

"I kind of like the wide open spaces. I find it romantic."

Isobel smirked. "You're just happy to be seeing James again."

Karla couldn't deny it. There was a bounce to her gait, a zinging in her nerves that couldn't be explained any other way.

"I'm missing Gwen terribly," said Isobel.

"You are not to contact her. Understand? Not until I give the okay."

"Understood." Isobel sighed. "But it's going be hard. I bet it was her dad who snitched on us. He and Papa always seemed to get along, even though they're mainstream—Papists, as Papa calls them."

"If it served his interests," said Karla. "It wouldn't surprise me if Papa consorted with Wiccans."

***

They came to the ruins of an old foundry and casting house. One row of stone arches vaguely recalled a Roman aqueduct. From the look and condition of the place, it had to be ancient. How long had the Welsh been making steel?

They slipped through a gate and started up a dirt track. A white nanny goat looked down on them from atop a scrubby heap of slag. A pair of kids frolicked around her.

The main farmhouse sat among a grove of oaks and alders up the hill. Behind it sprawled a tidy array of barns and sheds.

"Why are these goats not with the others?" said Isobel. She pointed to the herd scattered across a far hillside.

"Maybe they were ostracized for their beliefs."

There was a time not long ago that Isobel would have taken her sarcasm seriously, but she was not the gullible tyke she once had been.

"I see. So even goats can be Sedevacantists."

"These look more like Wiccans to me."

A man hobbled out of a barn carrying a sheath of papers. He was a curious looking fellow, with a massive head of hair, a broad and ruddy face and bristly eyebrows. One of his legs seemed to have no knee joint. He had to swing it wide to take a step.

Isobel took Karla's hand. She wasn't exactly shy, but Papa had bred in them a natural suspicion of strangers.

On spotting them, he stopped in his tracks and turned to greet them. A wary smile formed on his face.

"How can I help you ladies?"

"Well, this might be a long shot, but... we have a friend, an American by the name of James, who—"

"Aye, I know James. He works for us."

A thrill rose up in Karla. "Is he here? Can we see him?"

"Well, he's not here right now. He's taken a few days off. We're not expecting him back till Sunday night."

A young woman stepped onto a porch and tossed a bucket of water over the rail. She paused at the sight of Karla and Isobel, put the bucket down and came striding over.

Her strawberry-blonde hair was braided tight along her back. She wore little or no makeup over features that were already somewhat coarse. Thick, arched eyebrows framed sad eyes. "Are you... Karla?"

"How do you know my name?"

"James speaks of you. I thought he had gone off to see you. What are you doing down here?"

"He... what?"

"He's gone up to Glasgow. Just this morning. Did he not contact you?"

Isobel squeezed Karla's hand. A deep dread spread its fingers through Karla's core and clenched her heart in its fist. Billows of dizziness wafted through her skull.

"Oh, God! Help him!"

Chapter 6: Edmund

"You! Stay down!" said Edmund, his shotgun pointed at my head. "Do not even attempt to move." He had an odd accent, clipped and precise, faintly German.

The shotgun had an intricately carved stock and filigreed etchings along the barrel. It was the same one Isobel had used to subdue that bounty hunter in Inverness Station.

I knelt, palms flat on a dingy carpet, staring at a shriveled, baby carrot that has escaped from someone's salad. I had an urge to bolt and force his hand, but that other guy was standing in front of the door. I was a rabbit surrounded by coyotes, heart still pattering but as good as dead.

Edmund strode forward, keeping that long, dark barrel pointed at me. "Who are you?"

"My name is James."

"You are an American. How do you know my daughter?"

"We were... um... pen pals." L lied because the truth was too hard to explain.

"Impossible. I screened every piece of mail that came to us. What is your full name?"

"Moody. James Moody."

"Are you a Christian, James? Do you accept the Lord Jesus Christ as your Saviour?"

"No," I said, without hesitation, and he smacked the side of my head with the barrel of the shotgun, knocking me flat on the floor.

"So brazen!" said the other man, brandishing the fretted neck of an electric guitar like a club. "Can you believe this one? How appalling!"

"What are you, then? An atheist? A Jew?"

"Neither," I said. "I don't pretend to understand how the Universe works."

"Faithless bastard," said Edmund. "Get up. Slowly! Sit at the table, hands behind the chair."

The smiley man hauled me to my feet and shoved me into a sort of kitchenette. Linval, dreadlocks disheveled, was already seated at the table, his wrists duct-taped together behind him. His lip was torn and bleeding. Tears streaked his cheekbones. His chin quivered.

"Do you know this boy?" said Edmund, as the smiley one taped my ankles to the chair legs.

"No," I said.

"You are lying."

"No, I'm not."

"But you do know Karla?"

"Yes."

"How? And don't tell me you were only pen pals, because I know that is a lie."

"We both suffered from... depression. We met at this place... where depressed people go."

"Here? In Glasgow?"

"No."

"In Inverness? Really? How did she find the time to see a counselor?"

"You did let her out to run chores, Ed," said the smiley one. "Maybe while she was out and about."

"I had her on restriction. And she was never tardy, Joshua. I made sure of that."

"What can I say? Your girls are clever ones. They obviously figured out that we were coming."

"I still don't see how they could have known. Unless Gwendolyn—"

"No. There is no way she could have known. She had no idea her calls were being monitored. And my brother may not be one of us, but he sympathizes with our cause. He would have never spilled the beans to her."

Linval had this weird look on his face. He hadn't said a word since I entered the apartment. I suppose I should have been terrified, but I didn't get the sense that I was in any imminent danger. I had the impression that the shotgun was just for show.

In Edmund I saw a concerned father who was a little bit too overzealous in pursuing his runaway daughters. He was a creepy enough guy, and I didn't envy Karla and Isobel for having had to share his house, but I didn't exactly see a monster here. But then again, Karla had implied he had done bad things to her and Izzie, things that she had never fully explained to me.

"These counselors," said Edmund. "Who were they? Volunteers? Social workers? Did they work for the health service?"

"There were no counselors," I said, as the smiley one peeled another strip of tape off from the roll and wrapped it around my wrists.

"But you said—"

"I said I met her at a place where depressed people go."

"What do you mean? A support group?"

I sighed. "Kind of."

Edmund rubbed his hands nervously down the length of the shotgun. "This is serious, more serious than I thought," he said. "They may not have informed the authorities directly, but the girls have been talking. There are infernal forces at play here. I feel them!"

"Lord, have mercy!" said the smiley one, bowing his head.

"We need to know who and what is involved in this," said Edmund, his creepy eyes flashing wide. "We need to take them to a consecrated space."

He opened the refrigerator and removed a carton of milk. He poured two glasses and reached into his tweed coat for a plastic bag full of a bluish pastel powder. He placed a heaping spoonful in each and stirred. The milk turned a bright fluorescent blue.

He squeezed my nostrils shut with a calloused thumb and forefinger, tilted my head back and held the cup to my lips. "Drink up, boy."

Chapter 7: Jessica

Mr. Boyle, the owner of the farm, seemed to find it hilarious that the person that James had gone off to see had shown up on his doorstep. He had no idea what perils James had exposed himself to by going north. But Karla didn't share her worries with Renfrew or the staff.

She kept telling herself that he would be fine. Papa had never met James so any chance encounter would be harmless. Knowing nothing of her whereabouts, James would probably wander aimlessly around Glasgow center, scanning crowds in hopes of spotting a familiar face. It was doubtful he would go anywhere near Springboig. Why would anyone?

Failing to find her, he would return to Brynmawr Sunday night, they would have their tearful reunion, live happily ever after and that would be that.

She could only hope.

***

Jessica and Helen whipped up a dinner of stir fried corned beef and cabbage ignoring Karla's protestations and despite having just eaten themselves and washed their dishes. To top it off, they brought out a cherry crumble for dessert.

Helen noticed Isobel admiring a book on a kitchen shelf. "Would you like to have that?"

"To borrow?"

"To keep. I'm done with it. It's not something I would want to read twice. And no one else here is a much of a vampire fan."

"Vampires were banned from our house," said Isobel."

"She doesn't mean literally," said Karla, balancing her last bite of cherry crumble on her fork.

"Oh?" Helen smirked. "So actual vampires were welcomed?"

Karla laughed. "I wouldn't have been surprised, considering some of Papa's friends. What Izzie means is that he did not allow us to read any fiction he did not approve, and there was very little that met his standards."

"Three books," said Isobel. "The Keys of the Kingdom, The Power and the Glory and Atlas Shrugged. And the only one of the three not about a priest was absolutely wretched!"

"Public libraries were off limits," said Karla.

"Well then, sounds like you have some catching up to do," said Helen. "I'll put together a grab bag of must-reads. I promise to go light on priest protagonists."

While they were cleaning up, Mr. Boyle introduced a neighbor, a man named Ben who was carrying a guitar in a battered case. Harry hobbled in with a fiddle tucked in the crook of his elbow and they commenced to play.

It turned out that music making was the custom at the farm every Friday night. Other musicians came with mandolins and more guitars, bodhráns and banjos. They played everything from ancient Welsh ballads to American bluegrass to Beatles.

Karla listened for an hour with Isobel holding her hand, snuggled up against her shoulder, until Jessica sidled over.

"You two look exhausted. How about we get you settled in for the night?"

"We can stay here?" said Isobel, all excited.

"Of course!"

She led them out and around the corner to a little one room and a bath cottage with its own fireplace.

"This is lovely!" said Karla, admiring the spare but elegant decor. "It reminds me a bit of Bern and Lille's. If there's a spare quilt we can borrow, we can find a spot on the floor."

"Nonsense. You two get the bed," said Jessica.

"But where will you...?"

Jessica was already unrolling a yoga mat in front of the hearth. She pulled a sleeping bag from a closet.

"Jessica, no! We can't displace you from your own bed."

"I insist. You are my guests."

"But Izzie and I would be happy even in a barn."

"Don't be ridiculous. You two will take the bed. There are spare towels in that chest. Make yourself at home."

The unrelenting hospitality of these goat farmers overwhelmed Karla. She was not accustomed to receiving such kindness. It reflected well on how much they thought of James, to treat his friends so well.

There was a grace to their giving that made it difficult to decline, as if it were something intended by the fates. To not accept it might disturb the natural order of things.

Karla watched Jessica wash up for bed. She couldn't help wondering how James got on with her. Not that she was jealous, just curious.

She was not the prettiest girl on the planet, but she had raw potential that needed only tweaking; some thinning of the eyebrows, some strategic application of shadow and blush, a somewhat less baggy flannel shirt.

Karla was a kindred spirit. Even before her face had become scarred, she had kept herself homely by choice, both as a defense against her father's carnal suspicions and to conform to his warped expectations of chastity. She had cultivated plainness, eschewing all makeup and wearing the most unfashionable and unflattering possible clothes and hairstyles.

But what was Jessica's angle? What was she trying to avoid?

Jessica caught her looking and smiled. "Would you like some milk or tea before bed?"

"No thank you. I am fine."

Jessica's grin widened.

"You know, I just love hearing your accents. How long ago did you move from Italy?"

"It's been three years since we lived in Rome," said Karla.

"Rome." Jessica sighed. "I would love to visit there someday. But I'm not very well traveled. Unlike James. He's gotten to see half of Europe."

"And now he gets to see Glasgow." Karla rolled her eyes.

"Oh? Would you not recommend it?"

"Not particularly," said Karla. "It's just another big city. Scottish and dreary."

"You know, I don't quite understand how this disconnect happened," said Jessica. "Were you both trying to surprise each other?"

"We haven't been in touch," said Karla. "It's just bad luck. I'm not even sure why we went up there blind. He has no idea how to find me."

"Blind? But he seemed quite confident he knew where you lived."

"Really?"

Karla couldn't see how, unless he had somehow gotten in touch with Sturgie. He knew where Linval lived, but she was pretty sure he had not left Inverness since shuttling James down to Brynmawr. He and his uncle Mr. Boyle were not on speaking terms.

Her head began to swirl with anxiety. What if James had gone straight to Linval's flat in Springboig? Linval wouldn't know what to tell James their whereabouts. They had left without a trace.

James would probably freak out and assume the worst. And what would he do then? Should she call Linval and let him know where they were? But what if Edmund...?"

Karla's head ached from the strain. Her stomach tumbled.

"Are you okay?" said Jessica. "You're looking pale."

"Um... I'm going to step out and get some fresh air."

"Take this cardigan," said Jessica, hopping up and pulling a blue sweater off a coat rack. "The nights are getting a little nippy."

Karla pushed open the door and rushed onto the porch, leaning over the rail until her queasiness passed. But the cool air calmed her queasiness. She gazed up at the stars, which were unusually dense and twinkly tonight. Music still wafted from Renfrew's kitchen. More instruments had joined in, including a bass that thundered against the barns.

She realized how huge a mistake it had been to send James to Wales all by himself. Together in Glasgow, she could have at least shared their lives. Even shipping him back to Florida would have been better. With an ocean between them to kill all hope, she could have found her way back to Bern and Lille. With James in Brynmawr, she got neither.

And then it happened. For the first time in ages, she felt the vanguards of Root probing at the periphery of her senses. They were too shy and tentative to lure them in by manipulating her mood in the manner she called 'surfing.' She would need to wait for the mass to drift closer.

As a deep chill descended over the hillside, the cardigan no longer sufficed to ward off the shivers. And as marvelous as the stars looked tonight, experiencing them alone only deepened her longings. She retreated indoors.

"Shut that door! It's freezing out there," said Isobel.

"Feel better?" said Jessica. "Sure you don't want some tea? I've got chamomile."

"No thank you. Just a glass of water would be fine."

"This is the life, La," said Isobel looking up from her book, all cozy under the covers. "Miss Jessica's so lucky. She gets to have her own little cottage. No one to tell her what to read or watch. And fluffy pillows to boot."

"It's not as wonderful as it seems," said Jessica. "I suppose I shouldn't complain, but I do miss my family."

Karla sat down on the edge of the bed. "Do they live far away?"

"Not really, but... far enough. I hail from a tiny village called Morda, on the north side of Wales."

Isobel giggled. "Did you say Mordor?"

"Mor-da. But believe me, there are days it can feel like Mordor. Well, anyhow, my grades weren't good enough for university, so when I didn't get accepted, Mum had me look for a job, and this was all I could find, thanks to my Dad. You see, he served on a ship with Mr. Boyle."

"He was a sailor?"

"Royal Marine," said Jessica.

"Seems like a fine deal to me. I can't believe you stay here rent free."

"Well, that's how Renfrew gets away with paying us so little. I really shouldn't complain. I just wish it wasn't so isolated here. Brynmawr is loads more interesting than Morda for goodness sake, but once you get beyond the pub and the cinema, there's really not much else to do."

"Do you hang out with James much?" said Karla, hoping she didn't sound too nosy.

"Not as often as I would like," she said. "He keeps to himself. No one sees him after dinner. He goes off by himself on long walks into the hills. He never goes to the pub with us when we go, unless we force him. I suspect he doesn't like us. Maybe we're too weird for him, us Welsh."

"It's not that at all," said Karla. "It's just how he is, trapped inside his head."

"I can't understand that. He's lost his parents. He's never had siblings. He's by himself in a strange country. You would think he would want to reach out to other people. Why shut the world out?"

"Have you never been depressed?" said Karla.

"Is that his problem? But there are treatments for that, no? Pills one can take?"

"There are limits to what chemicals can do."

"Hmm. It never occurred to me that he was a depressive. I thought depressive types tuned everything out, never got out of bed, but he's been pretty functional. He's hardly ever late, and he works quite hard."

"There is a threshold one passes," said Karla. "Where death becomes an opportunity, not something to be feared or avoided and one is able to rise again and function."

"Oh gawd! You mean he might be suicidal?"

"It is the same feeling, but deferred. One can persist in a prolonged state of deferment. Maybe I am not making any sense."

"No, I sort of catch your drift. But you sound like some kind of expert. Have you read up on it or something?"

"I just happen to know these things."

Jessica's eyes probed. "You have it too, don't you? You're depressed just like him."

"Was," said Karla. "Not anymore."

"That's because she's in love," said Isobel, mockingly.

"Izzie! Mind your own business!"

"And so you come to see James at the same time he's gone off to see you? And you had no idea he had done this?"

"That's right."

"Oh my! I don't know whether to think that's pathetic or romantic."

"I vote for pathetic," said Isobel. "This never had to happen. As much as I love Cousin Linnie, we would have better off coming here than Glasgow. This place is great!"

"Don't get too yourself comfortable, Iz. Remember, we are only guests."

"Oh, don't worry," said Jessica. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like." She tucked her chin in her palm. "But I guess I just don't understand depression. Time on earth is so limited, why waste any of it being down in the dumps? Why not experience all you can, while you can? Though, I admit that sounds odd coming from someone who's stuck working on a goat farm."

"Depression defines its own terms," said Karla. "There is no negotiating. It needs no rational cause. Once it triggers, you are trapped."

Jessica got up and went to the window, pulling aside the curtain to reveal a moon that was a day from away from turning full. "I still don't understand," she said. "Life is a gift. How can one decline it? I guess I'll never understand."

"Count your blessings," said Karla, sighing. "I wish I had that luxury."

Chapter 8: Inquisition

I awoke with my cheek pressed against cold concrete. Mildew swelled my sinuses. Shivers and goose bumps ran up and down my torso. I lay still, barely aware of my limbs.

Something rumbled the foundation. A truck? A train? An earthquake? The only light in the room seeped around the edges of a door. There was no window.

I squirmed around and pulled myself into a seated position. My head swooshed and swirled. I nearly flopped back over. I sat there, wobbling. My thoughts flowed like thick syrup. I had no idea where I was or how I had gotten there.

I brushed the grit off my face, and crawled over to the door. Bruises on my knees and shins made me wince. I felt like I had been dragged down a staircase, and realized that was probably exactly what had happened.

The door was locked. I felt around for a knob, but there was none. Pressing my face against the gap along the frame, I could see a dingy hallway, with walls of mortared stone and a ceiling of dusty rough-hewn timbers. Cobwebs wafted around a single, bare light bulb. There was another door directly across, secured with three sliding bolts, one at the top, one in the middle and one near the floor—just like mine. I was a prisoner.

I stood and ran my hand along the rough wall but could find no light switch. I found a cot behind me with a scratchy woolen blanket and a pillow that smelled of moldy feathers. At its foot was an empty bucket I assumed was my toilet.

I sat on the cot and pulled the blanket up around my shoulders to counter the chill. My head throbbed. My brain felt like it had been crammed into a skull two sizes too small. I had the most terrible thirst and there was absolutely nothing in that cell to drink.

My head was slow to clear, but I knew I was in a bad situation. I couldn't believe they had drugged me and slammed me into a dungeon. What kind of maniacs were they?

Someone coughed. I went back to the sliver of light and peeked out at the other triple-bolted door.

"Linval? That you in there?"

The coughing reverberated down the hall. It was some time before he could respond.

"Aye, mate. It's me. James, is it?" His voice was thick and raspy.

"You sound horrible. Are you okay?"

"Just a touch of the old asthma. All this mildew ain't helping it." He broke into another fit of hacking and wheezing. "Bastards... left my meds behind... said they'd pray for me instead."

"What was in that crap they made us drink? My head feels like it's about to crack in two."

"That fluorescent blue? Got to be Rohypnol or GHB or something like that. Date rape drugs."

"Christ!"

"Careful mate! Someone might be listening. Taking the Lord's name in vain is a capital offense in this crowd." He groaned. "Oh my bloody arse! My knee's all swelled up."

"What are they gonna do to us?"

"Wish I knew," he said, his voice ragged with phlegm. "These are some scary people, mate. I thought I had rid them from my life. They fancy themselves true Catholics. Truer than the Pope. The only ones with Jesus on their side." He exploded into another fit of coughing.

"Nasty buggers, I've had nothing to do with them since I turned sixteen. Ever since Uncle Edmund came and joined forces with my crazy Aunt Emma. If ever there was a marriage born in Hell. They wouldn't leave my poor Mum alone. I was born out of wedlock, my father from Jamaica. She never heard the end of it. Because that Edmund, he's a piece of work. Poor Karla and Izzie. I can't imagine what it was like living with that beast."

"Was... Karla staying with you?"

Linval didn't answer right away. He panted and wheezed as if he had just run a marathon. His eye glistened through the gap between door and frame. "Yes," he whispered. "Her and her sister."

"Where'd they go? Someplace safe, I hope?"

"Don't know. I woke up, they were gone and these guys were knocking at my door. Never should have let them in. I didn't realize they had Uncle Edmund in tow. Karla and Izzie must have gotten wind and skedaddled. Good for them."

The timbers rattled again as something heavy passed overhead.

"Where the hell did they bring us? Are we under a road?"

Linval cleared his throat and spat. "Church basement most likely."

"What kind of church has a dungeon in its basement?"

A door creaked open down the hall. Voices boomed and reverberated.

"They're comin'!" Linval shuffled back from the door.

***

Two sets of stairs creaked as a group of men, quietly speaking amongst themselves, made their way down to what must have been a sub-basement. Somber voices echoed down the passage. Something hard rapped on my door.

"Hello, James? Are you awake?" The man's voice was soft and cloying. It was that smiley guy from Linval's apartment, Edmund's friend Joshua. "We've come to have a chat with you. When I open this door, you are to be sitting on your bed, hands visible on your lap. No funny business. And in case you're considering anything rash, keep in mind Brother Edmund's has his shotgun. We don't want anyone to get hurt."

I went and sat on the cot, placing my hands flat on my thighs. "Okay. I'm sitting."

The lights flicked on, but I wished it had stayed dark. I was surrounded by unpainted walls of mortared stone and concrete, speckled and splattered with something dark, like blood. The thin mattress had no sheet and was mottled with stains. The pillow had no case. Feathers poked from holes. The floor was unswept and filthy.

The door opened slowly. Joshua poked his head around it, smiling a smile that seemed cauterized into his face. Satisfied that I was complying, he opened the door wider to reveal a kid in a dress shirt and tie holding a cricket bat. Edmund stood behind them, shotgun pointed at the floor.

"James, this is my son, Mark."

He waited for me to shake the kid's hand or something but I just sat there.

"Why'd you guys drug me?"

Joshua's lips made a frown that vanished as soon as it formed. "I'm sorry son, but you didn't seem willing to cooperate."

"I told you everything I know, which is nothing. I have no idea where those girls are. I was looking for them just like you."

Joshua shook his head. His smile struggled to maintain its curve. "I see you're still a mite reticent. That is a shame. I was hoping you would be more forthcoming, now that you've had some time to think."

"I just told you, I don't know anything!"

Mark sprang forward and whacked his cricket bat against my already bruised shins.

"Unh! What the fuck?"

"Language please. This is a holy place. We don't tolerate profanity."

"What the fuck do you want from me?"

Mark wound up to whack me again, I jumped up and grabbed his bat before he could swing. The barrel of the shotgun came flying up level with my head. Joshua shoved me back down on the bed.

"Cooperate and no one gets hurt. Understand?"

I nodded, my eyes staring down the bottomless pits of those two barrels.

"What made you come to Linval's door looking for the girls? Why did you think that they would be there?"

"Just a shot in the dark," I said. "I found out Linval was her cousin."

"How is it that you came to know my daughter?" said Edmund in a deep voice that could shiver stone and rattle bones. "And don't tell me you were only pen pals."

I didn't know what to say. The truth would only get me beaten.

"Speak! Where did you meet her? Was it the New Craigs Psychiatric Hospital? The Riverdale Centre?"

"No. It wasn't a hospital. There was no counselor. It was just... a chance meeting."

"Then where?"

"I can't... You wouldn't..."

"Speak!" He pressed the end of his shotgun against my forehead. I saw those old blood spatters on the wall and could no longer hold my tongue.

"I met her in Root!" I blurted.

"En route? To where? Glasgow?"

"In Root. The Liminality."

Those words hit Edmund like the shock wave from a concussion grenade.

"How dare you speak such... such...." His face seized up. His lips trembled. "Blasphemy!"

Mark gritted his jaw and swung at my ribs. His bat caught me square. Something cracked. My insides shuddered. I grunted and slid off the bed onto the floor. He rained down a flurry of blows before his father could restrain him.

"Easy son, let him catch his breath."

The remaining cobwebs in my mind had been seared away by the pain knifing through my lower abdomen. Edmund loomed over me, a corona of stark light from the one bulb in the hallway framing his bearded face, nostrils like the double barrels of his shotgun. His mouth hung open, revealing jagged, tobacco-stained teeth.

"The place you speak of does not exist. It has never existed. I don't care what Karla told you. This myth. This fairy tale. It is what the faithless use to excuse their sloth and doubt. How many years I have had to deal with this lie? It comes from her mother's side. They poisoned her mind with it. The Liminality is not a real place. Do you understand?"

I nodded eagerly, not about to argue with him, not with that cricket bat ready to come cracking down on me again.

"Tell me! Where did you meet her?"

"Uh... uh... Inverness."

"Now we're getting somewhere!" He turned triumphantly to his flunkies before turning back to me. "You met her at the counselor's, didn't you?"

"Yes," I said, softly. I didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to get hit again, either. I figured if I just agreed, they would stop beating me.

"It was at the Riverdale Centre."

"Yes."

"It was that psychologist... Jennifer Ewing... the kirkist. Yes?"

"I... I don't remember." I didn't want to get someone else hurt.

Mark raised his bat again, but his father checked him. "Give him a chance to explain."

"Who was your counselor?" said Edmund.

"I didn't have one... yet. We met... in the waiting room."

"So you were flirting with my daughter?"

"No. We just chatted. Small talk."

"So how did you come to know she was going to Glasgow?"

"She... mentioned it."

"She told you she was going to Linval's?"

"No. She didn't tell me hardly anything. I... uh... asked around."

"How did you connect her with Linval? Are you a friend of his?"

"No. I had never met him."

"Doesn't make sense. How did you know to go to his place? She must have told you."

"No. She didn't. She didn't want me to be able to contact her."

"You were hitting on her, weren't you?"

"No... I... was just... I liked her. I wanted to stay in touch."

"So how did you find out Linval was her cousin?"

"She told me."

"Then why would she tell you that if she didn't want you to contact her? You're not making any sense."

I was stuck. I didn't want to dig myself in deeper, but Edmund had made it clear he didn't want to hear the truth.

"Speak!"

I struggled to concoct something on the fly that he would find plausible. But there was nothing I could say.

Mark's bat came swinging in and glanced off my shoulder. I screamed as a new focus of pain blossomed.

"Where are my girls? Where did they go?"

"I told you. I don't know," I said, writhing at his feet.

"Did you touch them? Did you touch my girls? Did you ever have relations?"

"You mean like sexual? No. Not at all. Never."

"Then why was there a condom in your wallet?"

"That thing? That's been in my wallet for years."

Edmund turned to Joshua. "Look at the way he trembles. Do you suppose he speaks the truth?"

"I think we're making progress here, Ed," said Joshua, clapping a hand on Edmund's shoulder. "How about we go down to Riverdale Centre and have a talk with Dr. Ewing? I can make an appointment."

"He's told us nothing!" Edmund bellowed, shrugging off Joshua's hand. "We're no closer to finding them than we were before."

I spoke quickly. "I told you everything. I have no idea where those two went. Honestly. I wish I did. I really wish I did."

"He might not know, Ed. He might be sincere."

The bat came down again. I flung up my arms to ward off the blow. It smashed into the back of my hand. The kid's face was pinched and surly. Nothing in his beady eyes said he saw me as a fellow human.

"No Mark!" Joshua seized the bat from his son. "Please, Enough! I know we're all frustrated here, but let's give the boy some space to think."

Edmund glowered down at me, rubbing his fingers around that fancy shotgun, his expression calm. His eyes were bottomless oceans of hate.

"Linval's turn."

***

Listening to Linval get hit was almost worse than getting beaten myself. They were relentless and merciless with him, certain he knew where to find the girls. They had found plenty of evidence that the girls had shared his flat: toothbrushes in a mug in the bathroom, dresses in an attic drawer.

Linval didn't deny that the girls stayed with him, but that didn't slow his beating. But no matter how times he was struck, he could tell them nothing about where the girls had gone, sharing only idle speculations that invited more blows from Mark.

"Leave him alone!" I shouted. "Can't you see? He doesn't know anything, either!"

They ignored me. Edmund continued to bellow and berate him. Mark showed even less restraint with Linval than he had with me. Joshua did little to dissuade him.

Once Linval's asthma got going, it made it impossible for him to talk. His speech degenerated into all-out wheezing. He could hardly breathe. Edmund accused him of faking it.

I hauled myself to the door, sharp pains cutting beneath my ribs. Peering through the gap, I could see Linval on the floor, chest heaving. The men stood over him gawking. Mark prodded him with his bat.

I banged on my door. "He needs help. He's got asthma."

"Shut your mouth or I'll bash it in!" said Mark.

"Leave him be, Edmund. We can only push so far. Let these young men think about the wisdom of their choices. We can try again, later."

They slammed Linval's door, latched it and withdrew the passage, arguing as they went.

I could hear Linval flailing about on the floor of his cell, struggling for oxygen as the air whistled through the constriction in his throat.

"Hey, Linval. You okay?"

He couldn't answer me. At some point, he must have passed out. As I pressed my ear against the door, I was relieved to hear the faint but regular sucking sound that told me he still breathed.

I limped back to the cot and curled up, pulling the blanket loosely over me, shivering. These guys were insane. If not for Joshua, Linval and I might be crippled or dead by now.

I laid there and tried to picture a scenario where we would be let free to walk out of this basement, but I could find little hope. These men were determined to pry something out of Linval and me that didn't exist. Neither of us could tell them where Karla and Isobel had gone. And yet, all indications were that they intended to continue with their inquisition.

Even if I fabricated something along the lines of what they wanted to hear, what would happen once they checked it out and discovered it was a lie?

I realized I might never see Karla again. I might never even get to squint at the sun or feel the wind on my face. I might die in this basement.

Once that bit of logic clicked into place in my mind, my spirit descended. The woolen blanket came alive, its fibers lengthening and thickening as they wrapped around and around my aching limbs.

At last, I had summoned Root. I welcomed its coming like a long, lost friend.

Chapter 9: Dust

I lay on my back in a bed of sand. The cloudless, cobalt sky harbored a sun, bluer and cooler than the one I thought I knew, hanging high over distant hills. There were plants around me—real plants. Not those fake, botanically inaccurate replicas that Luther used to decorate his little cavern.

All of this surprised me. I had expected to find myself immersed in darkness and stench, tangled in a pod, deep in the tunnels of Root. I was ready for the Reapers, but I guess they weren't ready for me.

I rolled over onto my knees, startled by the sudden absence of pain. My body still bore signs of the damage Mark had inflicted, but its impression on my senses had become muted and distant, like a faded memory of an old injury.

The unexpected reprieve made a smile grow on my lips. I felt empowered and free. It felt like coming come. It was like being on leave from a war.

I was naked as usual, but the air was balmy and still, like a mid-summer's morning in Ft. Pierce. I stood up and stared across a barren plain pocked with sinkholes leading to the underworld. Beyond the pits, sheets of windswept stone stretched to a horizon as smooth and curved as a billiard ball.

The opposite direction led to another world altogether, complex and corrugated with tier after tier of ridges and peaks that vanished into blue mist. The intervening landscape was gently undulant and creased with shallow channels and fan-like washes.

Though I had only seen it at night, silhouetted by stars, the profile of the land before me struck a chord in my memory. A cloud-shrouded, glacier-sheathed massif dominated all, looming over tiers of foothills gashed with canyons. A larger valley opened to the left, bounded on the far side by a tableland of flat-topped ridges and mesas.

As I had done with Bern and Lille a month and a half ago, I started walking towards the hills. There was no other choice, really. Nothing about the desert plains made me want to go there. At least the hills offered some signs of life in the scrub and trees that clothed them.

I came to a deep, narrow pit, and steered well clear, but couldn't help sneaking a glance as I went by. I instantly regretted it. The matrix of roots and tunnels came disturbingly close to the surface. A thin crust of stone and soil separated me from the domain of the Reapers.

Knowing how they roamed below my feet made me pick up my pace. I hoped the crust grew thicker in the heights. I would sure feel a lot better with a mile of stone between me and the Reapers.

A broad but shallow channel offered the path of least resistance. It also felt familiar. Either all these channels looked alike, or this was the same one we had followed my last night in Root.

A grove of trees appeared around a bend and behind them, the glint of a pond. Glimmers of remembrance told me I knew this place. Here, Lille had gathered water for tea. On a terrace of gravel and silt tucked against the gully wall, she and Bern had laid the cornerstones for the cabin they had intended to build.

I saw no sign of any cabin, but that didn't worry me at first. Maybe they had found a better spot upstream. Maybe they had made their way to Frelsi.

The trees were sad little things with limp leaves and sagging branches. The leaves were oval and whitish-green. The grove smelled faintly of turpentine.

I went over and stood by the pond. There was no wind. The glassy water looked more dead than placid. The stillness disturbed me. I walked along the shore and stepped onto the low terrace, and what I found roiled my mood with the first shadings of anxiety.

The cornerstones remained in place, connected by a simple foundation of flat stones. Between them was a rectangular patch of fine, yellow dust; inches thick in most places with lumps here and there. The dust lay deepest along the outermost edges of the foundation, where walls would have been. I stared, trying to make sense of what lay before me.

I scooped up a pinch of dust and rubbed it in my fingers. It was ultra-fine and slippery, like corn starch. There was no sign of any singeing so these couldn't be ashes. It was just dust.

Outside the oblong I found more patches of dust. I found evidence of what had likely been a table and two chairs. A small white circle marked what had likely been a saucer. A smaller patch with a loop marked the remains of a teacup that had been obliterated.

I had seen Weavings come undone, but never like this. Roots usually reverted into the wiry brown strands that formed their default state. Whatever had done this had been highly selective. None of the wild shrubs replanted in the flower beds had been harmed. A stone wall and a cobbled walk, half completed, remained in place.

A jolt of trepidation rattled me. I paced the terrace, dreading I might find Bern and Lille-shaped patches of dust. I didn't, thank God, but there was this weird set of prints in the soft sand below the terrace—pairs of deep impressions like tent spikes combined with lobed indentations like overlapping dinner plates. What kind of thing had spikes and plates for feet?

I circled wider, trying to construct even the vaguest explanation of what had happened. Down below the terrace I found a pit dug deep into the soft sediments all the way to the root matrix. I thought at first it might be a latrine or trash pit, but the rock and silt that had been removed had motile fragments of root that wormed their way free and crept from the tailings, tumbling over the lip of the pit to rejoin their kind.

This was a mine. Bern and Lille had likely used it to obtain raw material for their Weavings. The overlay of stone and soil was apparently inert, or at least refractory to our brand of spell craft.

I lay down on my belly and reached into the hole, scooping up a fistful of severed strands. I plopped them down on the sand and tried to modify them with my will. I had in mind a pair of jeans and a hoodie just like the ones I wore on the farm.

I was way out of practice. As I stared they dispersed like an overturned can of worms. I rounded them back up into a clump and tried again, my ire rising.

That little bit of annoyance proved the missing ingredient. Idle thoughts had no effects on roots. They responded only to passion and I wanted those clothes! I was tired of traipsing around butt naked.

I picked up a stick and pointed it at them like a wand. As soon as I made my desires clear, focused and urgent, my worms responded,

It happened slowly at first, but the pace picked up and accelerated into a blur. The strands thinned and divided and sorted themselves into a tiny patch of coarse denim that expanded into a pair of jeans, sans zipper or rivets or pockets, but I couldn't complain. They were blue jeans.

I still had the knack! That realization sent a thrill surging. If only I could do this on the other side.

I repeated the process for my hoodie, approximating my favorite cool season garb. Both articles turned out a little too baggy. But I didn't mind. I could cinch the belt loops tight. Just pulling on these new duds made me feel more human.

But I could only savor my little victory for a few moments. As I stood on the terrace and gazed out over the dry riverbed I was gripped by an intense pang of loneliness. I was really hoping I would run into Bern and Lille, to catch up on things, to vent about my predicament with Edmund. Without them, and without Karla, I had nowhere to go and no reason to be here.

I knew people in the 'Burg. I would be guaranteed companionship down below. What better way to win friends than to free a willing soul from a pod? But I wasn't about to return to those tunnels. I had seen enough Reapers for one existence. If I was going to risk losing my soul, it was not doing to be down the gullet of some ghastly, gluttonous shape-shifter.

What was the point of suicide if souls just continued on and on in other worlds and variants? What was the point of being? And just like that, I succumbed to a whirlpool of existential angst.

The idea of this never-ending cascade of pointless existences made me nauseous. When had wanted to kill myself, I had gone into it with the hope that it would bring peace. I pictured a limbo-like nothingness free of all responsibility.

Instead, here I was across the threshold, but still stuck in the same mind with the same anxieties, longings and doubts that had driven me to Root in the first place.

Was this place actually Hell? That made sense, in a way. The only problem with the idea was that I knew very well that there were worse places in the tunnels below. But that was no deal killer. Hell could have levels, could it not?

I indulged in a long, self-pitying sigh. If nothing else, I had just proven myself capable of feeling depressed in two worlds at once.

There was always Frelsi, I supposed. That place, rumored and amorphous as it was, at least gave me something to focus on. It would serve as my El Dorado, my Emerald City.

I tried to remember how it was the last time I saw Karla in Root. It had been night, and she had faded away in the darkness as I leaned in to kiss her goodbye. I would see her again, briefly, in Inverness, but only long enough to finish that goodbye. She had promised me that we would meet again soon in Root.

But it hadn't happened. And I had no right to believe it would ever happen. Who knew if she even thought of me anymore? Maybe sending me to Brynmawr was her way of getting me out of her life completely. Maybe she hadn't had the courage to put the bad news to me bluntly.

My feet started moving without me making any conscious decision to walk. I just made my way past the pond and up along the creek bed towards the pair of bluffs guarding the mouth of a canyon. They beckoned to me like open arms.

I hadn't gone far before coming across another set of those strange tracks. They came out of nowhere as if their maker had either materialized on the spot or dropped straight out of the sky. Ten yards on, they vanished. Weird, but I guess nothing should surprise me in this place.

I kept walking up the channel, heading towards the first ramparts of the foothills. Maybe I could get a better sense of the lay of the land from a higher vantage point.

The canyon deepened with every twist and turn. I was drawn onward and upward, stopping only to slurp some water I found trickling out of a muddy seep.

A mile or so in, I ran into yet another dense cluster of those two-clawed footprints. It looked like there had been a bit of action here, with multiple animals and some frenzied changes in direction. They were mixed with the prints of a barefoot human.

Those prints gave me pause. The steep canyon walls ahead looked a little too confining for my comfort so I decided to climb out up a chute littered with talus before things got too claustrophobic. The canyon wall rose in steps. A little farther up the first step was another rock fall that would lead me to the top of a nearly vertical ledge.

As I topped the first chute, I could already see beyond the bluffs back out over the plains. Creek beds fanned out like coral from the other canyons draining the hills. This was a porous land, pocked with sinkholes and ponds. No creek stretched for long on the surface. They all seemed to plunge into pits.

A movement caught my eye. A skeletal shadow swiped across a cliff. I looked up to find a wide and greenish triangular head peering down at me from over the cliff-top. It watched me through a pair of bulbous compound eyes, swiveling its head abruptly from side to side. Feelers dangled from its tapered beak, caressing a wicked set of mandibles. I stood there, stunned, afraid to move. The thing looked like a fucking pulp sci-fi Martian.

"Ondai!" The beast spread its wings and hopped down off the cliff and perched on one of the large boulders littering the rock shelf. It was a mantis, bigger than a horse, saddled and ridden by a man with a dark face and a long and wispy beard. He carried a short wooden rod, flared at the tip, more scepter than club.

The sound of a hundred umbrellas flapping in a windstorm heralded the arrival of three other mantids. As they alighted on the ledges to either side of me, I backed away, my eyes on that gully leading down to the canyon floor.

The riders' faces were mottled in diverse tones and patterns of grey. The bearded man's face was almost entirely charcoal but for lighter patches beneath both eyes. Another man bore a random blotching that reminded me of urban camouflage. Still another wore the zigzag striping of a cone shell. The lone female among them sported a symmetrical pattern of lobes and spots like the wings of some exotic moth.

I couldn't tell if these patterns were tattoos or wore paint. Their hair had the texture and tone of fine steel wool. Even their scaly armor was grey, clinging to their skin like lichens or barnacles on a boulder, over which they wrapped and draped shawls and tunics. Their physiques were well-toned and muscular, with not a shred of excess fat or sign of deprivation.

They spoke amongst themselves in something harsh and indecipherable. The woman glared down at me and spat out phrases in language after language, working her way through a half dozen before she found one I recognized.

"From where have you come?"

"Me? Um... well, Ohio, I guess. That's where I was born, anyhow."

She looked to the others. "English, he speaks. This one is American."

The bearded one pointed a stick at me and a shock wave blew from the tip, crumbling my jeans and hoodie into a fine yellow powder that wafted down and collected in a pile by my feet. "It is obvious he is fresh from the pits. Look how frail, his Weavings."

"Strange, how so many come unescorted now. Even risking the daylight."

"The beneath is not as impervious as it once was," said the woman.

"From the pits he has come, to the pits he will go. Bind him up!" Another rider leveled his rod at me and a three-headed bolus of energy came whipping out of the end. I tried to dodge it, one of its appendages lashed out and caught my ankle and snagged my ankle, tripping me. It stretched and spread, fastening my arms against my sides, wrapping my legs together.

A mantis hopped over, leaned down and picked me up in its front legs. Its exoskeleton was firm and woody, slick with a waxy coating.

"No eating him, Seraf!" said the woman. "It is back to the Liminality for this one."

She peered down at me over the mantid's shoulder. She had a striking face, with a strong chin and faceted cheekbones. Her eyes were tapered with a subtle curve, like warped almonds.

"Who are you people?" I said.

The mantis-riders looked at each other and laughed.

"We rule the top side," said the bearded one. "You are out of place. You don't belong here."

"Says who?"

"We say. And I'm sure the Almighty Powers would agree."

"If they cared," said the woman.

"If they yet exist," said the striped one. "In this universe."

I just hung there, cradled in that beast's spiny forelegs, gawking. "What are you guys, like angels or something?"

The mantis-riders laughed again. The bearded one clapped and they took to the sky in a burst of elytra. The ground corkscrewed away below me as the mantis soared, its great leathery wings whooping and whooshing like helicopter blades.

We hurtled out of the canyon and over the plains. Even as we flew, the mantis couldn't resist tasting me. It held me close to its mouthparts, clicking and grinding its mandibles lapping at me with its palps. Luckily for me, it obeyed its master and refrained from sampling its cargo.

We spiraled down into a pit far wider than the other sinkhole. This was one was almost large enough to fit a football stadium.

The mantis splashed down in a shallow film of water flowing across a slant of collapsed bedrock, absorbing the shock of landing by flexing its multi-jointed legs. It folded its diaphanous lower wings beneath the leathery uppers.

The other mantids had landed on the rim of the pit were looking on with their riders.

"Put him down! Gently, Seraf."

The mantis hesitated, palps extending for one more taste of my skin. Light rippled off the lenses of its ocelli, creating a shimmery psychedelic moiré effect.

"I said put him down! No eating! I promise you can have the next Frelsian we kill."

Its delicate antennae drooped and pressed flat against its skull like the ears of a scolded dog. Its forelegs spread wide as they levered down, dropping me into the shallow water.

"Good girl!"

The woman pointed her rod at me.

"Stay out of places you don't belong!"

She gave her arm a twist and a shock wave expanded from the tip. My binds exploded in a poof of yellow dust that floated down and settled on the water, swept away by the gentle flow.

"Seraf, away!"

The wings of the giant mantis burst open and it buzzed away out of the pit. The other mantids spread their wings and leapt off the edge into the void, circling over head as they gained lift. The dry and brittle whoosh of their wing beats faded as they rose out of sight beyond the rim.

***

I lay there, letting the water flow through my hair. I could hear the distant rumblings of the Reapers far below me. I had no desire to return to the 'Burg, despite the relative safety afforded by Luther's refuge. But I was also in hurry to fade and return to that putrid cell in the sub-basement of that church.

In short, I had no desire to go anywhere or do anything. I just lay there like a dead leaf, consigned to wafting away in the next breeze or washing into a stream. I never felt so devoid of feeling.

The water was warm, at least, so I shifted down into a deeper pool until it covered my belly. I pretended I was in the tub, even though I probably hadn't an actual bath since I was eight and Mom stopped letting me take all my toy boats into the tub with me, saying that I was a big boy now, that tubs were for washing. She had probably been tired of me wrinkling my skin in those hour-long, sessions. Maybe she had been afraid I would drown.

Life. It would have been nice if it had all worked out. I did have some good years. The childhood part had been fun, anyway, before the playgroups disintegrated thanks to organized soccer. I remember being startled as a kid, riding my bike alone through the neighborhood and finding not a single kid in any backyard.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but my hyperactive consciousness wouldn't let me. I could only think of Karla and why she could have abandoned me, if she had abandoned me, and if she hadn't then what predicaments she was facing wherever she had gone.

Was she hungry? Was she hurting like me? I was so pissed I had gotten myself stuck in situation where I couldn't do anything to help her.

At least I didn't have to worry about her getting stuck in a pod if she came here. She was no newbie. Like me, she was well beyond that risk. But if she did come here, where would she go? To one of the upper tunnels? To that other sink-hole with the ladder?

Something went 'plonk' into the water. My eyes popped open and there was a figure standing on the rim of the pit. It was a woman, dressed in a cloak that swept down to her ankles. She stepped over the edge and her cloak billowed wide and trailed behind her, slowing her descent like a parachute. She glided over to me and landed gracefully on the balls of her feet, her face bearing the faintest smile.

I knew that face.

Chapter 10: Freesoul

Maybe those bug riders were no angels, but the brilliant apparition gliding down on fabric wings could certainly make a case. Victoria's voluminous ivory cloak caught the light in a way that made it appear aglow. Palms held high, she spiraled down, its billows and struts responding to every twist of her hands.

As she passed the seam between rock and root, shadows snuffed her glow. She splashed down lightly on her toes. The folds of her cloak shrank and retracted before they could settle into the water. Striding across a barely submerged ledge, she seemed to walk on water.

"I saw what happened to you. Are you alright?"

I gazed up at her, too awed to speak. Spikes of red hair rose like flames off the crown of her head. Her eyes bore a fierce intelligence.

I nodded.

She studied me carefully, her calm, calculating expression reminding me of those mantids, though I was pretty sure she had no intention of eating me.

There was an air of advanced maturity to her features, but with her skin devoid of all blemishes and wrinkles, she didn't exactly look old. She had the air-brushed look of a video game avatar or an over-processed celebrity.

She looked askance at the flooded pit and flung one arm out towards the wall, pointing the blade of her hand at where it trickled between the interface of stone and root.

The roots swelled and clamped off every seepage along the wall. The myriad trickles and gurgles that had echoed through the chamber ceased.

She then pulled her arms in tight, spread her fingers wide and the shelf of stone beneath me began to shake and slowly rise. My bathwater drained.

"You are one of Luther's flock."

"Not exactly," I said.

"A maverick! We don't get many mavericks here. Most souls in the Liminality are damaged goods, meek and frightened, emotionally scarred. Permanently, it seems. Even those who free manage to themselves from their chrysalises swarm like flies around personalities... like your... former... mentor."

"Luther was no mentor. He's just a clown."

"Well, it doesn't require a whole lot to inspire a following in the underworld. A little bit of charisma. A few tricks of Weaving." She blinked at me. Something shifted in her expression. Her stare grew more penetrating, discerning. "What is your name?"

"James."

"There is something odd about you, James. I can't put my finger on it."

"You're not the first person to tell me that."

"How did you find your way out?"

"We just kept following the tunnels till we came to an opening. It wasn't exactly rocket science."

"And so you just wandered off into the countryside, heading... where exactly?"

"I didn't know and I didn't care."

"Looking for Frelsi, were you?'

"It might have been in the back of my mind."

Her eyes widened and she tilted her head. "How did you come to learn of Frelsi?"

"From... you, actually. From that time you showed up Luther in the 'Burg. And... my friends had heard rumors."

"So you just moseyed off, expecting you would just stumble onto this... rumored... place?"

"Honestly, I was just walking. I had no idea where I was headed. It's a bad habit of mine. I just take off and roam. Gets me into trouble sometimes. I guess this was one of those times."

Her eyes flitted across my body. I crossed my hands over my privates. She stooped and examined my bruises. "Are these fresh?"

"No."

"You're lucky it was Dashen's crew who apprehended you. At least they know how to control their mounts. Another band of Dusters and you might have been eviscerated."

"Dusters?"

"That's what we call the grey souls. You might have noticed their unique style of spell craft. A bit of advice for you. Never go about during the daylight. Mantids are diurnal. Up top, you should always do your traveling at night."

I pulled my knees up tight and rested my chin. "I'm in no hurry to go anywhere anytime soon."

A wry grin pulled tight on her lips. "Not even to Frelsi?"

I shrugged. "What's even there?"

"Freedom."

"To do what?"

"To exist. That is, only if you commit your existence entirely to this world."

"Not sure I'm ready for that. That means I would have to die, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but then your soul would have the power of self-determination. You could avoid the Deeps."

"The what?"

"Get taken by a Reaper and you will know the Deeps. And there are other paths, more direct. Not a nice place. Just ask any Duster."

I hadn't considered the possibility of my soul being consigned to a place even harsher than here, and it gave me pause. If I could only get my ass out of that dungeon, I wouldn't have to think about any of this stuff for a long, long while. Brynmawr and Cwm Gwyrdd Farm were sure looking heavenly about now. If only I had realized that and left well enough alone instead of going up to Glasgow.

"Frelsi, huh? Maybe someday I'll check it out, if I'm still hanging around this place."

She tilted her brow down. "You can't go to Frelsi on your own, you realize. You must first be vetted. Otherwise, you would be a pariah there."

She pulled up her sleeve and displayed the underside of her right arm. A pair of thick, elevated scars formed a circle in two segments.

"This is the mark of a Freesoul. In your present state, you might be accepted as a Hemisoul and be marked with a semicircle until you broke your ties with the other side."

"Freesoul. So that means... you're dead?"

"Not merely dead. I am a free soul. There is a process for achieving this, but—"

"You mean, like some kind of ritual?"

"It is far too premature and presumptuous to be discussing any of this. You haven't even been vetted. It is something you would become privy to once or if you became a Hemi."

The morass of self-pity in which I had been wallowing had finally drained. I sat up taller. "Okay. I'm game. How do I become one? How do I become a Hemi?"

"You're asking me to vet you? Right here? Right now?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"I'm heading into the tunnels to make my rounds. I wouldn't be able to take you to Frelsi just yet."

"That's fine. It would just be nice to know if I'm good enough for you all. That way I don't waste my time... and yours."

She sighed. "It's not a matter of adequacy. We're looking for compatibility."

"So, am I compatible?"

She looked a bit annoyed, as if I were already wasting her time. "Alright, let me ask you a few questions. Are you a selfish person, James, or are you one who would sacrifice for the greater good?"

"Depends. What kind of sacrifice are you talking about?"

"Labor, mostly. But if hostilities arise, we might expect participation in our defense."

"I'm not afraid of work. And if I was there and we were attacked, I guess it's only fair for me to help out." I wrinkled my brow. "But who's gonna be attacking you? You mean like Dusters?"

"Precisely. Another question. Are you tolerant of leadership... of authority?"

"Tolerant? Don't you mean obedient?"

"I meant tolerant. One can obey authority while at the same time rejecting it. Tolerance means accepting in your heart the wisdom of authority, even when you don't fully understand the reasoning behind it."

"That sounds more like faith."

"Maybe I'm not making myself clear. No matter. Let's move on. What about diversity? Can you handle the presence of races and cultures that differ from your own?"

"Oh sure. People are people. I get along with pretty much everyone."

"And your soul? How stable is it? What portion of your days are spent here?"

"Not much lately, but things might be changing. My life's kind of... taken a downturn."

"Good. That's good. Skills? You can Weave, can't you?"

"Kinda." I shrugged.

"Show me. Weave me something."

"What do you want me to Weave?"

"Give me your best effort. Something big. Something... grand."

"Grand?"

Like what, I wondered, Grand Central Station? The pit was certainly big enough to accommodate it. With my luck it would come complete with bounty hunters.

Maybe I conjure my grandmother? I wasn't sure I could swing that. I could be too freaking literal sometimes, but I had no clue what someone like her considered 'grand.'

And then I remembered my Nana's house back in Cleveland. She had a baby grand piano in the parlor that she would sometimes play show tunes on when we went over on weekends. She would round up all of the grandkids and get us to sing along to 'Oklahoma' and 'Hello Dolly.'

I used to wail on that thing whenever I had some time alone with it. It got so that I could pick out melodies by ear. Mom got all excited and signed me up for lessons with some Nazi of a piano teacher. That effectively killed my budding musical inclinations. As much fun as I used to have plonking away, I never went near a piano again.

"Well, if you're unable, there is nothing to be done," said Victoria. "Only Weavers gain entrance to Frelsi."

There was a patch of exposed roots visible just below the collapsed rock shelf. I wish I had my sword with me, but I had seen her use her bare hands to focus her will. I stuck my hands out like a sleepwalker, letting my fingers droop down and I pretended to play that out-of-tune baby grand in my head, recalling its raucous, jangly tone.

It must have looked silly to her, me playing air piano like that, but within seconds, a mass of roots pushed up out of the floor of the pit, dripping water and clumps of gritty silt. It was just a crude block of tangled, gnarly things, but it smoothed itself out, splitting and flattening its strands until it approximated a dark walnut grain with a scuffed and worn finish.

I went over and lifted the panel that protected the keys. I tried playing a tune, but the notes sounded dull, like someone plinking on an old gut-stringed cello. It was way out of tune and some notes were out of sequence. I'm not sure what I expected for something dredged out of a pool and slapped together, but I was disappointed in my work.

Victoria gaped at me. "How extraordinary! Most souls just Weave me a towel or a T-shirt." She ran her fingers down the keys in a descending glissando. Her eyes whipped back to me. "In the tunnels west of here, there was a gaping hole that cut down nearly half a mile, so twisted it's like a tornado had torn into it. The damage is still not repaired. It may never be the same. Do you happen to know anything?"

I averted my eyes. "Yeah... um... that was me. Sorry about that."

"What are you sorry about?"

"Well, we got into a tangle with a Reaper and... uh... it was the only way."

"Astonishing." She just stared at me blankly, blinking slowly. "Maybe the Dusters were lucky. They had no idea what they messing with, what risk they exposed themselves."

"Don't know about that. I was pretty worthless up top. Couldn't even Weave myself a decent pair of jeans."

She shook her head. "The powers you displayed you retain wherever you go here. They just get harder to summon the farther you get from the Liminality's core."

"Good to know, I guess."

She couldn't stop gawping at me. It was making me uncomfortable.

"I have half a mind to take you back to Frelsi right now. But I'm just starting my rounds."

"It's okay. Like I said, I'm in no rush."

"That is some rare talent you've displayed. There is a case to be made for sending you straight into cadre training, that is, if you were committed to becoming a Freesoul. But all that will come in due course."

"Again, no rush."

"I suggest you find a pit less accessible to mantids and make yourself comfortable. Clearly, you have the means. I will return for you. Just give me a few days."

She retracted her cloak around her. The fabric shrank until it was snug against her form. "I'm off. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. James."

She strode into a solid wall of roots, passing into it as easily as a bullet through smoke. I hesitated a second before trying to follow after her, but the roots had already reformed. They bristled and stiffened and barred my way.

Piano or not, I still had a lot to learn about Weaving.

Chapter 11: Monday Morning

Renfrew pretended to grumble and groan when Jessica told him that the girls would be staying at the farm for a few days, but it was all for show. He was all smiles when they came to the cheese factory, which was basically just a barn fitted with gas-fired copper cauldrons, tanks of whey and rack after rack of curing cheese. He gave them a complete tour, sharing samples, boasting of his various awards and contracts with upper crust fromageries.

Again, Karla was puzzled by all the attention. She figured his behavior had something to do with James, but it probably didn't hurt that she and Isobel were nubile and female. Whatever the reason, Renfrew seemed glad to have them around, even though he kept ribbing them about their short-cropped hair, calling them chaps and dykes.

When Karla offered to pitch in with chores, he was effusive with gratitude. But helping out in the barns all day only gave him more opportunity to regale them with Falkland war stories and tales of his pre-military days when he had apparently been quite the local folk star, playing his guitar and accordion at all the coffeehouses in Cardiff.

Helen kept rolling her eyes and sharing annoyed glances with Jessica, but Karla didn't mind listening to him talk, and neither did Isobel, as evidenced by her rapt attention and numerous questions. Renfrew was more sweet than gruff. There was a charming innocence behind his crust. He was just an overgrown school boy at heart.

***

Saturday evening passed with a quiet dinner of grilled shish-ke-babs and a communal DVD double-feature in Renfrew's parlor, Harry with his leg elevated in a walking cast and Helen acting as unofficial bar maid. Jessica was an anime aficionado and she shared a pair of Hayao Miyazaki films: 'Princess Mononoke' and 'Spirited Away.' In lieu of popcorn and keeping with the Japanese theme, Helen prepared a bowl of salted, steamed edamame for all to share.

Renfrew muttered something about this being the last time he gave up his parlor so a bunch of kids could watch cartoons, but one beheading was all it took to draw him into the story.

The plot astounded Isobel, who kept asking questions no one could answer. Karla knew next to nothing about Japanese culture. Certain scenes were truly bizarre, opening windows into worlds she could barely comprehend.

When the movies were done, they stumbled like zombies back to Jessica's cottage. Isobel passed out as soon as she lay down. Karla stayed up a spell, chatting quietly with Jessica, thinking of James, before joining her sister under the covers.

Sunday morning after milking, Helen and Jessica invited the girls to attend church with them. Every female on the farm piled into a van driven by Helen's friend Eleanor. Renfrew and Harry stayed behind, Renfrew joking that he would rather worship the devil than listen to a preacher.

It turned out to be a Presbyterian mass, which both mortified and titillated Isobel, who had never been around Protestants before. They settled into their pews, Isobel all fidgety and looking toward the door as if she expected their father to barge in with an army of angels.

The mass itself, once it started was remarkably casual. There were prayers and songs, but the proceedings lacked the rigidity of ritual that characterized her father's sect. The absence of Latin and the resulting lucidity and transparency was certainly refreshing, but she experienced no revelations, felt no inspiration to convert.

The sermon actually offended her. It was a simple-minded homily about family austerity being the fundament of patriotism, as if the nation's economic troubles should be blamed on the masses. If she could help it, she would not be coming back to this or any other church anytime soon.

When the electric organ played the closing hymn and they filed out onto a cobbled yard. They lingered on the steps of the church while Eleanor went to fetch the van from its parking spot. Jessica seemed eager for their impressions.

"It was nice," said Isobel. "But it wasn't really mass."

"Oh? Then what would you call it?" said Jessica.

"I don't know. It seemed like a friendly sing-along with a lecture in the middle."

"It was just... very different from what we're used to," said Karla.

"Really? I would have thought a Catholic service would be quite similar. They evolved from the same tradition after all."

"We were raised not merely Catholics," said Karla. "We are... were... traditionalists, though even that, I am afraid does not describe it. My father, he was an SSPXer, then SSPV and now he's just a Sedevacantist of some sort."

"A what?"

"Don't ask. I don't even think he knows what to call it. He is just grasping for the one faith that will cover up his perversions."

"Oh dear," said Jessica.

"If Papa knew we went to this church, he would condemn us straight to hell," said Isobel.

"Isobel, stop! He has no say in where we go," said Karla.

"But to him these are heathens, La!" said Isobel, more intrigued than appalled by what she had just experienced.

"Nonsense," said Karla. "God is God, no matter how he is worshipped. These are all good Christians here. He should be glad we are going to church at all."

"James never attends church with us," said Jessica. "Not even if we bribe him with food."

"I don't suppose that he would," said Karla.

"Oh? Why is that? Is he an atheist?"

"No, not an atheist. I don't think that would be possible after all he's seen, but I can't imagine him taking any organized worship seriously."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Karla realized she had said too much. It was going to be hard stuffing this cat back into the bag.

"Well, his life. It has been unusual. He has faced very big difficulties and challenges."

"A little spirituality might help someone line him, one would think," said Jessica.

"He gets plenty of spirituality, I assure you," said Karla. "It is the sermons that I think would be the problem."

"I could understand that," said Jessica. She lowered her voice. "I don't particularly like this pastor myself. I only come here because... well, we don't get much choice around here."

***

They stopped at a bakery and picked up a batch of croissants and scones to bring back for Renfrew, along with some bread for lunch with Helen's friends, a trio of female artists who lived in a colorful loft with a greenhouse that looked like a jungle and a rooftop patio that looked out into the hills.

They were a raucous bunch, these lady artists, but were quite kind to her and Isobel. One lady even gave Isobel a small painting of a fox that she couldn't help admiring to the point of obsession.

It was late afternoon when Eleanor finally brought them back to the farm. On the way, Karla kept staring at any male on a motorcycle hoping it would be James. Failing that, she hoped to see a motorbike parked in the barn where Jessica said he kept it, but there was no one about but Renfrew in the greasy coveralls he wore when he tinkered with his tractor.

Helen tossed him a scone and brought the rest inside.

"Where the hell have you all been all day?"

"Where do you think, you old bugger?" said Helen. "We went to church, and afterwards had lunch with the Wiccans."

"Wiccans?" said Isobel. "Those ladies... were witches?"

"That's just what they call themselves," said Jessica. "I don't think they actually practice witchcraft."

"They don't have to practice. They have it mastered," said Renfrew, patting Isobel's head.

"Have you heard from James?" asked Karla.

"Heard from him?" said Renfrew. "Why would he call me? He went off to get away from me. And besides, the boy doesn't have a phone. What's he going to do, send me a carrier pigeon?"

"Easy old man, she's just anxious to see him," said Jessica. "She's the one he went up to Glasgow for."

"What a berk, wasting his time going all the way up to that horrible place. That boy really needs to get himself a telephone... if he expects to get anywhere with the ladies."

Jessica took Karla's arm and led her away from Renfrew. "If he left at midday, it'll be hours yet before he returns."

Helen came back outside and looked at her. "What's wrong? Is she worried about James?"

Jessica nodded.

"Don't fret, darlin,'" said Helen. "I've watched him ride that thing. He's careful on these roads. Not a maniac like Sturgie."

They went back to Jessica's cottage and helped her tidy up the place a bit before the evening milking. Karla and Isobel subbed for James, moving goats in and out of the stanchions. It was enjoyable work, even though Isobel kept getting distracted by the antics of the kids.

They shared a cheese and noodle casserole for dinner along with artichokes stuffed with ground lamb. Not since her mother still lived with the family in Rome had eaten so lavishly. Her stepmother had only seemed to know how to make pot roasts. And once she left, Papa had gone vegetarian, making Karla cook nothing but lentils and carrots and pasta fagioli. In Glasgow, at least, Linval would occasionally bring home a heap of fish and chips or a bucket of fried chicken.

Isobel wolfed through her plate and reached for the serving spoon, but Karla slapped her hand.

"Izzie, don't be a piggy!"

"No, it's alright. I made plenty," said Helen. "Go ahead, Izzie. Have yourself a second helping."

"But... what about... for James?"

"I've already set some aside for him should he join us."

Karla put down her fork with half her plate left uneaten. Her nerves were making her queasy. She skipped desert, which was a decadent looking chocolate pudding layered with whipped cream. Isobel partook with abandon, moaning in ecstasy with each spoonful.

After the washing up, there was still a little bit of daylight left so Karla clambered up the hill and found a place to sit on the remnants of an old stone wall. It looked directly down the dirt track that led to the main road, where she could see any and every vehicle that came their way.

After about half an hour, with the sun almost down, a lone motorbike finally appeared on the main road. Heart skipping and jumping in anticipation, she hopped up and started trotting down the trail. But the motorbike went straight past the turnoff and off towards Pontypridd. Karla's spirit sagged like a punctured tire.

She sat back down on the wall, the next time controlling her excitement as several more motorcycles came and went. It was dark when Isobel and Jessica came to fetch her with a torch light.

"La! What are you doing up here all by yourself? I was afraid you'd been kidnapped."

"Just... meditating."

Jessica sighed. "You're just like James. He loves coming up here to watch the sun set. But come on down before you catch a chill. It's supposed to get frosty in the swales tonight."

"A frost? Really?"

"Just in the bottom lands. The cold air pools."

"What ever happened to the summer?" said Isobel.

"Goes by quick around here. Brynmawr's the highest town in all of Wales. Did you know that?"

"I never would have guessed. It is not exactly mountainous around here."

"I suppose you would call this a plateau." The lights of Brynmawr came flicking on, just like the stars overhead. "Regardless, let's go home. James will come when he comes. I'll make us all some cocoa."

Karla got up from the wall and draped her arm around her sister. They started back down the patch, following a jiggling patch of illumination.

"One thing I haven't asked you," said Jessica. "Once James gets back, how long will we have the pleasure of your company?"

Karla hesitated, wondering how truthful she should be. She didn't wish to leave a trail of crumbs for Edmund to follow. But she decided to ignore her paranoia, as her destination was no mystery.

"We plan to go to Rome," she said. "We used to live there near the Vatican."

"Oh? Does James know about this?"

"Not yet, but we are hoping he will join us."

"Really?"

They walked in silence for a spell.

"If he wants to," said Karla. "I was not actually intending to come down here. Not ever. We had agreed that I wouldn't and that he wouldn't stay."

"Did you guys break up or something?"

Karla took a deep breath. "There is something I have not mentioned. There is a reason I am feeling so nervous for James. Izzie and I saw our father in Glasgow... he was there, looking for us. I'm sure."

"What does that have to do with James? Do they not get along?"

"Well... Izzie doesn't know this, but... I had a boyfriend in Rome."

Izzie gaped and grinned. "La! You harlot, you!"

Karla did not smile back. "But Papa found out. He and his friends took Francesco for a ride out into the countryside. He went into the hospital, and when he came out, he would not speak to me. When I saw him once, in the piazza, he would not even look at me. Later, I heard he had to have surgery... to repair his skull. I never saw him again."

Isobel squeezed her sister's hand.

"Oh my." said Jessica, shuddering. She put her arm around Karla and they walked three abreast down the path. "I'm sure James is just fine. He's probably just stopped off someplace for dinner. You'll see."

***

Morning announced itself not through birdsong, but through Renfrew singing 'Sisters of Mercy' at the top of his lungs. It was bright behind the shades, but a deep chill hung in the air.

Karla shot up from the mattress. "Is he here? Did he come back?"

Jessica already had her jeans and fleece jacket on, and was brushing her hair in the mirror by the door. She said nothing, but Karla could see her face in the mirror, all blank and grim.

"Did he not come?"

Jessica shook her head. A wave of wooziness swept over Karla. She held onto the bedpost to steady herself.

"Renfrew doesn't know yet. James is not going to hear the end of it if he misses the morning chores."

"I will come and help." Karla scrambled out of the bed where Izzie still slumbered. She pulled on her jeans. "We will let my sister sleep."

Karla fought back tears but failed. Her thoughts went straight to the worst case scenarios: bounty hunters or her father. Uno e lo stesso—one and the same. Dribbles poured down her cheeks.

"Oh, hon. I'm sure he's fine. He's probably still up there looking, trying extra hard to find you."

"I just pray he's alright. Our father, he is a monster."

Chapter 12: Joshua

I laid atop the piano, staring out of the pit, watching the sky yellow and darken. I pondered schemes for getting out of this freaking hole. The walls were nearly vertical and at least a hundred feet deep, about half of it solid rock impervious to spell craft.

A ladder wouldn't work. I wouldn't have the strength to lift one long enough. Daunted by the task, I turned my attentions to converting the piano into a shelter. Maybe if I slept on it, an idea would come.

I had in mind a cozy tent like the three-person dome Dad bought when he thought he could convince Mom to go camping with us. Fat chance of that. I don't know what he was thinking. A weedy flower bed was the closest Mom ever got to an untamed wilderness.

An air mattress with a cozy sleeping bag completed my vision, but just as I geared my mind up for Weaving, I found myself on the mattress in that church basement, woolen blanket prickly against my bare skin.

The transition startled me, particularly when the pain came roaring back into my ribs and beneath, into my shins and shoulder where that bastard Mark had struck me with his cricket bat.

I wondered what had dragged me back from Root. I sure as hell hadn't experienced any upwelling of hope of the sort that had sucked me back from prior visits. What did I possibly have to look forward to here?

I was glad it was dark. I did not want to see those blood-spattered walls and that filthy mattress. At least in the darkness I could pretend I was somewhere else.

I heard some footsteps tramping over a hardwood floor overhead. Some faint music. No rumbles. I wondered if I had slept through Sunday. Root had a way of making me lose all track of earthly time.

I noticed no wheezes or raspy breathing emanating from the cell across the hall. I took that as good news. Maybe Linval's asthma had eased.

"Hey Linval!"

He did not respond.

I got up from the mattress and lurched over to the line of light that seeped beside the door frame. My insides felt like a bear had tried to claw its way out of my ribcage. I peeked outside. Linval's door was triple latched, just as before.

"Linval?" I repeated, louder. "You there?"

There was a tray beside the door with some dried up hunks of bread and a Dixie cup full of water. I dunked the bread and took a bite. It was decent bread, even though it was stale, but I had surprisingly little appetite.

I felt a stiffness in my lower abdomen, a deep, dull pain that turned into shredded razor blades every time I shifted. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. Something was terribly wrong inside me. Maybe it was a broken rib. Maybe something more.

I settled back down onto the mattress. Some faint chanting and singing started up in another part of the building. It was some kind of service, I supposed. Nice to know this was a functioning church with actual parishioners. It meant there was some hope of being discovered by someone who might not approve of torturing young men in dungeons.

When the chanting ceased, I heard more footsteps clomping overhead, in bunches this time. A door squealed. Feet descended creaky stairs. Another door, more footsteps, another set of stairs. One last door opened and someone came treading down the hall.

I wrapped the pillow around my wounded mid-section, bracing myself for another round of beatings. I stared down at the flimsy plastic plate on the floor, wondering how I might convert it into a weapon.

The bolts slid open, one by one.

"James? Are you awake?" It was Joshua. He spoke through the door.

"Y-yeah."

"Don't worry. I made Mark wait down the hall. I'm sorry we had to hit you. But it was the only way we could get you to understand that we really, really want you to cooperate. Do you understand?"

I grunted.

"I'm opening the door now and I promise, I only want to talk."

"Where's Edmund?"

"He's... upstairs. Don't worry, he won't be coming down. He's agreed to wash his hands of these... proceedings. I'm taking full responsibility for recovering his daughters... and for your welfare. You need to realize that we have no intention of keeping you here against your will... once we get the information we're seeking we will let you free. You do understand that, don't you?"

"I... guess. What happened to Linval?"

"He... uh... had a medical issue."

"Is he gonna be alright?"

"It was a chronic condition. I assure you, he is in good hands."

A key slipped into the lock. The door swung open. Joshua stood there in a vested suit with a ruffled cravat. He had a wide-brimmed hat in one hand and a stout, black umbrella in the other.

He reached back and flicked on the light. "Oh my, you look so pale. But at least you're up and about. I was getting worried. Every time we came down you were sleeping and we couldn't rouse you. I feared you might have fallen into a stupor."

"How long was I out of it?"

"A good day and a half. It was Saturday when we last spoke."

"Crap! You mean, it's Monday already?"

"Yes."

I sighed deeply. "That means I'm missing work."

"Oh? Where are you employed?"

"Um... it's down south a ways," I said, taking care not to be too specific.

"Edinburgh?"

"No. A bit farther down."

"England?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"How curious. I would have assumed that you lived in the area, considering you were interested in Karla. How did you two manage to correspond?"

"We didn't."

Joshua expelled a huff of impatience. "You're still not being very forthcoming with me, James. That does not bode well for my patience." He twirled his umbrella in the flat of his palm.

"Listen, I haven't spoken to Karla in over a month. It's just... I was in town... and I thought I might try to look her up. I didn't know exactly how to get in touch with her."

"But somehow you knew she was staying with Linval?"

"No. I wasn't sure. It was a shot in the dark. Even coming up here was just a hunch."

"Would a young man named Sturgis Boyle have anything to do with this hunch of yours?"

I tried keeping my face blank, hoping to feign ignorance. I could tell by Joshua's deepening smile that I had failed. I would have made a horrible poker player.

"It's alright. We already know he was one of Linval's friends."

"Was?"

"Is. Was. Figure of speech. We found a motorcycle hidden in the shrubbery, registered under Sturgis's name. Would you know anything about this? Was Sturgis in the area the day we visited Linval?"

"I didn't know him. Honest."

"How did you get to Glasgow?"

"I took a train."

"You know nothing about this motorcycle?"

"No."

Joshua's smile collapsed. His head shook slowly. The way he kept rolling that umbrella in his hands, I waited for him to wind up and start wailing on me.

"I'm disappointed in you, James. Here I am, prepared to let you walk and I have to listen to you lie to me, in a house of faith no less."

"Listen. I don't know where Karla went. Honest. I wish I did. But I don't. I don't think she even wanted me to know."

"Oh? Did you two have a falling out?"

"Not really. I don't think she was ever that interested in me. We'd had absolutely no contact in over a month."

"But she does care for you, or... cared. We know that."

"How?"

He shrugged. "Oh, various writings on scraps of paper and notebooks. Your name, scratched and scrawled in the bottoms of drawers. Girlish things."

"Really?"

"But let me get this straight. You wanted to be her boyfriend, but you believed she turned you down?"

"Yeah. Kinda. That's sort of how I feel."

"So you were basically stalking her when you went to Linval's?"

His smile crept back into his lips. He rolled his umbrella, gazing into me. His eyes were a washed out blue that made them look bleached. They seemed to lack for something. I'm not sure exactly what I was looking for, but whatever it was, it wasn't there.

"You know, James? I do believe you're being honest about not knowing where she is. I can see the pain in your face when you speak of her. Your eyes have such longing. They're so bereft of hope." He sighed. "I can have a talk with Edmund. If we let you go, you will need to assure us that you can remain discreet about this whole affair. You must leave Scotland. And you mustn't mention this to anyone. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Um. Sure." I didn't believe his offer, but I nodded eagerly. "I won't say a thing."

The worried way he looked back at me, told me that he didn't quite believe me, either.

"Very well," he said, his expression gone sour. "I'll speak to him. I'm so sorry you had to get tied up in all of this. But I'm sure you can understand how it might feel to be a father whose daughters have gone missing."

He reached for the door and started to leave, but hesitated and turned back around.

"Tell me, what do you know of this... Liminality business? Have you experienced it yourself?" He scanned my face. His smile coiled up tighter. "You have, haven't you?"

"Maybe. What about you?"

"Me?" He chortled. "Heavens no! I've always perceived it as a mass hallucination, influenced perhaps by the infernal. The malady had stricken Edmund's first wife, and his father-in-law as well. He was hoping his daughters might avoid it, but alas, the tendency seems to dominate that side of his family."

"What does he care? He treats them like shit."

Joshua raised his umbrella. "You will show respect!"

"Sorry. But it's true."

"You people don't understand. Flesh is temporary. It is almost superfluous in the grand scheme of things. The soul, on the other hand, is eternal. It must be protected at all costs."

"So life means nothing? Then why do you bother? Why don't you go jump off a bridge?"

Joshua frowned. "Now, now. I never said life had no worth. Life is a time for doing the Lord's work."

"Karla says she was abused."

He rolled his eyes. "Karla was a difficult child. She was recalcitrant."

"So that gave him the right to molest—?"

"That is a lie! She told you lies! Edmund did not spare the rod, but... that was all. Those girls challenged him. Can't you understand? He was trying to save their souls."

"Yeah, right."

"She was suicidal, James! And suicide is an unforgivable, condemnable sin!"

I sat up straight, wincing as my ribs crackled, gazing past him at the silent room across the hall.

"And what about murder?"

Chapter 13: Night Sounds

Alone again and in the dark, I don't know when or why I wobbled back to Root, but I was here and grateful for the relief. I tried to imagine a scenario where Edmund and Joshua set me free from that basement cell, but I just couldn't. The criminal nature of their deeds had them in a bind. There was no way they could let me out alive without consequences. If I wanted out, I would have to rely on my own wits. The cavalry wasn't busting through that door.

My woolgathering was disturbed by the faint rumbles and moans of some distant Reapers. The bottom of the pit, vast as it was, suddenly seemed not only exposed, but confining. I abandoned my idea of weaving a shelter. I was determined to get myself out of that hole.

I set to work, first by illuminating patches around the circumference of the pit to fill its shadowy recesses with light. That made things much less creepy. I then wove myself another hoodie and a pair of jeans, this time with a more careful and deliberate weaving that I hoped would be more resistant to the spells of the Dusters. I took the time, as well, to make a weapon—a samurai sword just like the one I had used to battle that old, scarred Reaper. It seemed like a good choice for me—light, maneuverable and a potent focuser of my will.

One by one, I carved stairs and handholds angling up the wall of the pit. It all went smoothly until the roots transitioned to solid bedrock. I tried to get the stone to respond to my spells but I couldn't even alter its shade. I had to change tact.

Manipulating my sword like the magic wand that it was, I expanded the topmost step into a platform that jutted like a balcony over the lumen of the pit. And then I grew a stalk out to support its base, severed the balcony and cantilevered it out from the pit wall, extending it slowly but surely in stretches and spurts.

The contraption looked absurd, like something out of Dr. Seuss. The dang thing started to tilt and teeter and nearly dropped me back into the bottom of the pit. I hung on and ascended into the open air, leaping across the gap to reach solid ground.

I raised my sword in the air, victorious. Let those Dusters come at me now and the outcome might be different. I don't know why I held such a grudge. Maybe I just took offense to the smug and inglorious way they had treated me, like some errant sheep strayed from its paddock.

Horizons dark, the night was full-blown, lit by a moon with too many spots. I could see the dark notch in the hills that was the canyon where the Dusters had nabbed me. I scanned the sky to get my bearings, glad to see no mantid wings silhouetted against the stars. I half expected to see giant moths infesting the sky.

What now? Victoria had wanted me to find a better place to await her return, a pit less accessible to mantids. I wasn't sure why it mattered. I supposed it would be good to find a pit that was a little less waterlogged and provided easier access and egress. Something not quite as deep would do.

That first sinkhole from which we had reached the surface would be ideal. The tunnels connecting it to the rest of Root were mangled and constricted, thanks to me. There was water there, but not too much. But most importantly, that was the last place in this world I had seen Karla and Isobel, so it was the most likely place to find them should they reappear.

Maybe it was perverse of me to wish for Karla to be immersed in utter misery, but that was the only she could maintain her connection with Root. It was my last hope of ever seeing her again. I was much too lonely and selfish to wish her the best—a life without the Liminality. Without me.

The pit of my stomach tightened. What if she was actually doing well wherever she was? What if she missed me only a little bit, not enough to drive her into a full-blown depression? And what if she didn't miss me at all? What then, was left for me to hope for? Frelsi? Should I stake my future on some sketchy place full of souls who had engineered their own deaths?

The day's encounters had dashed my hopes for carefree exploration of these upper reaches. Before the Dusters jumped me, I had actually enjoyed my foray into the canyon. It had been quite the adventure. But now I knew I couldn't just wander at will. They would be watching and waiting to bind me up and toss me back into a pit.

Was there no place in this universe where a guy could be free? Where he didn't have to constantly worry about extermination? Flesh or soul, it didn't matter. No existence was safe. Not even death was liberating.

Tired of worrying and wallowing, I started to walk, my body shifting into auto-pilot the way it often did when my head was in a muddle like this. Walking had always been the best way for me to clear my cobwebs, to gain the kind of release that was simply not possible from staring at the same four walls all day.

At least I had the plains to myself. The night belonged to me. A slight wind had started to flow after a day of stillness. It brought life to the sparse shrubs and trees that dotted the landscape.

Westward, Victoria had said, was where she had the found the damaged tunnels, so westward I roamed, using that weird, speckled moon as a guide. I hiked along the gently undulating barrens, parallel to the hills.

I crossed little streams, shrunken in their beds, silvery in the moonlight. I veered around pits of every size from stovepipes to hockey rinks, treading lightly over crusts, like snow-covered crevasses, that had not yet collapsed, evident only from cracks and the hollow padding of my bare feet.

Foul emanations spewed from some holes. Others sucked clean air inward. The underworld had its own active ventilation system, as if it were a living breathing entity.

I thought I should have no trouble recognizing that first sinkhole. Maybe the ladder would still be in place, but if not, the little waterfall and the overhanging ledge were quite distinctive. The problem was, I must have passed dozens of pits in the span of a mile. There was no way I could find it wandering along some random transect.

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, waiting 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 use 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.

Someone had come by while I was in Root. I panicked a little bit. What if it had been Joshua come to turn me loose? What if my unconsciousness had deterred him and I had missed my opportunity for freedom?

But then again, what if Edmund and Mark had come by to interrogate and beat me. Maybe my unresponsiveness had protected me.

I don't know how they could believe I had anything else to tell them. I was already at the point of garnishing the truth with the lies I thought they wanted to hear, lies more believable than the truth. If they squeezed this stone any more, they would extract only more lies.

What if they had no intention of freeing me? Ever. That was hard to think about. But it made sense. Keeping me locked up, kept me silent. I might only incriminate them if they turned me loose. They had every reason to worry. I had every attention of exposing their crimes to the authorities.

Maybe they wanted me dead, but no one wanted to do the dirty work. Gutless bastards. Maybe they were hoping for divine intervention, praying that God would erase me from this basement, and out of their consciences.

There were some odd sounds overhead—someone running back and forth. Quick, little steps. Children.

A door squealed. Feet pattered down the stairs. The door at the end of the hall pushed open.

"Down here!" It was the voice of a small boy. "Sarah'll never find us in here. She's a scaredy cat."

"But my dad says we're not allowed in the basement."

"Oh, come on, Nate! It looks like Hogwarts."

Hard soles clapped the slate flooring and echoed as they ran down to my end of the hall.

I pressed my face against the gap in the door and there they were—two boys who looked to be about seven or eight years old, wearing dress shirts, clip-on bow ties and matching blue blazers. Their hair was buzzed to their skin above their ears with just a tuft on top.

"Blimey, it's an actual dungeon!" said the taller of the two boys. He wiggled the door that had confined Linval, finding it locked.

"It's creepy down here, Joe. Let's go back up."

"Hi there," I said through the crack, my voice all raspy and quavering.

The boys shrieked and leaped back, grabbing onto each other. I was afraid they would run away, but they stayed put.

"We're very sorry, sir! Didn't mean to disturb you. We were just playing some hide and seek."

"It's okay. I don't mind."

"He sounds American," said the smaller boy.

"Are you? An American?"

"Sure am. My name's James. I'm from Florida."

"What are you doing in that... that dungeon?"

"Well you see, some bad people locked me inside here for no good reason."

"Bad people? Here?"

"Yes. He's a man who should never be allowed inside a church. Can you help me? Can you unlock this door?"

The boys looked at each other. The smaller boy shook his head.

"We shouldn't."

"But I saw you trying to open that other door. Why not mine?"

"I don't know," said the taller boy. "What if... you're a monster? Trying to trick us?"

"Monster? No way! I'm just a kid. A big kid from America."

"Do you think really think he's a monster, Joe?"

"Or worse, maybe he's... a hun!"

"A what?" I said, perplexed.

"A Rangers supporter!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I can go fetch my Dad," said the smaller of the two boys.

"No!" said the other boy. "Do you want to get us both in trouble? We're not supposed to be down here. Mum said to never go down those stairs! Remember?"

"Listen guys. I know this is a scary place. If I were you, even I would be afraid to open this door. But I'm hurt really bad. I need a doctor. Can you please find a phone and call the police for me? There's probably some special number like... 911?"

"Do you mean 999?"

"Sure. I mean if that's the number here. Can you call it? Please? Just tell them there's somebody hurt in the basement of this church?"

The boys looked at each other. "Mum says, I'm not allowed to play with the phone."

"This isn't playing. This is real. Like... what if your house was burning down? What would you do?"

"Then I would just tell my Mum. She would know what to do."

"But what if the house is filling with smoke? You're trapped in your room. And your mom's at the store."

"Let's get out of here, Nate. This guy's making me scared."

"Wait! I'm sorry. I'm just saying, sometimes calling the police is the right thing to do. Even for a little kid. This is one of those times. You don't have to tell them your name. Just call and say there's a guy in the basement of this church and he's hurt."

"Mum says 999 is only for emergencies. She would tan my bottom if I—."

"But this is an emergency! Please! There are bad people here. They've been hurting me. Just call and tell them to come look for me."

"Let's get out of here, Nate. Let's go back upstairs."

"You won't get in trouble. I promise. Once they get here and let me out, they'll see and you'll be heroes. Please! Call 999 for me?"

"Let's go, Nate!"

The smaller boy hesitated. "But Joe, this man needs help. He says he's hurt." He reached up and slid one of the bolts free on the door.

"Nate, no! Don't touch that!" The other boy slid it back into place.

Nate, defiant, reached up and wiggled the door knob. "No, Nate! I said don't!" The taller boy shrieked and slapped his hand away. He yanked him away from the door and shoved him down the hall.

"We're going! Now! Upstairs. Don't you dare say anything to anybody. Especially not Sarah. She'll tattle. I just know it."

I pressed my forehead against the door, grimacing as waves of pain rolled up from the ocean of agony at my core.

"Nate, Joe! Please call them. Call the police. Please! You don't have to give them your name. Just tell them I'm here."

Their voices retreated. The door at the end of the passageway slammed shut.

Chapter 16: Dragons

After milking and after breakfast, Isobel joined Karla and together they handled all of James' regular Monday chores. They scrubbed cheese rinds to rid them of mold, bleached and hosed out the curdling tanks, swept out the barns, rounded up strays.

James' absence cast a pall over every task. Karla went through the motions in silence. Every attempted conversation was torture. She just wanted to curl up somewhere alone and think.

At lunch, the others tried reassuring her with various, innocuous explanations for his tardiness, the most popular theory being that the old motorcycle had broken down.

"I wouldn't have ridden that whiny piece of junk as far as Abergavenny, never mind Glasgow," said Harry.

"I'd a done it, in my day," said Renfrew. "For these fine ladies." He raised his voice and sang: "I would walk a thousand miles and I would walk a thousand more—."

"Ren, please!" said Helen. "Anything, but that bloody song!"

"If only he wasn't such a Luddite and gotten himself a mobile phone," said Jessica. "All of this would be put to rest."

"Why couldn't the boy spare 50p for a payphone?" said Renfrew. "He could have called and reversed the charges."

"Because you pay him a pittance," said Jessica. "He's probably saving it for the petrol to get home."

Afterwards, washing dishes, Izzie sidled up to her and whispered. "It's obvious, La. He's in Root. He went up there to find us but we're down here. So, he's sad. He'll come back, soon as he fades, you'll see."

Slogging through afternoon chores, the ordeal continued. Between the endless banter among the staff, Renfrew's tale-spinning and Izzie's mindless jibber-jabber, she had been unable to string two coherent thoughts together all day. She was desperate for a few moments of peace, a place where she could be alone with her thoughts.

That evening, while Isobel was in her glory, guiding goats in and out of their stanchions, Karla excused herself and slipped out of the barn. She bumped into Helen outside and told her she wasn't feeling well and would be skipping dinner. Before Isobel even noticed she was gone, she had rounded the barn and was hiking up into the hills.

She found a place far off the path, behind a hedgerow, where neither Isobel nor Jessica would be able to find her. She lay down on a patch of moss tucked between some stony outcrops and stared up at the rose-blushed wisps of cloud lacing the sky.

Karla watched the colors change until the sun had set and only a soft glow persisted in the west. The first stars were starting to pop and a chill descended. It was going to be another frosty night.

She ran her options through her head and found only two, only one of which was tenable. The safest and most sensible choice would be to take Isobel and escape to Rome. James would either find his own way, or she would have to learn how to forget him. Alternatively, she could take a bus back up to Glasgow and find him.

Staying put was not an option. If Papa had gotten to James it was only a matter of time before he learned of Sturgie and Brynmawr and traced their path down to Cwm Gwyrdd Farm.

As much as she missed Rome, she didn't miss it half as much as James. It was clear that her heart could not handle abandoning him. It would cause her to give up on life again, she could see it coming. There was only one path ahead, and it led to Glasgow. There was no other way around it.

But what to do with Isobel? She would probably insist on tagging along, but that would be much too dangerous. But then again, Karla couldn't just take off and leave her behind in Brynmawr. Even if Renfrew and the staff would put up with her, what if Papa came by looking for them?

Karla wondered if she could come to an arrangement with Helen's lady friends—the Wiccans. Isobel seemed to like them and they were the type of folks who might be receptive to a less than orthodox guardianship arrangement, considering the stories they had shared of their own tumultuous adolescences. Still, it seemed a heavy imposition.

But leaving Isobel with anyone was a risk. What if she spilled the sordid details of life under Edmund Raeth? Someone might be tempted to bring the police into the situation and then almost anything could happen, not much of it good. If past experience was any guide, Papa's public reputation easily trumped the word of a pre-pubescent girl.

She felt boxed into a corner, trapped in a lose-lose situation. Every choice presented problems.

Impossibly, the moss surrounding her began to lengthen. Inch-high, a foot high, it enveloped her and blocked her view of the horizon. A flash of hope illuminated a third, unexpected option.

She kept the implications locked in the back of her mind, refusing to let them into the forefront of her consciousness. Despite her efforts to stay neutral, an involuntary smile crept into her lips.

It required no effort whatsoever to sustain the transition. She just kept her mind blank and let it sweep over her. The wave would take her where she needed to go. It was just like surfing.

It had been so long since she had been visited. It was like welcoming a long lost lover. She closed her eyes and tried to stifle her excitement.

***

When Root finally wrapped itself around her soul and consumed her, Karla was appalled to find herself enmeshed inside a tight pod, deep in a smelly tunnel with Reapers grumbling about. The gall of it! How could she backslide after all she had been through? She had paid her dues. She would not stand for such an insult.

As her rage mounted, the strands confining her sensed her aggravation. They swelled and stiffened to counter her. But that only infuriated Karla more. Spread eagle, she pushed her hands and feet against the sides of the pod with all her might and screamed.

The pod alternately contracted and stretched and then exploded into bits. She tumbled onto the tunnel floor, bounced and rolled against the wall.

"Don't you dare touch me!" she snarled at a curious patch of roots that had already uncoiled and begun to probe at her skin. Her words were enough to make them flinch and retract.

Karla got up and looked at the shriveled remnants of her former cage strewn about. She scraped together a small pile of stunned fragments and stared at them until they started to organize and transform themselves. Slowly, under her guidance, they became a calf-length, slitted poplin skirt—sturdy and practical. Another handful, she took and reshaped into a long-sleeved chambray blouse.

She didn't bother with bra or undies. To her chagrin, her little sister already possessed a larger bosom for Heaven's sake.

This particular stretch of tunnel was devoid of pods. In fact, it seemed a dead end. Up slope, the tunnel pinched off and the threads comprising the walls had turned dark and shaggy. It had obviously been some time since a Reaper had passed this way.

That seemed initially like a stroke of luck, but she realized that she was standing below the place where she and James had battled the old Reaper, where he had squeezed the tunnel closed to ensnare it before conjuring a maelstrom of shredded roots that send it tumbling into an abyss of his creation.

In the intervening weeks, the roots had been busy healing the gaping wound he had left behind. The result was a mass of fibrous scar tissue much like that which would form in a person after a shotgun blast.

She walked to the blunt end and tried pushing through the clot. The roots here were woody and inert, having sacrificed their flexibility and mutability for structure. It would take her forever to ram through, and if this was the bottom of the rebuilt area, there was likely hundreds of meters of scarred root to negotiate before she reached the undamaged section.

She doubled back a ways and pushed through a more pliant wall below, hoping to traverse the interstitial spaces to an undamaged tunnel system that might lead her back to the surface.

As she popped out, into the next lumen, she could hear a Reaper scraping and moaning down the passage. She didn't linger, wanting nothing to do with the creature. She crossed the tunnel and pushed through the next wall, threading through the tangles until she found another tunnel.

This one proved more pleasant. There were pods overhead, but it was quiet and she could smell no Reapers. She descended to a branching just below to see which tunnel looked more promising.

It felt good to again feel the springy cords of the tunnel floor beneath the pads of her bare feet. How many miles of tunnels had she explored in the years she had been visited by Root? And yet it had never occurred to her that there would be more to this place than the subterranean.

She passed through a dark stretch, crowded overhead with pods occupied by simpering souls. She had no qualms about passing souls by without lending a hand. In her experience, few if any desired escape. They had come here to meet Reapers and Reapers they would meet. It was the rare soul who sought freedom and she knew one when she saw one.

Still, it was hard not to feel guilty, knowing that a Reaper would be here before the day was through. The lucky ones would fade before any Reaper reached them. Some would return to find their luck had come due. But the luckiest would never come back, one whiff of Root enough to render them forever grateful for the gift of life.

She reached the junction to find that it connected to a branch that wound down and around to the core where the Reapers made their lairs. She was better off staying in the present tunnel, so she sighed and turned around, going back the way she had come, grimacing at the sound of the sobs and whimpers overhead.

As she left the dark section, she spotted something sparkly in a crevice on the floor. She stooped to pick it up, and it was a diamond earring—a stud mounted on silver, complete with backing.

It had been almost two months since she had worn any jewelry. She couldn't resist. Out of habit, she flicked her head to flip back hair no longer there. As she reached up to find the piercing, a small Reaper slithered out of the gloom from the tunnel ahead, its modest size facilitating its stealth. It hesitated several paces away, as surprised to smell her as she was to see it.

Karla let the earring drop and dove against the tunnel wall, digging and swimming in between strands that, sensing her desperation, tightened. The Reaper belched and launched itself forward. Feelers tickled her bare feet. A tentacle slapped against her calf.

Her frustration surged into fury and the wall invaginated. She fell into the pocket and ripped through the side, scrambling through tangles of strands, working her away up in a direction she hoped would lead to yet another tunnel.

The Reaper took advantage of the tear she had made in the wall and inserted its muzzle, elongating its foreparts into a snout that slithered after her, again taking advantage of the path she was blazing.

Karla sensed the next wall in the dimness just before she butted into it. It curved like the outside of a culvert, surrounding the next passage. As she hacked her way through with the flatted blade of her hand, the Reaper's mouthparts caught up with her. Horny teeth like hatchet blades clamped around her knees.

"Let me go, you mangy thing!"

She dug her nails into its flesh. Her fingers twitched and trembled. Anger, converted to raw energy, flowed from her fingertips and into the Reaper's hide. Its surface sizzled as if scalded by acid. It squealed. Its jaws went flabby and released her knee.

Karla pulled herself the rest of the way through the wall into the adjacent tunnel and rolled to her feet. She ran until she could run no more.

***

The next tunnel system was a confusing mess. Its passages were twisted and tangled, with loops that circled back on themselves, dead ends that forced her to retrace her steps and collapsed ceilings that forced her to lie on her back to wriggle past the obstructions like a spelunker.

There were Reapers about, but she managed to locate a branching that led consistently upward and away from the core. The sweet breezes and the severe narrowing confirmed that she was approaching the surface.

Her knee still ached from the crushing pressure of the Reaper's jaws, but she refused to limp, gritting her teeth with each step.

Light filtered down with an intensity that could not have derived from any glowing roots. This had to be the sun, or at least a sun, beaming down.

Karla pushed through a dusty wall to find herself in a small, dry pit open to the sky. She would need no ladder to climb out of this hole. A loose pile of silt and stone provided a convenient ramp.

She scurried up and out of the pit and gazed across a plain pocked with drought-shrunken ponds, seamed with dry streambeds. Beyond them stretched a range of hills tended by wisps of cloud.

None of it looked familiar. It had been dark when she had last been on the surface. She remembered her friends deciding to walk towards the hills. They certainly looked more inviting than the barren plains behind her.

It was glorious to be free of the Reaper stench and out in the open air. Something acrid and resinous scented the air, not unpleasant at all, like the inside of a cathedral.

She headed for the strips of natural vegetation following the course of an intermittent stream that ran mostly below ground. It was just more pleasant to walk in their shade within earshot of the trickles.

She walked for about an hour and then stopped to splash in a deep spring abutting a ledge of shattered bedrock. The water was tepid from flowing over sun-warmed stone, but it was pure. She raised her dripping face to the gentle breeze to help it dry.

A buzzing object came hurtling in low over the ledge. It was a honeybee the size of a vulture. She looked on in astonishment as it landed on the damp stone and lapped at her footprints. It turned to face her, antennae probing, its throbbing abdomen, revealing a good inch of stinger with each pulse.

She grabbed a stick and backed away, facing the insect. The bee stared back at her and stood its ground. And then it raised its wings, took flight and buzzed past her head, zooming off towards the hills.

She waited for her heart to stop thumping before continuing on. She tried turning the stick into something a little more potent but it insisted on remaining a stick. She should have woven herself a weapon while she had opportunity. Being away from the source of her spell craft made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

She moved more warily when she continued on, watching where she stepped, peering over the side of gullies before she entered them. She had harbored a fear of bees ever she was little and was stung on the lip by a wasp that had gotten caught in her can of aranciata.

She squinted up at the low hanging sun. It seemed too small, perched over those hills, and had a bluish tinge that seemed wrong.

It was time to start looking for a camp site. She wasn't looking forward to spending the night here. She wished she was back in Brynmawr, tucked into that cozy bed with her sister.

Any excitement she had felt at returning to Root was long gone, having had to fight her way out of the tunnels and now finding herself alone in this buggy wilderness. She didn't know what to make of not finding James. Maybe it was a good sign. Maybe he was safe and happy. Or maybe he was dead.

She tried not to think bad thoughts. It would only make the long night to come, that much longer. She wished she had the means to make a fire, not so much for the warmth as for the light and protection. She shuddered to think what giant night creatures roamed in a place like this? Scorpions? Tarantulas?

She was almost inclined to make her way back into a pit where she could at least weave herself a sturdy shelter and some illumination. Reapers were a threat that she knew and could handle. But all bets were off when it came to the unknown.

A movement caught her eye on the horizon. There was some things flying low over the base of the foothills and they were too big to be birds. They looked more like... dragons. It was difficult to gauge their size so far away, but they seemed huge.

Dragons? Was that possible?

She kept walking, determined to find the perfect nook to make camp, preferably some cleft in the stone with three solid walls that would only need to be roofed over with some tree branches. She passed plenty of boulders and shallow ledges, but nothing that met her specifications. She would have to make do with something soon. Once it got dark she wouldn't be able to find her way around.

As the dusk deepened, the dragons retreated across a valley to the flat-topped hills beyond. But one beast veered away from the flock and circled back over the plains. Karla watched, transfixed.

And then she noticed that there was a figure on the creature's back. The dragon had a rider.

She climbed atop a car-sized boulder and waved, trying to capture the attention of the rider. The dragon veered and dove, homing in on her with the speed of a falcon. She had been spotted.

As it neared her, she saw that the creature had two sets of wings: the front set opaque, the hind pair membranous and translucent. It had four legs and two arms, like a centaur.

As it got even closer, she noted the triangular head, the large spines on its arms.

The compound eyes clinched it. It dawned on her that this was no dragon or centaur she was looking at. This was another giant insect—a praying mantis.

As the mantis swooped in, its rider pointed a stick at her. The tip exploded and disgorged looked like a burst of saliva, wheeling towards her head like a pair of liquid bolos. Karla dove behind the boulder, appalled by this rude response to what she had intended as a friendly gesture. Her ire began to rise.

Chapter 17: Mummy

It happened without warning. With a slither and a tumble—a sensation like drifting off to sleep and catching myself falling—I found myself back at the sinkhole, sprawled before Bern's doorstep.

It was my most seamless transition yet into Root. Maybe it was one of those things, like childbirth, that got easier with each repetition. As the barriers between Earth and Root wore down, the junction between existences came to resemble a revolving door.

I tossed back my head and sighed as the pain drained away like water from a bathtub. Coming to Root was better than morphine. Pain existed here, but what happened on Earth tended to stay on Earth and vice-versa.

Bern stood atop his ladder with his back to me. He leaned back against the uppermost rungs, cane hooked on the crook of his elbow. His head poked just above the rim of the sinkhole as he scanned the horizon with a pair of binoculars.

He wore the outrageously shaggy outfit. It made him look like a moldy Sasquatch, his body festooned with branches and leaves and dangly bits like Spanish moss.

He hadn't yet noticed that I had returned, so I whistled to get his attention. Startled, he nearly lost his footing and fell off the ladder. He caught his balance and beamed down at me.

"James! Thought I wouldn't be seeing the likes of you for days, if ever." His expression sobered predictably. It was becoming something of a ritual. "I take your presence to mean the news is not good?"

"Nah. They still got me locked up," I said. "And I'm in pretty bad shape. They really knocked the crap out of me."

I went over to the trickle pouring over the rim of the overhang and let the water wash over me. The water was mild from flowing over sun-warmed bedrock. I scrubbed myself with handfuls of grit, so loosely consolidated under the falls that it was like stepping in quicksand.

"I was just heading out to survey some pits. Would you care to join me?"

"Um... sure. Just let me pull on some clothes." I almost hadn't noticed I was naked again. This was getting so annoying.

"Excellent! With you along, we could do the southeastern quadrant. It's an area I've been avoiding."

I strolled back towards the cottage, shaking the water off my limbs.

"Oh. And your jacket and trousers are inside, folded on your hammock. Though, since we're going out into the open, I might recommend you weave yourself something more concealing."

"Oh? You want me to dress up like you?" I smirked up at him. "You want me to look like a bush?"

"Not necessarily. It wouldn't hurt for you to have a Ghillie suit. But if fashion concerns you, some colors and textures that matched the landscape might be advisable, in case those bug riders are out and about."

There was a bin against the cabin, filled with roots that Bern had harvested and attempted to confine. I gathered some of the escapees and threw together a pair of sand-colored sweat pants and a crude sweatshirt made of a something that came out looking like softened burlap.

I saw my sword propped against the side of the cottage, grabbed it and went up the ladder.

"Sorry, if I made you wait. How long was I gone?"

"Several hours. But no worries. I wasn't expecting you. I dozed away half the day myself. It was quite refreshing. I haven't been sleeping well of late. I have these... nightmares. The pits to the southeast are rather sparse, but I have to admit, I haven't been very thorough. It's an area I've neglected because... well, to be frank, I find it rather spooky. I don't like going there on my own."

"Why? What's there?"

"It's... nothing to worry about, really. I'm sure there's no risk involved. It's just one of my foibles... a phobia. Well, you will see what I mean. Come on."

He set off, flinging his gimpy leg with each stride, leaning heavily on his cane with each stride.

"What happened? Did you hurt your leg again?"

"Oh, I just knocked it up a little when they tossed me in the pit. It's a minor annoyance, really. I'm plenty mobile."

"Is that a problem for you on the other side?"

"My leg? Heavens no. Over there, I'm as fit as a butcher's dog. Last I checked, anyhow. It's been a while since I faded. Well, as fit as any man could be being cooped up in solitary confinement. That is, not very. But there's no problem with the leg. That's only a problem here. It's a curse really, that it's always the left one I injure."

Bern angled towards the hills away from the canyon where the mantis riders had accosted me. The pits were drier here and not quite as deep. We bypassed several that were already marked with small cairns, stopping only when we found a narrow pit that bore no such marking.

"How about I let you do the climbing?" said Bern. He pulled a haversack off h is shoulder and pulled out what looked like a rope ladder, but only had four rungs.

I looked over the edge of the pit. The floor was a good thirty feet down.

"Isn't that ladder a bit short?"

"It's extensible," said Bern.

He slipped a pair of metal hooks into the looped ends and jammed their points into a crack in the bedrock. When he let the ladder dangle over the rim, the bottommost rung and risers replicated themselves until they touched bottom.

"Pretty nifty, Bern," I said. "You'll have to teach me how to do that."

"Teach you? Please."

I climbed down, although I felt a little foolish at the bottom. There was nothing down here but slabs of rock covered with dust. There were no tunnels visible, no exposed roots.

"What am I looking for down here?"

"Any signs of activity. Articles of clothing. Heaven forbid, bones."

I did my due diligence, checking out every nook and corner before heading back up the ladder. Thankfully, there were no bones.

"Nothing," I said. "No sign that any human's ever set foot in this one."

"I figured as much," said Bern. "But it was worth a look. It's good to be thorough." He propped his cane over his shoulder and sniffed the wind.

"My, but the breeze is lively today. There's a scent on the wind, I don't know where it's coming from, but it's like lavender."

Bern had already a small cairn and had made a notation on an oblong object that looked like a cross between a notepad and a slate. He wrote with a sharpened twig and swiped his finger to erase.

I hauled up his ladder and slung it over my shoulder. It refused to retract until Bern came over and gave it a tap.

***

We did three more pits along a transect that took us to a gully that drained the foothills. None bore any signs of human activity, never mind Lille. And only one seemed connected to the tunnel systems below.

The relief of the foothills here was less dramatic here than at the canyon I had attempted to follow. The slope eased gently up to a terrace and then steepened, swooping up and over a rounded peak.

Everything was dry now, but there was evidence of some massive flooding in the past: piles of driftwood, flats of cracked mud, ripples in the packed sand.

We must have gone a half mile without seeing a pit, yet Bern kept walking. He kept staring at the hillside, nervous. He took my arm.

"Come. I want to show you something."

He pulled me over to a bank of debris that had collected against the wall of the gully.

His hand shaking, he pointed at something withered and dusty protruding from the sediments. It was a human foot, its skin tanned like leather, like a mummy.

"A body?"

"Not just a body," said Bern, creeping forward. Beads of sweat studded his brow.

As we got closer I could see the outline of a human form—a woman—partially embedded in the silt.

"The eyes! Look at the eyes."

A flap of mud encrusted hair covered half the mummy's face, but one eye stared outward, unblinking. There was life in there. As still as that face remained, so absent of awareness, I could tell there was a consciousness buried deep inside there somewhere.

I wondered if that was how my body looked on Earth, when my soul was roaming around Root. This person was in another place, and it looked like she had been there a long time.

It bothered me the way a flap of muddy hair hung in front of her face bothered me. It was undignified and pathetic. I went over and reached down, clearing away some of the silt encasing her head.

"Don't get too close! It's alive."

"What's she gonna do? Bite me?"

"One never knows."

I smoothed her hair back from her brow, revealing eyes that were sunken into deep pits, but somehow remained clear and moist, focused softly on the middle distance.

Her hair was bleached pale brown from the sun, like coffee with milk. Beneath the soil it had remained jet black. The grey skin on her cheekbones stretched tight, revealing the bony structure beneath. They bore faded markings—pigmented striations. She was a Duster. I wondered what had happened that had put her in such a state.

"Gah!" said Bern, hopping back, his face contorted in a panic.

"What's wrong?" I said.

"Sh-sh-she blinked."

I hadn't even noticed, but I wasn't too concerned. "Well, how else is she going to keep the dust out of her eyes?"

"Such nastiness! Now you know why I have nightmares?"

"But she's just a person, Bern. She's human. Just look at her."

Bern sighed. "Whatever you say. There are more of the bloody things strewn about further up this wash. I dream of them rising and coming after me in the night like bloody zombies. I thought it might be helpful to come back and face my fears. I was wrong."

"Bern, it's okay. Nothing's coming after you. Look at her face, how peaceful she looks. She's in a better place. And it looks like she's been there a long, long time."

I brushed her hair back out of her eyes, but it kept flopping back. I peeled it back and weighed down her locks it down with a rock.

"I'm not the best hairdresser. But now, if she wants, she can have a better view."

"Let's get out of here," said Bern. "The sun's getting low. The Dusters will be out soon. We can hit a few more pits on the way back."

We turned back along a route that swung a little wider and followed a parallel transect back towards the sinkhole.

The first pit was little more than a dimple in the sand that didn't even require a ladder to survey. The next one was humongous, nearly as large as the one the Dusters had deposited me, but it was bone dry apart from a little dampness in one corner. Several tunnels converged here. A steady breeze flooded into them. At their threshold, I found some markings in the dust.

"Footprints!" I called up to Bern. "Bunches of them."

"Are they fresh?"

They seemed a little weathered by wind and time. "Not very," I said. "But they all seem to lead out of the tunnels. Only out. Looks like this place gets a lot of traffic."

But apart from the prints, there were no other signs of human activity, no weavings or detritus of any sort. I went back up the ladder to find Bern feverishly annotating his pad. He had already constructed an impressive cairn topped with a knob of rose-tinged quartz.

"We should come back to this one. If I was in Lille's situation, I could see myself being tempted to travel beneath."

"You think she might have gone back to Luthersburg?"

"No bloody way. She'd sooner lie down with those mummies than go back to Luther. But she's comfortable in the tunnels, so who knows? A man can only hope."

A movement caught my eye across the plains, a tiny figure in the distance, walking along the strip of greenery flanking a stream bed.

"There's someone out there!"

He looked up from his pad. "Human?"

"Looks that way. I think it's a girl! Looks like she's wearing a skirt."

I waved my arms over my head, but it was a futile gesture. She had her back turned, as she strolled off towards the hills.

"Is it... Victoria?" said Bern.

"If we angle in, we can catch up to her, come on!" I started trotting. Bern followed as best he could, struggling with his gimpy leg.

"Eyes to the sky, son. I think I just saw something swoop low over the hills, and it wasn't a bird."

We gained ground steadily. When we got a little closer, I tried shouting, but the wind was in my face, and she was still too far off to hear.

"Bugs! Over the foothills! Drop to the ground!"

I dove behind a bush and peered through its branches. Four mantids traversed the hills in short hopping flights from butte to butte, crossing canyons. And then, a single mantid spun away from the group and made a bee line for the plains, heading directly for the walker.

"Oh crap. It's going after her!"

"Stay down," said Bern. "They won't harm her. They'll probably just take her and stuff her back into one of these pits. We need only watch where they go."

But there was something too familiar about that loose gait, the bob of the head with each step. My brain tried to dissuade me, but my heart knew otherwise.

"That's Karla, Bern!"

"You sure?" He was on his knees, acting like a bush. I took off sprinting, swinging my sword.

"Positive!"

Karla had climbed atop a boulder, and for some bizarre reason was waving to the Duster, both arms high over her head. The mantis came diving down, a mane of long, stringy hair trailing behind its rider like the tail of a comet.

The rod extended. A whirling set of bolos came spinning out.

"No!"

I burst to my feet and sprinted towards her.

"No James. It's not wise. Let them take her."

I ignored him and kept on running. Karla leaped off the boulder just before the bolos struck. They glanced off the stone where she had stood and went winging into the shrubbery, raising a flurry of leaves.

I kept on running as fast as my bare feet would take me. Bern hobbled after me, with surprising speed for a man with one good leg.

I was only a hundred meters off. The mantis rider came around and harried Karla, playing cat and mouse with her around the periphery of the boulder. Spells erupted from the rod. A small tree exploded into a boiling cloud of dust. Some of these shots were more than liquid bolos. She was shooting to kill.

Karla dashed from beneath the boulder's overhang, sprinting across the flat towards a jumble of rock slabs and boulders with cavities beneath offering refuge.

But then she spotted me. Her eyes went all wide and she swerved away from the caves, dodging through a sparse grove of scrawny willows to reach me.

"No!" I shouted, all out of breath. "Get under cover!"

The mantis landed briefly on the boulder and then took off after her. Fifty meters separated me from Karla. I raised my sword, my heart nearly galloping out of my chest.

The Duster's rod came up again. An angry looking blob of glowing on its tip and came flying out, casting appendages that whipped out in every direction like lizard's tongues as it flew. One pseudopod latched onto Karla's thing and the others sprang into her, wrapping around her torso and dropping her as if she had been shot through the heart.

A powerful rage boiled up in me. I screamed.

The mantis slowed to a hover, hanging in the air directly over where Karla had fallen. And its rider had finally spotted me.

Her rod swung up and pointed at me.

"Fuck you, bitch!" I pointed my sword at her, but all it did at first was quiver like a divining rod.

Another glob of energy came blasting out of the rider's stick and wheeled towards my head. I ducked just in time, but Bern came hobbling up behind me and caught the full brunt right in his chest. It exploded into his Ghillie suit, stripped it of foliage. He groaned and collapsed. The viscous mass drew tightly around his limbs like a constrictor.

The sword yanked me to my feet and pulled my arm straight as if its steel had been caught in the field of a powerful magnet. An unseen force poured out, concentrating in the grove of willows. A rumbling grew as they as they corkscrewed out of the ground, shooting up rapidly and thickening, darkening, transforming into a row of hemlocks like the ones that used to grow across the stream from our old house in Ohio.

The mantis pitched and yawed to evade the surging trees. It smacked into the crown of the tallest, tossing its rider from her saddle. She tumbled through the branches, landing hard against the rocks.

The mantis pin-balled into another tree, fluttered free of the branches and recovered its balance before it could crash into the ground. It turned and flew rider-less back into foothills tinted purple by the setting sun.

Chapter 18: Urszula

I hurtled headlong into the grove, careening through a chaos of tilted slabs of hardened soil, broken branches, willows dislodged and uprooted by the giant hemlocks. Karla writhed in the gravel, her arms and legs ensnared tightly in cords of pulsing gel.

Her face alit when she saw me coming for her. "James!"

I tripped and stumbled, skittering across the gravel on my knees, crawling the last few feet to her side. I crouched over her, my eyes inches from hers, disbelieving.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. I just can't move. This stuff... it's squishing me."

I tugged at her binds, but they slithered and melted away from my fingers, snapping free of my grip.

Our eyes caught, her pupils penetrating. Chills went swarming through me. I couldn't believe I was here beside her.

I swooped down and kissed her, swimming in the scent of her hair, her breath hot against my cheek. "I missed you so much," I mumbled, sobbing.

"Are you alright?" she said, as my tears spilled onto her cheek. "I mean, on the other side?"

I sat up and sighed. "Your father has me. He's got me locked up."

Something died in her eyes. "Where?"

"I don't know. Some church basement somewhere."

"But where? Glasgow?"

"I'm not sure. He drugged me. The place... it's like a dungeon. What about you? I hope you're safe?"

"We are in Brynmawr. At Renfrew's farm."

"Oh my God! Really? You mean, if I had just stayed put—?"

"Yes."

"Fuck!"

Something groaned and rustled at the base of one of the giant hemlocks.

"That creature!" said Karla. "It's alive. Help me get this gunk off of me."

"She got Bern, too. He's back there, somewhere."

"I'm right behind you," said Bern, about ten paces back.

"Are you okay?"

"You worry about Karla; I can take care of myself."

I took the point of my sword and worked it carefully under one of the strands. It sliced through without much resistance, but the severed ends immediately re-annealed.

I repeated the action, this time grabbing on before it could melt back to together. I unwound several feet of it, freeing Karla's arm.

When it started to wind back around her, I slashed it free. The severed segment whipped around like a headless snake before disintegrating into ashes.

"Something tells me this stuff isn't made of roots."

"These creatures," said Karla. "What are they?"

I peeled the rest of the goop from Karla and tossed it onto a bush. It slithered away and slinked off into the shadows.

Bern came hobbling up, his Ghillie suit denuded of leaves, looking like a plucked chicken. A thick cummerbund of gelatinous coils swelled his midriff.

"Bern! How did you get free?"

"I'm not exactly free, am I lad? The damn stuff is pressing on my bladder. And I can hardly breathe."

Karla rushed over and gave Bern a long hug. "Easy girl, not so tight."

"Where's Lille?" she said.

"Um, I take it James didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

He averted his gaze. "The bug riders took her. Haven't been able to find her."

"Oh, you poor thing! But I'm sure she is okay. That Lille, she is very resourceful."

"We'd better get back to the cottage forthwith," said Bern, his voice tinged with stress. "It's getting dark."

The Duster whimpered and groaned from behind the trees. There was a plaintive edge to her cries that cut to my heart. She was really suffering.

"Hang on a sec. I'm gonna have a look."

Bern put his hand on my arm. "Leave her be, son. Those things are dangerous."

I ignored him, pulling away and climbing over a heap of soil pushed up by the hemlocks.

It was even darker beneath the hemlocks. I grabbed a stick and set the end aglow, fashioning a sort of flameless torch. I found her trapped under a heavy bough.

She was half-conscious, drifting in and out. I passed the torch over her, recognizing the butterfly-like blotching on her face. She had been one of the Dusters that ambushed me in the canyon, whose mantis had carried me to the pit.

Up close, she looked like a fleshed out version of that mummy. Her bluish-grey skin had a texture like acid-washed, sandblasted stone, pitted with fine pores. She had long, kinky hair, dry as straw and devoid of sheen. Her clothing seemed part of her, clinging like scales and gummed up feathers.

She had a nasty looking knot and contusion on her brow. Blood trickled into one eye. She had a broken arm as well and a badly twisted ankle.

"Well, what do you know," said Bern, coming up behind me. "They bleed red, just like us."

Karla peered meekly around his shoulder. "Be careful, James."

"Can you help me get this branch off of her?"

"Maybe we should just leave her be," said Bern.

"Come on! Let's get this off of her, at least. We can't just let her lay there and suffer."

Bern hesitated, but then relented, limping over to help. The wood was much lighter than I expected, as if the scrawny willows I had transformed had simply expanded their mass into a larger space.

"I'm just going to say it once," said Bern. "No good deed goes unpunished. And I dare say, neither will this one."

"James. Come see. I found her stick!"

"Careful with that," I said. "That thing can turn you to dust."

"How do they do it? Is it like weaving?"

"Don't think so. I think it's something different."

She rolled the rod in her hands. It looked aged and worn, like an artifact unearthed from an archeological dig. It was a stout rod studded with thick thorns, padded with something leathery at the base, flaring open at the tip like a blunderbuss.

"What do you think? Should we smash it?"

"No!" said Karla. "Maybe we can figure out how to use it."

"Just keep it away from her. If she gets her hands on it, she'll turn us all to dust."

"Don't worry. I'll keep it safe." She pulled a square of cloth from a pocket and expanded it in all dimensions until it was large enough to wrap the weapon.

"Pratisamaa Daa!" said the Duster, in a voice as raspy as a great grandmother's. Her eyes remained closed.

"What did she say?" said Karla.

"Beats me," I said. I stuck the torch in the ground and stooped down, slipping one hand under the Duster's back, and one under her knees. I lifted her into my arms. She was surprisingly light for her size, her body all wiry muscle and sinew. She smelled like wood smoke and rosin.

"James! Be careful!" said Karla.

"What in heck are you doing?" said Bern.

"Bringing her back with us."

"Good Heavens, boy. Whatever for?"

"She's hurt," I said.

"Let her fend for herself. No one asked her to attack us. Her kind will come fetch her by first light."

"What if the Reapers get to her first?"

"Reapers?" said Karla. "Here? Above ground?"

"Afraid so," said James.

Karla sighed. "Is there nowhere safe in this world?"

"I can already smell them," said Bern, his eyes panning the darkening plains. "You might want to extinguish your glow."

I dimmed the torch with a glance.

"Are you serious about bringing her back with us?" said Bern. "Do you really want to be around when she wakes up? "

"Bern, she's badly hurt. As long as we keep that rod away from her, she's no threat. Karla, are you good with this?"

"I suppose... it's the right thing to do," she said. "Just be careful."

Bern took a deep breath. "Mark my words. No good deed."

I shifted the Duster to a more comfortable position in my grasp and started out of the grove. "Which way, Bern?"

He flicked his hand towards the residual glow on the horizon. "Follow what's left of the sun... for now."

***

This time, I was the one who had a hard time keeping up. Bern seemed anxious to get back, and my burden slowed us down. Karla tried to help me carry, but the Duster was so limp in my grasp, it was awkward for two. So I just slung her in my arms and let her dangle. She remained unconscious but each jarring step evoked a grunt.

"Bern, can we take a break?"

"Sure. But let's keep it brief. I thought I heard something snort."

I laid the Duster down gently among some tufts of grass. Karla came over and dug her chin into my shoulder.

"She's so still. Is she breathing?"

I put my hand over her slightly parted lips. A puff of air caressed it. I touched my finger to her neck. Her pulse was soft and slow.

Her torso heaved upright. She shrieked and spat at me like a feral cat, hissing and biting. I scrambled back, but she rolled onto her knees and came after me.

"Pratisamaa Daa! Karchikaa!"

Bern set his cane aglow and brandished it against her. "Back! Back! You nasty thing."

She tried to stand, but crumpled to the ground. "Aack! My ankle is snapped." She clutched her arm to her bosom. "And my arm, it's broken. Who has my scepter? You! Mend me!"

"I am sorry?" said Karla.

"Mend me! Now!"

"I am afraid, I don't know how."

"Give it and I will mend myself."

"Nuh-uh," I said, moving between her and Karla. "You're not getting that rod."

"Mennnnd meeee!"

Bern sighed. "Oh, what the hell. I learned some first aid on the oil rigs. Let me see what I can do."

"I promise. If you mend me, I will leave you be."

"I must admit, that's quite the incentive," said Bern, wincing as he knelt. "However, the most I can promise is to stabilize your breaks. When I get done, you may be a little more comfortable, but you won't be able to use your arm and you won't be able to walk. Understand?"

He snapped some branches off a nearby bush.

"Hmm. No good deed, indeed. Alright then, let's take care of your arm first. I am going to try to do this as quickly as I can. He positioned his hands under her snapped forearm. "I have to warn you, this is going to hurt. A lot."

"Pain means nothing. Just mend my bones!"

"Well... again, that's a little beyond the scope of my job description. I can get them back in place, but it'll be up to you to heal, if you can. Perhaps, if Lille were around, she might be able to help you more for you, but...." Without warning, he jerked and twisted her arm, realigning her forearm. Her eyes rolled back and she gasped gently.

Bern fitted a splint of long twigs against her arm.

"Someone, help me wrap this, please. There are some lengths of twine in my bag."

I pulled out a short piece of string.

"Er... Bern?"

"Just slide your fingers along it and it will lengthen."

I did as he said, and it worked like a second-rate magic act, except this trick was real. Each slide added another foot. I repeated the act until I had a decent length, tied a loop at one end and hooked it over her thumb, wrapping it around and around the length of her arm to secure the splints.

"What is your name?" said Karla, stroking her hair, smoothing it, extracting bits of leaf and bark.

"I am... Urszula," said the Duster, sullenly. When I was done, she examined the crude splint on her arm. "What is this? You call this mending?"

"I call it first aid. The healing is up to you." Bern sighed. "Alright, you little ingrate, let's have a look at that ankle."

***

As night settled in, Bern forged ahead with confidence, sighting the stars with a device he had fished out of his haversack—an astrolabe, he called it. But his pauses became more frequent. We veered hard left, doubled back and doubled back again. Clearly, we had lost our way.

Staying well away from the rim of a black hole whose exhalations reeked of the tunnels, we pushed into a dense patch of shrubs. I stumbled over a rock, jarring Urszula. She grunted and cursed in that unrecognizable native tongue of the Dusters.

A Reaper bellowed several hundred meters off.

"Bloody hell," said Bern. "That's the way we wanted to go." He paused to take another sighting with his astrolabe. I set Urszula down gently. She was alert and cooperating now, latching onto my shoulder with her good arm, which took a load off my arms and made her a heck of a lot easier to carry.

"Oh dear," said Bern. "I have to apologize. I'm afraid my assumptions were wrong. What I took for a star appears to be a planet."

"What does that mean?" said Karla.

"It means, we are lost, my dear. I'll need to adjust my charts."

"So how do we get back?" I said.

"We don't. Not tonight, anyway. When daylight comes and we can see the lay of the land, I should have no problem. If we pressed on in the darkness, I'm afraid we might only go further astray."

"That's alright, Bern," said Karla. "Morning will come soon enough. Shall we camp here?"

"It's a good a place as any," said Bern. "We've got a pit protecting one flank. And these shrubs might be thick enough to divert a Reaper, unless we gave it a good reason to come after us. If we lie low, we should be safe."

Rocks crunched and clattered as the Reaper traversed a stretch of stony rubble. I could barely make it out as a darker blotch against the star light reflecting off the terrain.

"You are wrong," said Urszula. "It will find out scent. It will come for us."

"Then let it come," said Bern. "We are three Weavers here. We can handle a Reaper."

"Give me my scepter and you will have no worries," said Urszula.

We moved to the center of the thickest patch of shrubs and cleared out a space in the center. I slashed some stems at a sharp angle and twined them in among the branches pointing out to make a sort of crude stockade. I don't think it would have kept out a cow, but it was better than nothing.

We sat in a close circle, facing outwards. I took Karla's hand and she rested her head on my shoulder, sending ripples rolling through my insides. To have her beside me felt surreal, like a dream I never wanted to waken from.

"This Papa has you, can you describe it?"

"There's not much to say. It's just a tiny room down the end of a hall. Stone walls. Three bolts on the door."

"Do you hear music?"

"Faintly. Some kind of cheap organ. One of those Casios or something."

"Hmm. That could be several places. Papa's sect is buying abandoned churches all over Scotland. Do you hear street sounds?"

"Well, occasionally, there's some rumbling."

"A train?"

"Can't tell. Could be trucks."

"James. In our main church, the casement windows are rusted and the latches are loose. I used to go out this way sometimes. Have you tried—?"

"There's no window."

"No?"

"It's just solid stone."

"Then... I don't know this place. Unless... they put you in the sub-basement. I was never allowed down there."

The Reaper bellowed, from farther off this time. Its call sounded almost like a whale.

"James. I will come find you. I promise."

"No. It's way too risky. I don't want you going anywhere near your dad. You keep on running. I'll figure something out."

"You ever find out where you are, son, you let me know," said Bern. "Some people in that prison of mine owe me favors. They have contacts on the outside who could bust you out."

"Will do," I said, as I listened to the wind whip across the wastes.

"If anyone wants to rest, we can set watches," said Karla. "I am happy to go first."

"Don't think there's any need, love," said Bern. "I doubt there'll be any nappy time for me tonight."

"Yeah. Me neither," I said.

"I wish we could have a fire," said Karla.

"Not unless you want some uninvited visitors," said Bern.

Urszula writhed on the ground in front of us, drifting in and out of sleep. She was obviously in great discomfort, unable to find any position that eased her pain.

Bern stood and gazed through his astrolabe at the newly arisen stars in the East. "First light, once I get my bearings, I'll get us home forthwith. We can't be more than an hour away."

"My brothers and sisters will come looking with the dawn," said Urszula. "They will find you."

"Is that a promise or a threat?" said Bern.

"It is a warning. You should not walk on the surface. You should go straight into the nearest pit. Depending who comes, I may not be able to protect you from their vengeance."

"Protect us?"

"You have shown mercy to me. That is more than any Frelsian would have done. They would have bashed my skull with a stone and left me to be eaten by the slugs."

"I take it, you and Frelsi don't get along," said Bern.

"Frelsi wants us eradicated," said Urszula. "And if they get any stronger, they may get their wish. Our numbers are few. We were once a million strong, but the long sleep has taken the Old Ones. The Frelsians, their numbers still grow. When the first bands came from the tunnels, we tolerated them. They should have been nipped in the bud. They have become... an abomination."

"Who are you people?" said Karla. "Where did you come from?"

"We came from the Deeps."

"Are you... a fallen angel?" said Karla.

"Uh... risen hell spawn is more like it," said Bern, under his breath. "Demons."

"A soul is a soul," said Urszula. "I was once just like you."

"But in Frelsi, souls are free," said Bern. "Unbound to anything. At least, that's what they say."

"I am also free," said Urszula. "By a different path."

"Yes, well," said Bern. "Pardon me if I don't care to follow in your footsteps."

"You are so lucky to have broken free from the Deeps," said Karla. "I didn't think that was even possible."

"The Deeps?" I said.

"Where souls wind up when they're Reaped," said Bern, nudging me. "Go directly to jail. Do not pass go."

"Is it... Hell?"

"It is nothing. A vast, bleak nothingness," said Urszula.

The Reaper came galumphing by the far side of the nearest pit, retracing its path, as if it too were lost. Karla gripped one hand tight. I kept my free hand on my sword.

"How did you all get out?" said Karla.

"Our founders rebelled. The powers that be never expected leaders or unity or weapons—our spell craft. But it has been a thousand years. I am a Latecomer. I simply followed in their path. The breach is mostly closed now. A few souls still come, but only a trickle."

The Reaper bellowed. It was creeping around the edge of the pit, closer than it had yet come. None of us moved.

"If I had my scepter I would put it in its place," said Urszula.

"What's that thing doing up here, anyway?" said Karla. "You'd think there would be better hunting down in the tunnels. It's not like there's any shortage of pods waiting to be plucked."

"That one is a domestic," said Urszula.

"What do you mean?" said Karla.

"The Frelsians tame them, employ them as beasts of burden."

"You've got to be kidding," I said. "Tame Reapers?"

A belching growl erupted behind us, away from the pit. It seemed impossible that Reaper could have moved so fast.

"Oh my God! There is two!" said Karla.

Urszula got up and tried to walk. She collapsed.

"Stay down!" said Bern. "You should not be up on your feet."

"The slugs! They are coming! We must flee!"

"No!" said Bern. "We should stay put and stay together. They would pick us off one by one out in the open, in the dark."

Urszula lunged at Karla, reaching for the bundle that swaddled her scepter. Karla wrested it out of her grasp, but she kept on coming. I dove into the scrum and pried her hands away. Even with only one good arm, she had a wiry strength that would not be denied.

Bern reached down and whisked the bundle away. Urszula started after him as well, but I grabbed onto her leg as he fended her off with his cane.

"Give it to me! I will defend you!"

"Think we've never tangled with Reapers before, love?" said Bern. "I've had my share of scraps."

I held my sword at the ready. An awful stench wafted over us. Twigs snapped. Gravel scraped. A dark hulk reared up behind us and blotted out the stars. Another surged towards us from the pit side.

My sword came aglow and began to vibrate with a hum that rose steadily in pitch. I had little conscious control, but I had learned to let things happen and embrace the good that would come.

Bern turned his cane into a wicked, multi-bladed lance about twice as long as he was tall. Karla wielded the scepter, but I feared in her hands it was no better than a stick.

Urszula cowered on the ground, snuffling and whimpering.

"Don't worry," I said. "We'll drive them off. Together, we're strong."

Someone barked a guttural command. These Reapers had riders! Another command and they belched in unison. A sticky web came raining down, adhering to our flesh like a thousand toads' tongues, squelching all movement. The sword knocked loose from my grip.

They moved in for the kill.

Chapter 19: Rendezvous

"Halt!" someone shouted, and the Reapers slumped to the ground. Their betentacled muzzles probed the sticky netting that pressed us flat. Green floodlights washed over us, their glare obscuring the figures moving across the jointed and hinged decking strapped to the Reapers' backs.

It wasn't glue that made the net sticky but a million microscopic hooks that latched onto every hair and pore in my skin and every fiber of my clothing, fixing my arms and legs in place. I could see Karla's hand only inches from mine. I tried to reach it, but the netting held me as firmly as any spider web ever held a gnat.

These Reapers were larger than any I had ever seen—as big as whales. They were heavily scarred, with great divots taken out of their flesh. Multiple eyes of diverse size, shape and color were arranged in an arcing ridge atop their heads, some open, some closed, the open ones blinking out of sync. They grumbled and growled. Their stomachs whined.

"What's happening?" said Karla, her voice all muffled. She lie face down, her chin pressed into the dirt.

"Frelsians," said Urszula. "It is over. We are headed for the Deeps."

Figures clambered down from decking. A man slammed the end of his staff against the ground and the entire web glowed orange, revealing our captor's faces.

They were all youngish-looking men, some with facial hair, some without, all Caucasian. They wore helmets that rode high on their heads like oversized yarmulkes. A membranous fringe undulated along the bottom rims as if their headwear were alive.

Some kind of padding or armor in their canvas jackets broadened their shoulders and inflated their chests. Their knicker-like leggings had built-in kneepads with flanges that extended down to protect their shins.

A man with a neatly trimmed goatee who seemed to be their leader. He came up to the webbing and crouched over Urszula.

"Well, well, what do we have here, a female Duster?"

Urszula spat and tried to claw at him with her one good hand, but the webbing held her firm.

"Identify yourselves, please. And tell me, why is this Duster with you?"

"Cummings is the name," said Bern. "Mr. Cummings."

"I'm... uh... James Moody."

Karla mumbled into the dirt.

"What did she say?"

"Karla," I said. "Her name is Karla Raeth."

"And why is there a Duster with you?"

"She... attacked Karla," I said.

He poked at the wrap on Urszula's ankle with his staff. "Did you people do this? Did you render aid to this creature?"

"Well, yeah," I said. "She was hurt."

"Since when are we charitable to those who attack us?"

"She needed help," I said. "She was suffering."

The leader shook his head. "Clear the web," he said. "Wrap the Duster. We'll bring it back for an extraction."

A shorter man took his staff and traced a circle around Urszula. Every bit of web outside the circle withered and disintegrated into wisps of ash. He swooped in and retrieved the bundle bearing Urszula's scepter.

"I don't know what you were thinking," said the goateed man, holding up the rod, shaking his head. "But you people were playing with fire." He tossed it to a man on a platform that bracketed one of the Reapers' heads like a yoke.

I helped Karla to her feet.

"I find this all very curious. Why did you stray from the rendezvous point? Were you not briefed?"

"What... rendezvous point?" I said.

"You are at the wrong pit. You were to meet us three pits to the west. You're very lucky that we found you. If our Reapers hadn't caught your scent, we would have—"

"Master Felix, sir. This one has no mark," said a wiry man examining the underside of Bern's forearm. He bustled over to me and Karla and brusquely twisted our arms. "In fact, I don't believe any of them do."

"Have you people not been vetted?"

"Well, I have," I said. "I think. By Victoria."

"Then, where is your mark?"

"She didn't... I don't have one."

"They're all mavericks!" said the short man.

The goateed one—Master Felix—stood and ruminated. "Well, that explains a lot. You all don't have a clue what you're tangling with here, do you?" He pointed his staff at Urszula.

"I don't know about that," I said. "I've got a pretty good clue."

Master Felix shook his head. He turned to the others.

"Get them on board."

"But sir, they are not vetted," said the short man.

"I said get them on board. We are late for the rendezvous. We will sort it all out back home."

"Restraints?"

"For the Duster, of course," said Master Felix. "But for them, there's no need.

The short man tapped his staff against the remnant of web covering Urszula and it curled beneath her. She gave out a piercing cry as it retracted around her flesh like shrink-wrap. One of the Reapers surged forward and probed her midriff with its feelers.

Master Felix shooed the Reaper back with his staff. He and another man picked Urszula up and lashed her to the side of the nearest Reaper's decking.

"Hey, go easy," I said. "She's hurt."

"Shut up and get on board. We have to go."

***

I was leery of walking up to the Reaper, but the beast looked as placid as a manatee, its feelers caressed the ground, wrapping around the broken stems of bushes, sampling the sap that leaked.

We climbed up a ladder onto the articulated decking, sitting on plain, hard benches below what looked like a harpoon launcher, one of two mounted fore and aft. Green glowing globes were mounted on swivels beside each. One of the men touched one and the opposite hemisphere brightened and cast a beam over the landscape.

"Never thought I'd find myself on one of these devils' backs," said Bern. "These don't smell quite as bad as the ones in the tunnels. But don't get me wrong, they still smell pretty bad."

Karla slid close to me and buried her face in my shoulder. I put my arm around her and kissed her cheek, finding it slick and salty. She had been crying.

I patted her back. "Hey, it's okay. We're with the good guys. We're going to Frelsi!"

"James. I feel it... it is coming," she said.

"Feel what?"

"I am getting the aura. I can tell, it is coming soon."

"Fading? Jeez! Already? You just got here."

I ran my fingers over her hands. In the green glow reflecting from the search beams, I looked for empty spots on her skin. There were none.

"Hey. There's nothing to worry about. You look fine."

She closed her eyes. "I know this aura. My skin is buzzing. I know what it means."

"Well, try and hold off till we get to Frelsi. Can you?"

"I don't know if I can," she said. "I don't control it."

I held onto her tightly, but I knew that I didn't have any more power than her to hang onto her soul.

"Ho!" Master Felix shouted and the Reaper rose off the ground, extruding dozens of clawed limbs from either side. It bent its body back around the way it had come.

We cruised over the dark plains. The decking heaved like a boat, except the beast generated its own waves. Greenish beams washed over the barrens like prison searchlights.

We came to the rim of a large pit that Bern and I had surveyed earlier that day, the one with all the footprints leading out of the tunnels. I recognized the extra tall cairn with the chunk of rosy quartz on top.

About a dozen souls waited by the edge. Several cowered as the Reapers approached. It looked like they might run away, but they stood firm. A beam panned over their faces, some grim, others calm and hopeful.

One guy, on the more confident side of the spectrum, looked familiar. He had dark, tousled hair and an un-tucked dress shirt worn over a pair of well-worn blue jeans, holed at the knees, apparently replicated from some favorite pair he owned in life. Where had I seen him before? Life? Root?

I expected to find Victoria here, but there was no sign of her. Instead, a young man with a mane of flowing, blond hair tended this small herd of souls like a shepherd. Apparently, Victoria wasn't the only recruiter that Frelsi sent into the tunnels.

The short guy hopped off the decking and went down the row, checking everyone's right arm, one by one.

"All vetted," he said.

"Get them up here," said Alex. "We need to get moving, if we want to avoid a skirmish. As it is, the sky will be lightening before we get to the gates."

Like me, some folks were understandably reluctant to approach the Reapers. Who knew what kind of traumas and terrors they had experienced in the tunnels? None of the escort crew was the touchy-feely type, so they weren't too sensitive to their fears. A few trembling souls had to be dragged forcibly to the ladder.

As that guy I sort of recognized came closer, my memory returned. I waved my arms at him.

"Hey! Jeffrey!"

He looked up at us and his face went all bright.

"James? Bern? Holy shit, man! Long time no see!"

Ignoring the ladder, he hauled himself onto the decking and took a seat beside us on the benches.

"What a fucking trip this is, huh? Did you ever think we'd be sitting on a Reaper?"

"You remember Karla?"

"Bet your ass I do. This is unbelievably great. You don't know how long I've been looking for you guys. Every time come back I try to make my way up top. I thought for sure you guys had moved on."

"Jeffery, I have to ask," said Bern. "Have you seen my Lille?"

"Hmm, nuh-uh," he said. "But then again, I've stuck in a fucking maze of tunnels I had never seen before. It's taken me forever to get back up here. I ran into Kip and these others by sheer luck."

"Kip?"

"He's the guy that did our vetting. You know...." He showed us the raised C-shaped scar on his forearm, perfectly smooth and raised a quarter of an inch above the skin. Reluctantly, I showed him my arm.

"Holy crap. You guys... don't have them? But I thought—"

"I guess we must be special," I said.

"No shit. Kip told me only those who pass the vetting go to Frelsi."

"Apparently they made an exception in our case."

"Whoa, you guys are like fucking rock stars, bypassing the line. That's pretty awesome."

"Yeah. Awesome."

Karla squeezed my fingers. "James, it's getting worse. I am feeling the cold from the other side. People calling my name. We don't have much time. You need to tell me how to find you."

I still saw no signs of her fading.

"Tell me!" she said, with desperation in her voice. "This is our last chance."

"I honestly don't know what to say. I have no idea where I am. I supposed I should have asked those kids. What was I thinking?"

"What kids?"

"Two boys came down into the basement where I was. Little guys, maybe eight or nine at most."

"And they saw you?"

"Yeah. They spoke to me. I asked them to call the cops."

"Really? Oh James, that's excellent news! Why didn't you tell me, instead of making me worry?"

"Well, because I'm not so sure they're going to follow through. I mean, they're just little kids, and they might be afraid of getting into trouble. You see, they weren't supposed to be down there."

"Tell me what else do you remember? Anything. Were there bells? Church bells?"

"Actually, no. Not really close anyway. I might have heard some in the distance, but this church doesn't ring any bells."

"What kind of stone makes the walls?"

"Um, it's just grey with flecks of this shiny stuff. Mica, I think it's called?"

Karla sighed. "That describes half the stone in Scotland. We could rule out Edinburgh, I suppose. That place is mostly sandstone."

I glanced down at her hands. Patches of her skin had gone blank and dark. I took a deep breath and draped my arms around her.

We glided over the scrub land, crushing and shrubs and saplings in our way. The green beams shined into a broad hollow at the mouth of a canyon, protected by cliffs on three sides. It reminded me a little of the spot Bern and Lille had chosen to built that first cabin that was destroyed by Dusters.

The searchlight glinted off a pond, backed by a grove of trees. A waterfall tumbled from a hanging valley at the far end. The place looked very inviting.

"See that? Look out there, Karla. Burn this place into your memory. When you go and come back, I'll be waiting for you there."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

She buried her face in my chest. I held her tight, and kept watch over ever part of her that I could see. I didn't want her to go. I couldn't believe that I was losing her already. Part of me understood that this could be the last time. This could be it. Forever.

"Hang on everybody," said the man at the rear harpoon. "We're fixing to climb."

The Reapers' legs lengthened as we pass over rougher ground where floods had carried rocks and boulders down from the heights. Urszula grunted as she swung and collided with the deck. I winced with every collision. I wished they had let her sit with us instead of treating her like a sack of meat.

The deck tilted up as we started up a wide path angling up the butte flanking the canyon, but the angle was less severe than the terrain. As the beam washed down, I saw why. The Reaper had retracted some of its myriad legs in front, and had extended them in back, lifting its rear and reducing the slope of the deck.

I latched onto one of the handholds built into the benches. Karla clasped her hands around me. She was sobbing.

I held her closer, and rubbed her back, but she could not be consoled. Dimples formed in her flesh and then filled back in. She was resisting the transition, but it was as futile as a sand castle defying the tide.

She oscillated in my grip. Gaps formed in her flesh, filled and emptied yet again. And then she shuddered and her legs disappeared for good. And the fading spread to her arms and up to her shoulders. She was slipping away. Steadily, I had less and less to hold onto.

"Listen," she said. "You do anything you can to delay Papa. String him along. Cooperate a little. Tell him I'm in Wales if you have to. Stay alive! I will come for you. I will find you. It just might take some time."

I saw in her eyes a tiny life raft of hope bobbing amidst a sea of desperation. I tried to kiss her one last time before she went, but my lips met only air. Her clothes, vacated, went slack over my lap.

Chapter 20: Between the Gates

I stared at the dark space that Karla had occupied only moments before, as the wind obliterated the last traces of her breath. I wadded up her skirt and blouse and clutched them to my chest.

"She gone?" said Jeffrey. "Aw man, I'm so sorry. Don't it suck, never knowing whether the person you're talking to is gonna vaporize right in front of you? I mean, you could be next. Right? Or me? Or both of us. Neither of us might ever get to Frelsi."

He babbled on, but I was already gone as well, not physically but mentally, withdrawn into my head, unable to process any of his words.

I relived our last few hours, going over every image and sensation, etching them into my memory, fearing I might forget how she looked and smelled and sounded and felt, the way I had after a month in Brynmawr.

As we crept steadily up that hillside, I fought the urge to leap off the heaving deck and make my way back to that hollow, the one with the pond and the grove and the hanging valley where Karla had promised to meet me. I didn't have much desire to get to Frelsi anymore. What was the point now?

But it could be weeks before she returned, if the past was any guide. What would I do in that hollow but dodge Dusters all day?

I supposed I might as well bide my time and reconnoiter. See if Frelsi was where we wanted to be or not. I could always make my way back to the hollow later. It seemed pretty easy to find.

Knowing Karla planned to come looking for me on the other side scared the crap out of me. However vicious Edmund and his lot had been with me, with her, there would be no holding back. It was that sort of family. I wished I could have convinced her to stay the hell out of Scotland.

The beams illuminated a wide but rugged path, crossed by ledges and littered with boulders and crevices. I couldn't imagine any four by four getting up this way. Only the Reapers' adaptive legs made it passable.

Hours passed. Jeffrey had finally given up trying to chat and now just stared out into the darkness, drumming his fingers on a post. Bern somehow managed to fall asleep on the bench, despite the constant jostling.

We switched back and forth up the side of the mountain until we finally leveled out and joined a more civilized road, this one wide enough for both Reapers to walk abreast.

The stars began to blink out. The sky softened to a steely gray and the first rays of dawn burnished the flat-topped hills across a large valley. With shouted commands, strained and anxious, Master Felix urged his Reapers to pick up the pace.

A river, braided into a dozen, mostly dry channels, passed through the valley below. On the other side, a vast tableland of mesas and pinnacles stretched off into infinity. But these weren't mesas like the ones you see in pictures of Arizona and New Mexico. These were bushy, green-fringed things, more like those Venezuelan tepuis. Although I had yet to experience it in this place, somewhere, sometime, it rained.

A huge flock took to the air from the nearest mesa, diving over the edge before leveling out and gaining lift. From another mesa, another flock dove and recovered. These were mantids, all of them ridden and all of them heading out to the plains.

But there was something else out there, an entirely different sort of creature soaring high above them. They had pairs of wings perpendicular to long bodies. The way they hovered and changed direction, tacking to and fro, they could only be giant dragonflies.

The crew huddled with Master Felix on the narrow strip of decking that bridged the Reaper's midsection, between the two elevated harpoon mounts. I leaned back to listen to their deliberations.

"We've been spotted for sure," said the short man. "Against this pale rock, we must stick out like blood on snow."

"Nothing to worry about," said Master Felix. "We're too close to the gates. They wouldn't dare mount a raid."

Jeffrey tapped my shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Oh, they're worried about the bug riders. But I think the Dusters are probably just sending out search parties."

"For who?"

"Urszula."

"Who?"

"The Duster girl."

"You feeling better, guy?" said Jeffrey. "You were kind of out of it for a while. I'd say stuff and you would just be all gaga, staring at me with your mouth open."

"I'm good," I said. "As good as I'm gonna get."

"Sucks that she blinked out when she did. But that's how it goes in this place. One time, after being lost in the tunnels for days, I caught a whiff of that fresh air that tells you you're coming to a pit. And that was that, I was back on the floor of my friend's garage. Next time back, I was down deep in the tunnels again."

"Yeah, that's about par for the course around here."

My attention strayed back to the mesas. While most of the dragonflies skirted the edge of the foothills, one had diverged and was coming across the valley at a very high altitude.

Master Felix spotted it the same time as me, and I could tell that it made him nervous. "Ripley, Kumar, man your harpoons. Keep your eyes on that Odonate overhead."

We came over a rise and began to descend into a col. I caught a glimpse of some snow-capped peaks farther up-slope, and below them something even more startling—a cityscape of spiky, bristly towers, with bracts and spokes, some green with new growth, some gone taupe and grey, bleached by the sun like old cedar shingles.

The place was a bizarre mélange of sequoia-sized palms, towering stalagmites and stacked barrels. It looked like something Gaudi—that crazy-ass architect from Spain—might design.

"Holy Crap!" said Jeffrey. "Do you see that? That's gotta be Frelsi."

A glimpse was all we got before we descended below the sight lines. The mountains disappeared as well, although they made their presence known by the milky torrent dashing through the bottom of the col. Glacier milk—powdered rock mixed with runoff, a sign of the big ice grinding away at these valleys.

My eyes flitted back to that dragonfly. It was quite close now. The dang thing was almost as big as a Cessna. I could see two lumps on its back. Riders.

It fell into a steep dive, coming straight at us.

"Ripley, Kumar. Overhead at nine o'clock. Set your charges."

The harpoons swiveled and angled upwards. The men adjusted the elevation and heading of their launchers with a set of cranks and knobs.

"Sit tight you all. We'll try to deter it."

The dragonfly screamed in like a falcon. Just before it leveled off its dive, a harpoon blasted off like a cold-fired missile from the Reaper beside us. A translucent line trailed out behind it. It narrowly missed, passing between the legs of the insect, seizing at the end of its line and falling back to the ground.

A second harpoon fired. The dragonfly veered hard left and soared upward out of range but swooped back around and dived at us again. The rider in back pointed his rod and ejected a hurtling mass of plasma at us.

"Everyone down!" Master Felix shouted.

The blob blasted into the forward decking and into the Reaper's side. The harpoon mount toppled over the side. A cloud of dust boiled upward. The Reaper bellowed and reared. A sticky spray splashed from the gaping wound in its side. Crew members spilled off what was left of the forward deck.

Two more harpoons went zooming after the insect. Both reached the end of their tethers and fell harmlessly down to the ground. The dragonfly and its riders soared back out to the valley.

"Halt! Haaalt!" shouted Master Felix. He leapt off the decking onto the stony ground and rushed forward to calm the injured Reaper.

***

We stopped and waited in a wind-swept meadow while the crew unstrapped the decking from the injured Reaper. The creature writhed like a tortured caterpillar as one of the crew swabbed its wound with a paste delivered with a mop-like implement.

A gaggle of people came rushing down the road from the city to help us, some in uniform, some in plain clothes.

Master Felix came over, accompanied by the short guy.

"Alright everyone, on your feet. We'll be walking the rest of the way. But no worries, it's less than a mile to the gates."

I looked around for Urszula, but couldn't see what they had done with her.

"Come along, you," said the short man, tapping me with his staff.

"Where's my sword? Can I have my sword back?"

"Uh, nah. Don't think so. We'll hang onto it for you."

"What about my cane?" said Bern. "I'm having some trouble with my knee."

"You're doing fine gramps. Just keep walking."

And so we trudged up the back side of the col, the way ahead obscured by the steepness of the immediate slope. The second Reaper, harpoons at the ready, stayed behind to provide cover for any possible follow-up attacks.

"I am so sorry you all had to experience this," said Master Felix. "Normally, we return before dawn, but... events... did not allow that. Daylight or not, it was unusually brazen of the Dusters to stage a raid in our own front yard."

"Is that poor beast going to be alright?" asked a woman in a crudely woven toga.

"Our morphs are bred tough," said Master Felix. "It will need only a day or so to heal. In the mean time, we'll repair the decking and get it ready for re-installation. That one will be back on escort duty before you know it."

We came to the top of the rise and the city came back into view, its spires even more stunning than before. It was like an entire city's worth of exotic space needles.

I could see now that it was ringed by two walls—a low, rough outer bastion of stone blocks and a taller, sleeker inner rampart that was smooth and curved like the spillway of the Hoover Dam.

The road led straight through a gap in the outer wall to a wide space in between that appeared to be crowded with huts and shanties.

"As you can see," said Master Felix. "The gates of Frelsi are always open. Every soul is free to come and go as they please. We take pride in that."

"Because a locked gate's no barrier to a Duster," said the short guy to me in a gruff whisper. "They only attack from above."

"Why do you need walls at all?" I said.

"The outer wall was already here. It is from the ancients. Frelsi was abandoned until the first colonists reclaimed it."

"The inner walls keep you riff-raff where you belong," said the short man.

Master Felix overheard. "Red. Please. Let me handle the orientation, please."

"Sorry sir. Got carried away."

Master Felix continued. "Despite what you witnessed this morning, the city proper has never been attacked. We are quite well defended. The Dusters don't dare come near."

"Now, all of you have been vetted and marked as Hemisouls, you are a special group. According to the latest figures, you spend at least twenty percent of your hours in the Liminality. Thirty-six hours is the average residence time and more ninety percent of Hemis who leave will return at least once. At least ten percent of you will go on to become Freesouls like Red and me.

"How is it done?" asked a man. "Becoming free?"

"That's a matter for each of you and your mentors to decide. It depends greatly on your situation on the other side. Giving up one's ties to life, while finding a way to take the responsibility for it out of your hands, can be tricky. That's why the yield is so low. But in the meantime, you will get to enjoy the mountain air, and the haven that is Frelsi. You will only be asked to contribute your labors to our cause."

We came to the outer wall. Its crude stone blocks looked indescribably crusty and ancient. Trees perched atop some of the bulwarks, snaking their roots through the crevices.

There were no actual gates in the outer wall, just a gap. As Master Felix had promised, it was completely unguarded. The inner wall, on the contrary, was lined with balconies bearing sentry posts and harpoon mounts. The soldiers posted there rarely looked down, their attentions focused on the sky.

"Red, you can bring the vetted ones on to the indoctrination yard," said Master Felix. "I'll deal with the mavericks."

"Are we not going to be vetted?" said Bern.

"Not by me. And not until we have a chat with the debriefers."

"Hey guys! Catch you later?" Jeffrey shouted as he walked away with the rest of the group.

"Follow me," said Master Felix. He led us down an alley to a foul-smelling courtyard heaped with the excrement of Reapers. He stopped briefly to speak with a pair of soldiers supervising a work gang. One of them headed off down an alley while the other joined us.

"This way now. We're almost there."

We passed through a thick cluster of huts and emerged in an open area surrounding a series of deep rectangular recesses dug into the ground, crowded with Reapers of all sizes, slumbering like walruses. They kind of reminded me of built-in swimming pools with gated ramps. It brought back memories of those trapped alligators in Ft. Pierce.

There was a circular table and some stools beside one of the trenches. The table was made of a material much like that woody fungus that grows on dead trees, only much more massive.

"Please take a seat. We'll wait for the debriefers here. They are been summoned."

The soldier touched his staff to my ankle. Roots shot up and wrapped and knotted themselves around my feet and shins."

"What the fuck? What are you doing?"

He did the same to Bern. The roots seized his bad leg and twisted. Bern howled. "Please. No! Not that leg. Please! Give me double on the other if you have to, but leave the right one alone."

"Come on!" I said. "His leg is hurt."

Master Felix reversed the knotting on Bern's leg with a tap of his own staff.

"Sorry. It's just a precaution. I realize you two might only be mavericks, but we can't always be certain everyone is as independent as they proclaim. Some, we find, receive a little assistance from time to time. It's not always a coincidence that one is found in the presence of a Duster."

"What we told you was true! She attacked us."

"I believe you. Understand, this is only a precaution. We can't let you roam about until you've been debriefed. And then it's a simple of vetting to determine if you will be allowed to stay."

He sat down with us and shared a skin filled with something that tasted like a very dry, honey-flavored wine.

"Sorry it has to be like this, but it's just a formality. The debriefer we're fetching is a sheltered fellow. He doesn't like coming between the gates. He requested these restraints because, frankly, mavericks make him nervous. There have been a few unfortunate incidents."

"This is bullshit, man. I thought you said every soul was free to come and go as they please."

"Every verified soul. Those who are vetted."

"This is fucking bullshit."

I looked to Bern for support, but he was distracted, staring at a shanty across the way, against the outer wall.

"Bern, what's wrong?"

"I thought I saw... nah, it couldn't be... my mind is playing tricks on me, I fear. You know how when you're looking for someone in a crowd, you see people who from the back, remind you of them until they turn to face you?"

"See who?"

"Ah, forget it. It couldn't have been...."

A young woman with golden hair done up in braids emerged from a hut, wielding a broom.

"Lille!" he shouted. "Oh my God, it's really her! It's Lille!"

Chapter 21: Intervention

Karla awoke, not in a cold, dank meadow as she expected, but in a sunlit bungalow under the covers of Jessica's bed. Isobel sat cross-legged beside her, her nose buried deep in a Jodi Picoult novel.

Izzie's eyes went wide. She clapped the book shut. "Jess! She's back!"

Jessica bounded in from the porch with the wash she had gathered from the line. "Oh hon, I was so worried. You've been writhing and moaning ever since we brought you in. I wanted to call the doctor. Are you okay?"

Karla felt disjointed and jittery, the way she always did after a visitation from Root. She had once made an art of diving straight back into life without a hitch in her demeanor, but it had been so long. She was out of practice.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice hoarse and breathy.

"Can I fetch you some juice or something? You must be starved. I can make you some scrambled eggs or something? Some jam on toast, perhaps?"

"I'm not that hungry," she said. "But thank you for offering. What time is it?"

"It's almost one in afternoon. Tuesday, in case you were wondering. We're just on our lunch break. You've been unconscious for hours and hours. I insisted on summoning an ambulance but Izzie tells me this is normal for you. Is that possible?"

"Yeah," said Karla. "It happens." Somehow, not all of her had returned yet. She could still sense James' presence beside her. She wanted to go back and be with him. The interface remained close. She could feel it. She only needed to seize it and slip back into the Liminality. But before she could act, it receded from her senses like a ferry pulling away from a pier.

She slumped back against the pillows and sighed. "You know, maybe some water would be nice," she croaked.

Isobel squirmed over and pecked her on the cheek. She kneaded her shoulder affectionately.

"You were so cold, La, when we found you in that field. Why didn't you just come here if you knew you were going to pass out?"

"I think better out on the moors," she said, in a low voice. "I honestly didn't expect to be visited. It had been so long."

"Did you get to see James?" said Izzie. "And Lille and Bern?"

"I did," Karla whispered back. "All except for Lille, anyhow."

Jessica, filling a water glass from the tap, overheard. "You saw James?"

"Oh... uh... we were talking about... in my dreams."

"You don't have to pretend, La," said Isobel. "I told Jess all there is to know about Root."

"Oh? And did she buy it? Did she believe your nonsense?"

Jessica brought over with a glass of water. "Though, it does seem highly improbable and fantastical..." she said. "And I suppose it could be shared hallucinations. But maybe not. Who am I to say it doesn't exist exactly as you say?"

Karla could tell from the expression on Jessica's face that she was sincerely open to the possibility, that she wasn't just saying stuff to humor them.

"Someone like you would never have to worry about a visitation. You're always so positive."

"Don't let appearances deceive you," said Jessica, sitting down in a rickety antique chair beside the bed. "I get depressed, and pretty often too. It can get bloody lonely in this bungalow."

"Yes, but.... I don't mean to belittle your feelings, but... to get to Root... it requires a whole different order of depression. I hate to say, but I am talking truly suicidal. It takes a commitment... to death. In a sense, it is like a wedding engagement."

Jessica's face softened into a placid sea. "Believe me, there have been times I..." She took a long, deep breath. Her mouth hung open, stuck on a word. "Oh, never mind. Tell me, how is James? Did he tell you what happened?"

"He is not doing so well," said Karla. "He has been taken hostage by my father. He is being beaten."

"Oh my! By whom? Where?"

"He does not know where they have taken him, but there are not many Sedevacantist churches in Scotland. I think it has to be either Glasgow or Inverness. I don't think he can be in Edinburgh. Papa does not get along with the pastor there. Aberdeen is a possibility. It is remote and secure, but that one is not much more than a chapel."

"Is he... okay?"

"He did not give me many details, but he says he had been badly hurt. He is in pain."

"That's it! We need to go rescue him, La," said Izzie.

Karla shook her head. "Yes, but how? We don't even know where to go. And even if we did, how would we get close enough to help him? Papa's people are looking for us. We would be recognized. Especially in Inverness."

"Maybe I should be the one to go," said Jessica. "They don't know me."

"Oh, no! That would be too much to ask. We have no right to get you tangled in this."

"James is my friend, too. If he's in trouble, the least I can do is try and help him. Maybe I can pose as a parishioner or something."

"I don't even know where to send you."

"Let me start with Glasgow. That's where he was headed. It's closer than those other places you mentioned. All I need is to ask Renfrew for a few days off. He doesn't dare say no. I never take time away. He owes me."

"We can fill in for you, here!" said Izzie. "For you and for James. Ren was impressed by our work He even said so. He said even the goats like me better."

"No, I can't let you go on your own," said Karla. "Papa's friends are the nastiest people. I would fear for your life."

"I can take care of myself. I'm tough. Besides, all I need to do is locate him. Once I do, I can bring in the authorities."

"You'll have to keep in close contact with us. I would go crazy not knowing what is happening."

"I'll text Helen every hour. You'll know my every move."

Karla's stomach churned at the idea of staying behind in Brynmawr, while she risked her skin up north, but she couldn't deny that Jessica's plan made more sense than hers. It didn't mean that she liked it.

"Are you sure Mr. Renfrew would approve of this arrangement?"

"Well, Ren's a bit befuddled by this tag team approach, but he'll get over it once he figures out how to pay you. At least he's stopped bitching about you two never filling out a job application."

"Not to mention, I'm underage," said Isobel.

"Shush," said Jessica. "He doesn't have to know that part. I told him you were fifteen. You certainly pass for older, as far as looks go, anyhow."

"Hey, what is that supposed to mean? Are you calling me immature?"

"How soon can you go?" said Karla.

Jessica shrugged. "I don't see why I couldn't leave tomorrow morning. I'll go see Ren right now. Maybe he or Helen can give me a ride to the train station in Abergavenny."

Karla squinted away tears and fought the sniffles. She slipped off the bed and gave Jessica a hug, nuzzling her face against her shoulder. "You have been such a wonderful friend to James. We are so lucky to find such good people here."

Jessica blushed. Her posture stiffened. "Well, it's the least I can do for the poor fellow."

"Ahem," said Isobel. "But Jess, my dear, there is no way we can let you go up there dressed like that." She screwed her face at her baggy shorts and spaghetti-strapped blouse revealing what passed for cleavage.

"Like what?"

"Like a floozy," said Isobel. "Like a Jezebel."

"Excuse me?" she said, with umbrage. "But I'm not wearing anything extreme. It's just work wear. If I'm traveling I would definitely wear some slacks or jeans. And perhaps a sweater over my blouse."

Isobel's eyes met Karla's. They smiled to each other.

"You have a lot to learn about Sedevacantists, Jess. But don't worry. Izzie and I will give you a crash course. We'll have you looking and acting like a cultist in no time."

Chapter 22: The Debriefing

The woman with the broom looked far too young and lithe to be Lille, but when she caught sight of Bern, she staggered as if a brick had struck her in the chest, before flinging the broom aside. She sprinted across the parade ground with the loose-limbed abandon of a teenager.

"Bern? James? Oh my God!"

She pulled up, startled by the tangle of roots anchoring Bern's good leg to the ground. Fat tears beaded up and rolled down her youthful cheeks. Bern gawked back at her, stunned into further immobility.

Lille could have passed for her own daughter. Her eyes had come forward from their deep sockets and their corners had shed any signs of crow's feet. The roots of her graying hair had gone back to the honey-blonde of her twenties.

Taut skin and faceted cheekbones replaced the slightly sagging jowls that had made her look almost grandmotherly. But her face looked far more natural than anything plastic surgery could have created.

She swooped in and embraced his head, plastering him with kisses. Master Felix and the soldier looked on, startled, but permissive.

"I thought you were a goner for you. Weeks, they've been hunting for you. I've been begging them to let me come along on their patrols."

Bern, shocked into breathlessness, finally re-gathered his capacity for speech. "What happened to your face?"

"Happened? You old fool; you make it sound like I was punched in the nose."

"But why? You were fine the way you were."

"Why? Because I could. That's why. We're in this for eternity, Bern. We might as well go forth in an optimal body. No? Ah, your poor leg! I can see it's bothering you again. But don't you worry. They can make it as good as new. The Weavers here are masterful. Flesh is putty in their hands. You wouldn't believe their skill! They make Luther's work seem like a kindergartner's."

Lille came over to me, gripped my shoulders, looked me in the eyes and pecked me on the cheek. I had always found Lille pretty in a matronly way, but her recovered youth made her beauty startling.

"And how is Karla? Have you seen her?"

"Okay," I said. "She was with us, but she got yanked back."

Lille glanced down at the roots binding me and Bern. "Master Felix, why are you treating my boys like criminals?"

Bern cleared his throat. "Well, technically, I am—"

"Quiet, you!" Lille elbowed Bern.

"It's just a precaution," said Master Felix. "They haven't been vetted. And they were found with a female Duster."

"A female?" Lille scrunched her brow. "Doing what?"

"Oh, please."

"I'm just curious."

"She was injured. James wanted to help her."

"Oh. That's... nice of you." She turned to Master Felix. "So because he decided to be humane, you're... restraining him?"

"It's not that. Koontz, the debriefer, he's a worrywart. It's for his sense of well-being. He hates coming between the walls."

"Well perhaps he should find another occupation."

"Perhaps," said Master Felix.

"Don't worry guys. I'll put in a good word for you. Alec will clear you. He already knows about the both of you. I've pestering him to send search parties after you all."

"Who's Alec?" said Bern.

"He's my mentor, and he's won-der-ful. I can't wait for you to meet him." She slid up the sleeve of her blouse to reveal the raised C of a Hemisoul. "Once you're vetted you'll get one of these. On top of that, he has me on the fast track to becoming a Freesoul. He's even looking into contracting an assassin on the other side."

"Assassin?" said Bern. "What in bloody hell are you talking about?"

"It's how you become a Freesoul. We go up to the glaciers where the influence of the Core is weakest, and we have our ties cut—on the other side. In my case, we don't exactly need a ninja to accomplish the task, just someone to pull the plug of my respirator."

"I'm not sure I like what I'm hearing," said Bern.

"Oh Bern, I know it's probably too much, too fast coming at you. Me and my big mouth. I should have just let you all adjust to your new surroundings. It was even a bit startling to me, at first."

"How long have you been up here?"

"Weeks. Ever since the day the Duster's destroyed the cabin. I was lucky. A patrol found me that very same night. I begged them to search for you, Bern, but they had to return to Frelsi. They don't like to be out on the plains in the daylight, as you might appreciate. So here I've been ever since, whiling away the time."

"What kind of hovel are you living in now?" said Bern, looking over at her ramshackle shack.

Lille blushed. "Yes, well... it's not much to look at, is it? Well, it's only temporary, as is every domicile between the walls. No sense putting up anything elaborate, the way we Hemis come and go."

"You should have a decent place to lay your head."

"How sweet of you, Bern. Always building me dream cottages. But there's really no call for it. We don't intend to stay here very long, do we? I mean the whole point of coming here is to free our souls, yes?"

"We'll see about that," Bern muttered.

"I do wish I could invite you all in for some tea. Oh, I know! I can bring it here. This table seems decent enough. How about you Master Felix? Can I interest you in a cuppa?"

"Um, not for me, thank you."

Lille looked to the soldier. He shook his head as well.

"Very well. A service for three. I'll be right back, and I can fill you in on all that's been going on. Frelsi is quite the most fascinating place. Oh, I'm so excited that we're reunited!" She pinched Bern's cheeks and kissed him on the lips. "I can't wait to see what they can do with that grizzled old mug of yours! And your leg! You poor thing. It's still bothering you, I see. But don't you worry. They'll have it better than new in a jiff."

She bustled away back towards her hut.

Bern and I looked at each other.

"My God," he said. "What have they done to my Lille? She's got the energy of a toddler."

***

Lille bustled back with a steaming pot on a tray with three, bone-white cups. She beamed at us, revealing teeth whiter teeth and gum pinker than on the Lille I knew before. The flesh Weavers of Frelsi were certainly thorough.

"Whenever is Koontz going to get here?" said Lille. "I can't stand seeing my boys anchored to the ground."

"Patience. He's on his way," said Master Felix.

She poured us each a cup of black tea potent with caffeine and rich with color, unlike the clear but flavorful brews she had served us in the tunnels.

"Ah, no one brews a cup as good as yours, Lille," said Bern.

"This is the real thing, believe it or not. Actual leaves, cured and processed right here on the mountainside."

"Amazing," I said. "Where the heck did they find—?"

"Oh, it's engineered," said Lille. "They can take any plant and turn it into another. They're even creating Reapers that can fly."

"Oh hell, that's all we need," said Bern.

"Well, they've got to stay ahead of the Dusters somehow. Those flying bugs of theirs, that's their main advantage."

Bern had a wistful expression. "You know Lille, every day I went looking for you on the plains," said Bern. "Every single day since those bug riders attacked."

"I would have expected no less from you, Bern." Lille cupped her hand over his. Even her hands looked younger, each finger rounded and smooth, clashing with the puckered skin and age spots that marred Bern's hand.

"The Dusters dropped me from a height that no person has a right to fall and survive. I hurt my back very badly and was knocked unconscious. Luckily, some nice people waiting for an escort observed the whole thing and rescued me. I was halfway up the mountain before I regained consciousness, I begged them to go back and look for you. They couldn't, obviously. I have to say, I feared the worst for you, Bern."

Bern teared up and sighed. "The same here. I was building a memorial cairn for you. But I never gave up looking, hoping.

A small, lithe Reaper galloped onto the parade ground, its body elevated above eight cantilevered legs. It carried no decking, just a saddle mounted by a single rider. Sacks and crates were lashed on both sides.

It trotted up to the edge of the trench holding the larger Reapers and bleated at them, prompting a chorus of groans in response. Its rider slid off the saddle and unloaded his cargo onto a wheelbarrow.

One sack, he pulled aside and tossed next to the trench of Reapers. Something thrashed and grunted beneath the mesh when it hit the ground.

"Oh my God!" I said, craning my neck. "I think that's Urszula!"

"Who?" said Lille.

"She's the Duster gal we rescued," said Bern.

"Really?" Lille wrinkled her nose.

Two men emerged from one of the alleys, their bright, fanciful clothing contrasting with the bland, functional apparel of the Hemis. One man had reddish, blonde hair that stood nearly vertical above his forehead. The other man had a mane of black curls, each too regular and perfect to be natural.

"Ah, here he comes, finally," said Master Alex.

"Koontz?" said Bern.

"Oh! And Alec is with him," said Lille. "He's the fair one. I can't wait to introduce you. Though I wish it was under better circumstances." She glanced again at the gnarled restraints.

Four soldiers bearing long spears followed several paces behind them. They spread out across the grounds to form a perimeter.

"Well, best of luck to you all. I'll be off, then," said Master Felix, stepping away.

"Felix, where do you think you are going?" said Koontz. The curly-haired man approached cautiously, both hands clutching a short staff. Her eyes were mobile and fearful.

"Transferring custody. I need to go get the next escort organized. We had a bit of a tussle this morning. Lost a cruiser."

"Yes, but you need to tell me what we're dealing with here."

"Mavericks," said Master Felix. "Captured with an injured Duster in their presence. In fact, they just brought up the Duster in question." He pointed to the sack holding Urszula.

"That's it? That's all I have to go on?"

"That's all there is to say."

Alec went straight to Lille and hugged her, pecking her lightly on both cheeks.

"Alec, I'd like you to meet Bern."

Bern stood up straighter than usual and thrust out his hand. Something hard glinted deep in his eyes.

"Bern! What a pleasure," said Alec. "I've heard so much you."

"I bet you have."

"What do you think of Lille's little makeover?"

"I'm not... sure."

"Bern? Don't be silly."

"You were already beautiful, Lille. You didn't require any enhancement."

"Enhancement? This isn't just a nose job. This is my youth, restored!"

"Yes, well. Whatever." He tried stepping back and must have forgotten he was attached to the ground and stumbled, nearly toppling.

Lille rushed over to brace him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said, straightening back up.

"Are these restraints really necessary, Alec? These boys are no threat to anyone. I doubt you have to worry about them running about the place wreaking havoc."

"Master Koontz?"

"I'd prefer they remain booted," said the curly-haired man. "Considering they were found with a Duster, they could have sympathies with Neueden."

"Do you?" said Alec, to me and Bern.

"Sympathies?" I said. "Well, she was hurt. I guess I just hate seeing people suffer."

"People. Interesting you see them that way," said Alec. "Not all Frelsians do."

"Have you had any prior interactions with the Dusters? said Koontz.

"Well, yeah," I said. "They grabbed us and threw us in the pits."

"These were... separate incidents?"

"It was... about a week ago for me."

"And I was attacked the same time as Lille," said Bern.

"Nothing else?" said Koontz.

"Other than the skirmish we had yesterday? No," I said

"And what exactly happened?"

"She attacked our friend. We knocked her off her mantis and... she broke her arm and ankle. Bern splinted her arm and wrapped the ankle."

Koontz rolled his eyes. "This is a waste of my time. I don't know why they summoned me. You two seem harmless enough, apart from your misguided charity." But then his eyebrows tilted. He took my wrist and twisted my arm to expose the underside. "You're not vetted?"

"They're mavericks, Koontz," said Alec. "They found their own way to the surface. But this is not an issue. I'm happy to do the deed right here. From what Lille has told me, and from what I see. They both qualify."

"They're all yours, then," said Koontz. He tapped his staff against the roots binding our feet. They shriveled and curled away, retracting back into the ground. He clapped to get the attention of his security escort. "Back to the gates." They gathered around their charge. Koontz dipped his brow and hurried off, his eyes flitting to every Hemi that passed too close.

Alec reached into his jacket, which was made of a suede-like material, with contrasting panels of cobalt blue and deep purple. He removed a small bundle and unwrapped it, revealing a pouch and a metal device with straps that resembled an oversized wristwatch. "Alright. Who wants to go first?"

Bern held out his arm. "I trust there's no pain."

"Oh, don't be such a child, Bern," said Lille. "You won't feel a thing."

Alec pulled some brown strands from a pouch. It looked like pipe tobacco. He pressed them into a cavity beneath the device and strapped it to the underside of Bern's arm. He turned a knob. There came a hiss.

"There you go." He unstrapped it, revealing an angry red C on the underside of Bern's forearm, opening towards his elbow.

Lille rose up on the tips of her toes and planted a kiss on his chin. "Congratulations, dear!"

"Next?" The mentor looked at me.

"Uh... I don't think so," I said, crossing my arms. "Not right now."

"James, really?" said Lille. "I assure you, it doesn't hurt one bit. Isn't that right, Bern?"

"That's true. Feels a bit itchy at first, but... no real pain."

"I'm not worried about that. I'm just not... ready."

"It's just a formality, son," said Alec. "Not having it might cause you some difficulties inside these walls."

"Yeah, well. I'm not so sure how long I'm gonna be hanging around here."

"Excuse me?" said Lille.

"You really are a maverick, aren't you?" said Alec.

"Well, it's just that... I promised Karla I'd meet here out in the canyons. I just... I don't want to do this until she has a chance."

"How sweet," said Lille. "Though, I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Give me a day to think about it. Can you?"

"If you insist," said Alec, packing up his kit. "In the meantime, I would suggest you keep a low profile. If you thought Koontz was bad, there others here more extreme." He tucked his device away. "Well, I'll leave you with your friends. I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do."

Chapter 23: Butterfly

As Lille led us back to her little, slapdash hut, we dodged through the steady stream of foot traffic that had picked up alongside the parade ground. People carried empty baskets and gourds. Pack frames were lashed to some of their backs. They pushed and pulled a crazy diversity of carts and wagons past the Reapers to the outer gates.

The occasional Freesoul among them was identifiable by their gaudy attire. They never walked alone it seemed, but always with bodyguards and attendants.

Lille's hut was a crude echo of all the cabins and cottages she and Bern had erected together from Luthersburg to the cavern to the plains. A set of rickety walls was propped against the outer stone barricade and covered by a sloppy roof of thatch and bark—the sort of structure you might expect in a third world shanty town.

Despite its rough exterior, I could see she had done whatever she could to make the inside cozy. The dirt floor was covered with sisal mats. Patchwork hangings covered seams and gaps in the walls to keep out the breezes. The interior smelled like a mushroom farm.

"Make yourself at home. I realize it's tight quarters, but we can clear a space for you to sleep in the corner."

Bern rapped on the wall. "What in blazes is this made of?" The exterior had a hard, rippled finish that looked like molten ice cream that had been flash frozen. The inside was smooth and velvety. I ran my finger over the pale finish and my fingernail engraved a brown scratch.

"It's tree fungus," I said. "Huge slabs of it."

"Giant mushrooms? But why? When you can weave yourself a—"

"Weaving gets difficult this far from the Core," said Lille. "Only the Masters can do it. The rest rely on other.... technologies... so to speak. It's part of the price of going free."

"This is unacceptable," said Bern. "Look how flimsy it is. I can wiggle the whole damn wall."

"Bern, please don't. You're going to knock it over."

"One shouldn't have to worry about such things. It's supposed to be a wall, for goodness sake. It's shoddy workmanship."

"Patience, darling. This is just temporary quarters. We'll find ourselves some bigger and better digs when we move up to the Inner Sanctuary."

Lille's place was a little too cozy for three, especially with a squabble going on, so I stepped back outside. I sat on a gourd the size of a barrel and watched the bustle along the parade ground.

Everyone seemed in such a rush. People acted as their beasts of burden, carrying heavy loads on their backs, hauling wagons. Some had yoked themselves up with contraptions that distributed the pressure of their loads to their chests. There must not have been enough of those tame Reapers to go around.

Some fully loaded carts began to come in from beyond the outer gates. Some carried overstuffed sacks full of unformed roots that must have been mined from some pit. A wagon wheeled up next to the Reaper trench, stacked with what looked like a bunch of dirty logs.

Not ten feet away from me, a guy who had been pulling a cart seized up and fell. His face turned blotchy as it shimmered. His clothes went slack and just like that, he was gone.

With hardly a pause, another guy came rushing over, threw his load in the back of the cart and climbed under the yoke.

Maybe that was why everyone was in such a hurry around here. One never knew when their time would run out.

Any moment now, it could be me. I was certainly in no hurry to leave. Back in Scotland, locked away in that cell, there was nothing to do but wallow in pain and worry about Karla. My extended stay in Root had been a blessing.

Lille and Bern were having a hushed but intense conversation inside. Lille was crying. I felt like a third wheel sitting outside those thin walls, so I got up and went for a stroll.

In a place where everyone's business seemed urgent, a loiterer like me stood out like a black swan. I tried to stay out of people's way, meandering through the spaces that seemed the least busy. But I couldn't help gravitating towards that pathetic, little bundle at the edge of the Reapers' trench.

Urszula had stopped writhing. I bent down to see if she was alright. A pair of soldiers stood chatting on the ramp at the far side. Neither paid me any attention.

A rough, cloth bag had been secured over her head. I undid the drawstring and yanked it off. She lurched and let out a shriek loud enough to shatter bone. I staggered back, nearly tumbling into the trench with the Reapers, before catching my balance. The soldiers stared at me, but soon turned away and resumed their conversation.

Urszula glared at me through the mesh, her grey-specked eyes wide and wild, her face like granite. "What do you want?"

"I just came by to see if you were okay."

"Why do you care?"

Her ankle looked all purple and swollen. "I can't believe they just left you here. What are they going to do with you?"

"Interrogation. Execution."

"Execution? Are you sure about that?"

"None of my brothers or sisters has ever left Frelsi alive. Why would they spare us? We are their enemies."

"Well, that ain't fair," I said. "I mean, I'm not crazy about how you all went after us, but you don't deserve to... die... for it—so to speak."

"There is nothing to be done. One less enemy is one less they have to fight."

"That's just not fair," I said. "You showed us mercy. You guys could have turned us to dust instead of sticking us back into those pits."

"You were not Frelsians. Yet."

"I'm still not," I said, displaying my unblemished forearms. "And I'm not sure I ever will be. The way they do things here makes my skin crawl."

Someone shifted in her face. She looked puzzled, confused.

"You know," I said. "Let's see what I can do for you. My friend Lille has an in with this guy named Alec. He's a Freesoul. Maybe there's a way to get you released."

"You know nothing about Frelsi, do you?" she said, looking away.

I tugged at the mesh enclosing her. It clung as if part of her skin. There was no way to tear it free without removing bits of her as well.

I glanced up to check on the soldiers. A little ways away was that cart with the cargo of strange logs.

I just about shit my pants. Those weren't logs, they were corpses; or more accurately, living mummies like the one Bern had shown me down in the wash. A couple dozen were heaped on top of each other in its bed.

"What the fuck are they doing with those?"

"Food for Reapers," said Urszula.

I took a breath and sighed. "Now that's just nasty."

"Where else would they find enough meat? Unlike us, the Old Ones don't fight back."

"Christ? Where do they get them all?"

"They harvest them. There is another old city on this massif. Abandoned. The Old Ones still lie where they fell. Though, their souls have moved on to another place."

"So what's gonna happen when they get eaten?"

"Back to the Deeps, like me."

"Oh no, not if I have any say in the matter."

"Forget it. My fate is already decided. Leave me be and let me have some peace."

I looked down at the chose snoring, snuffling Reapers. One masticated a mass of shattered bone like a cow chewing its cud. My stomach turned.

"Can I... can I get you anything?" I couldn't keep the pity out of my voice.

Urszula looked startled. She licked at her cracked lips. "I am... thirsty."

"You! Get away!" One of the soldiers came trotting over, a staff leveled in his grip.

"She needs water," I said.

"The she-demon can do without. Now off with you!"

I crouched down and whispered close to Urszula's ear. "I'll sneak you a drink when they're not looking. And don't worry. I'll make sure they don't hurt you."

***

I went back to the shack and leaned against the perimeter wall, keeping a close watch over Urszula, ready to pounce the instant any asshole went near her with intent to harm. I meant to keep my promise.

Bern came out and lowered himself awkwardly, gimpy leg sticking out, onto a stone that had fallen out of the wall.

"Will you look at those busy little bees? The place is like bloody Calcutta. You have your worker class and what seems to be a leisure class. Oh! Look at that one! Those duds. Like he's in a fooking circus. If Lille expects me to dress like that, she's got another thing coming."

"What was that, darling?" said Lille, hefting a large, lidded earthenware pot onto the stoop.

"Oh, nothing hon. Just watching the world go by."

"How about some ambrosia, you two? I had a nice batch delivered just the other day."

"Ambrosia?"

"Well, that's what they call it. It's just a porridge, basically. It's the staple here in Frelsi. The texture leaves something to be desired, but it has a nice flavor."

"Sure. Why not?"

Lille handed us bowls that looked like halves of ostrich eggs and ladled helpings of a lumpy yellow porridge that smelled faintly sulfurous. Lille noticed the disgust on my face.

"Have a bite before you turn up your nose at it. I assure you, it tastes much, much better than it looks and smells."

"Oh my, look at that wee beastie!" said Bern, pointing to a Reaper that had the body of a horse and the snout of an anteater. "Four legs! First one of those I've seen. And the size of the chap that's riding it. That can't be natural. Shades of Luther, that's woven flesh if I ever saw it."

"He's a grenadier," said Lille. "They like them big."

"Shock troops, eh? These people are serious about their warfare. This is not mere defense we're talking about."

Lille handed us some crude wooden spoons. "Pardon the cutlery."

I took a tiny spoonful of the ambrosia. It tasted like strawberry-flavored cream of mushroom soup, both fruity and salty, with a musky, earthy aftertaste.

"What do you think?" said Lille.

"A little strange," I said. "But it hits the spot."

"Not bad," agreed Bern. "But it goes in like a mouthful of pus and phlegm."

Lille sat beside Bern on the crate, draping their arms around him.

"Bernard here doesn't like my makeover." She pouted.

"It's not that. They did a marvelous job. There's no trace of your scars. It'll just take some getting used to. Like this porridge."

"I can't wait to see what they can do with that mug of yours," said Lille. "Not that you're not already handsome, of course."

I couldn't even picture Bern as a young man. He was one of those guys who seemed to have passed into the world in full-blown maturity. The idea that he had passed through a childhood seemed somehow ludicrous.

"Oh, look at that," said Bern. "There goes yet another freak."

He pointed his cane at a man dressed in a long coat with a pattern that shifted with the touch of every breeze.

"Oh Bern, be nice. I happen to know that gentleman. That's Patrick. He's a Mentor, like Alec."

"These Mentors, what exactly is their role?"

"Coaches, basically. They help Hemis achieve their freedom. Patrick's very good, but I do hope it's Alec who takes you both on. He's been wonderful to me."

"So how does it happen?" I said. "How do you get to be free?"

"Well. There's a process one needs to go through... in both worlds. On the other side, we need to surrender our bodies. But the tricky part is, it can't be our own doing. That would be suicide and we all know where suicides end up."

"What are you saying, Lille?" said Bern. "To become free, we need to be... murdered?"

"Homicide will do," she said. "Or an accident. Or disease."

"So if I start a fight in the prison yard and someone stomps my head to a bloody pulp, would that qualify?"

"Ooh Bern, that's a bit brutal, don't you think? There must be a nicer way to go about it."

"But would I qualify?"

"I suppose. That case sounds rather ambiguous. A little too close to suicide, don't you think?"

"How would arranging your own assassination be any different?"

"Well, that's the thing. We don't arrange anything. That's all up to your Mentor. They don't tell you who or how or exactly when. But when the time comes, they move you out beyond the influence of the Core. There's a station up the valley at the foot of the glaciers. The extra thousand feet of elevation seems to do the trick."

"Sounds like such a bother," said Bern.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. You can't stay a Hemi forever. We all have to move on someday." She touched a finger to a chin. "You know, it's too bad we couldn't arrange some sort of mutual murder society and assist each other with the transition."

Bern's eyes bugged out at her. "And how would we manage that, seeing as you're in a permanent coma, I'm stuck in a maximum security prison and bloody James here is locked in a fooking dungeon? What kind of nonsense are you spouting? Did they meddle with your brain when they were smoothing out your wrinkles?"

"Bern! Be nice. It was just wishful thinking. Just... who better to ease one's way to the great beyond than... friends? Alec tells me they have people who provide such services. Hemisouls who act as volunteer assassins. No quid pro quo. I'm not sure I like that idea, though of course, for me it would a simple thing, really. Someone just needs to walk into my room and pull my plug."

"So what happens to those who die under the influence of the Core?" said Bern.

"I'm not sure anyone knows," said Lille. "But why worry our heads about the unknown when we have such a clear path to the known? We all should be striving for—the Inner Sanctuary."

"Where?"

"The city on the other side of the wall. Where the Freesouls stay. It's like something out of a dream, a self-made Heaven, really. The ancients who built it had a spell craft that could modify fungi and primitive flora. They grew their own dwellings. It needs a bit of sprucing up. It was abandoned for a long time, and the Dusters have mucked it up with their raids. But the reconstruction is well underway."

A Frelsian woman appeared at the head of an entourage. She looked quite striking, with waist-length chestnut hair done up in springy coils. Her long dress swirled with each determined stride displaying pleats of alternating umber and gold. With her long, flowing sleeves, she looked like a butterfly.

A bodyguard walked close behind her wielding a club. He looked big enough to play defensive end in the NFL. Three women in drab clothing struggled to keep up with them, two bearing massive bundles of reeds on their backs, one clutching a large basket of cut flowers.

The rhythm of her gait hypnotized me and stirred something in my gut. My reaction puzzled me at first, but then I realized that she reminded me of a young Darlene—my mom—the way she had looked in the old snapshots I kept on my nightstand back at the farm. Those pictures had been taken back in Ohio, when she used to wear her hair long, before the gray crept in, and before the chemo made it drop.

Could it be her? From fifty yards away, it was hard to tell for sure, but my heart was hammering. I shot up from my stool. "I'll be right back."

Lille squinted at me. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I'm just... I've gotta check something out."

Chapter 24: Arrangements

After a quick but scalding shower, Karla and pulled on the slightly loose pair of jeans she had borrowed from Jessica, along with her own tank top and cardigan. A chill still lingered in the cottage from another frosty night.

The other girls had already gone back to work at the cheese house, pressing curds into forms. Karla fully intended to join them once she felt human again. The strong pot of coffee Jessica had left behind was certainly helping that cause.

Anxiety crept through her bones like some insidious parasite. It disturbed her to think of James frittering away in some clammy basement. She could sense the pain in his eyes, even though she knew he couldn't feel it in Root.

And she was having severe reservations about sending Jessica up north alone. People who entered Edmund Raeth's orbit had a habit of disappearing. It had begun in Rome with a boy who had lived next door to them. And then it happened to the young woman who delivered flowers to the rectory of their parish. But it took the disappearance of Father Carlo to make the police finally take notice.

Her mother was already gone by then, not disappeared, but marriage annulled, wasting away in a psychiatric hospital in her home town of Napoli. Carlo was an enlightened young priest who had the misfortune to be assigned to the SSPX-dominated parish in which Edmund had served as an extraordinarily influential deacon. He and Edmund butted heads until one Friday when Father Carlo failed to show up for vespers.

The police sent a pair of detectives to interview Papa. For hours they sat with him in the paneled dining room while Karla prayed they would take him into custody. But they had not.

Instead, Edmund had proposed to her stepmother-to-be, a convent dropout named Emma McCourty, and they were packing for a permanent move. Karla had tried to run away, but Edmund's people had tracked her down at the apartment of her boyfriend's grandmother. Medicated into passivity, she had descended into a life even more severe than what she had endured in Rome.

No traces of the neighbor boy, flower girl or Father Carlo were ever found. Not a smear of blood or shred of fingernail. Karla feared the same might happen to James and to Jessica if she let her go north on her own.

She burst outside and rushed across the farmyard. The day had warmed up nicely from a chilly start. She almost didn't need the sweater.

She pushed open the door of the barn and five heads turned her way, including a young man Karla didn't recognize. His leg was in a cast that went up to his knee. No one was working at the tables and vats. They were all clustered around Isobel.

"Karla? I'd like you to meet Harry," said Jessica. "He's just back from the hospital."

"Pleased to meet you," said Harry. "It's been great having James here on the farm, I tell you. Helps counterbalance the sea of estrogen."

"Oh yeah, Harry?" said Jessica. "And what would you know about testosterone?"

"You see what I have to put up with?"

"What happened to your leg?" said Karla.

"Oh, just a bad twist and a break in the old ankle. They had to pop a few screws in there to keep it all in place." He looked up at Jessica and glared. "And no comments from the peanut gallery, please!"

"I wasn't going to say anything," said Jessica, smirking at Helen.

Karla took Jessica by the elbow. "Did you talk to Renfrew yet?"

Jessica looked uncomfortable.

"There's... a problem," she said. "Izzie kind of beat me to it, and he... sort of blew up."

"Izzie! What did you say to him?"

"No details, La. Honest, just—"

Renfrew ducked his head out of his office. "I need a word with you ladies. All of you except Helen. In my office. Now!"

"What about the curds?" said Jessica.

"Never you mind the curds," said Renfrew. "Let Harry and Helen attend to it. The rest of you, get your butts in here."

He waited at the door until everyone had filed in. Isobel promptly claimed Renfrew's tattered but well-cushioned chair.

"Izzie no!" said Karla. Her sister got up and sat on the boxed-in radiator.

Renfrew slammed the door.

"What's all this about James being in trouble? What did the bastard do? Did he wreck my motorcycle?"

"No."

"Then what the bloody hell happened? Is he in the slammer? Does he need bail? What the hell's going on? Your little sis would only talk to me in riddles."

Karla decided to be frank. "James had been kidnapped. Some bad people are holding him against his will."

"What do you mean 'bad people'? What kind of people?"

"He's our Papa," said Isobel.

"But why would your father...? Does this have something to do with his drug running?"

"No, but... how do you know about that? Did he tell you?"

Jessica blushed and looked away.

"We are runaways, Ren," said Karla. "My father is looking for us. We think James blundered into him and is being held hostage."

"How do you know? Have you spoken to James?"

"We have... contacts," said Karla, not willing to venture into the weeds of having to explain the Liminality to yet another person.

"But why would your dad do such a thing?"

"He doesn't like boys," said Isobel.

"Well, neither do I," said Renfrew. "I think they're all bloody wankers. Doesn't mean I go and kidnap 'em."

"Papa is a Fundamental Catholic of the most extreme sort," said Karla. "He is a Sedevacantist on the farthest fringes. They believe in the old rites, and I do not mean just pre-Vatican II. He is into ancient stuff, things the mainstream church no longer believes."

Renfrew still looked confused. "Why haven't you called the police? Is James wanted by the law?"

"No," said Karla, sighing. "It is because I have lost faith in them. They have let me down too many times. And it doesn't help that our local police chief belongs to Papa's sect."

Renfrew puffed air through his whiskers. He yanked a picture frame off his desk. It had a photo of Sturgis and older man. Sturgis looked about sixteen, with a crew cut of his current mop, and not a trace of facial hair.

"Any chance my nephew is tied up in any of this?" said Renfrew.

"I hope not," said Karla. "But yes, it is possible. He is my friend. Papa doesn't know of him, but I'm sure there are ways he could find this out."

Renfrew squinted. "How did you come to know Sturgie? He's not exactly a churchgoer, that one."

"Night classes," said Karla. "Papa often spent his evenings at the church. He would leave us home, locked in our bedroom. Sometimes, I would sneak out the window, go to the college and read in the library or sit in on lectures. I met Sturgie in a history of music class."

"Ah, had a little romance, did you?" Renfrew leered. "The little bugger."

"Not really," said Karla. "We just... got along well. We would have tea and chat during breaks. But I always had to run off to get home before Papa."

"And this one never tattled?" He pointed at Isobel. "What a good sister!"

"Actually, we traded off," said Karla. "Sometimes Izzie would go off to see her friend. Unfortunately, that's how we got caught. Papa came home early one night and saw she was not in the room with me. That was the end. He nailed our window shut, even soldered the latch."

"Bloody hell. Your Papa's a freaking maniac."

"Maybe you should call Sturgie," said Jessica. "Make sure he's okay?"

"How? That little bastard won't even talk to me. Won't pick up when I ring him. I think he's got that caller ID."

"I'll call him on my phone, then," said Jessica. "Give me the number."

"Linval, too," said Isobel. "They're best of buds."

"Do you know Linnie's number, Iz?" said Karla.

"No, but Gwen must," said Isobel. "I used Linnie's phone to text her."

"That means we need to worry about her safety as well," said Karla, shooting her sister a stern look. Worry flashed across Isobel's face.

Renfrew scratched his beard. "So where exactly do you think James is being held?"

"I am not sure," said Karla. "It is a Sedevacantist church, no doubt, of which there are few, but I don't know which one. Glasgow or Inverness, most likely."

Renfrew looked flabbergasted. "So what were you planning to do Jess? Tour the whole of Scotland until you found him?"

"It was just the two places, really," said Jessica. "And Glasgow is on the way."

"And once you located him, what then? Did you plan to charm his captors with your Cymric beauty?"

"I was... going to pose as a Catholic."

"And what do you know about Catholicism, not to mention extreme Catholicism? Have you no idea how these people think? A young woman does not go about un-chaperoned."

"That is true," said Karla. "I was actually worried about that."

"Easily solved," said Renfrew. "I'll be your chaperone."

"What? You?"

"Sure. We just tell 'em I'm your dad or uncle or something. We find the right church, get inside by going to services. I'll strap a crow bar to me wooden leg and stick a sidearm in my pocket. That should suffice to bust him out. And don't worry darlings, I'll try not to hurt your dear old dad too badly."

"Actually, I don't mind if you do," said Karla.

"I don't care if you kill him," said Isobel.

Renfrew thrust back his chair in shock. "My Lord! You two are either very bad girls, or this is a very bad man we're talking about. And from what I know of you, I suspect it's the latter."

"He is the bad one, I guarantee," said Karla. "You cannot even imagine."

Renfrew's face went serious. His eyes homed in on Karla. He unlocked his drawer and removed a very old, black pistol, two magazines and a box of bullets. He plunked them down atop his desk calendar.

"How about it, Jess? You bad girl, you. Ready to give confession?"

***

Renfrew and Jessica went off to pack, and when they returned with their suitcases, Karla and Isobel gave them a crash course in the ways of the Sedevacantists. When and where to make the sign of the cross. When to kneel, stand and walk during mass. The proper and improper acceptance of the host.

"And never mention that you own a telly," said Isobel. "That is a sin."

"Watching football is a sin? Bugger that!"

"It's not the football they don't like," said Karla. "It's the other stuff that might taint and tempt."

"Not to mention the vice of sloth," said Isobel. "Papa is big on the vice of sloth."

"So never talk about shows you've seen on the telly."

"Linny has a television," said Isobel, her eyes sparkling. "It's glorious!"

"Open your suitcase," said Karla to Jessica. "I want to see what clothes you brought."

Jessica unzipped and opened her tweed bag. She pulled out a green shift and held it up over her jeans.

"Oh no!" said Karla, aghast. "That will never do."

"Why not?"

"It would show your knees, as well as a bit of thigh, I would imagine."

"So what? It's bloody 2012."

"Now, now, Jess," said Renfrew. "Be a team player."

"I've got some longer ones in there as well," said Jessica. She folded her shift and placed it back in the suitcase. "I'm bringing it anyway, just in case. It's my favorite."

"Let me see that blouse," said Karla.

"What? This one?"

She handed Karla a blue on white floral print top with balloon sleeves. Karla held it up and bit her lip.

"The neck line's way too low. I'm sorry, but this won't do, either."

"This is about as modest as my wardrobe gets. You should see what I left behind."

"No thank you," said Karla. "You just have to remember not to show too much skin. Otherwise they will mark you as a Jezebel and then you're sunk."

"Wear this instead," said Isobel, crouching down beside Jessica's suitcase. She pulled out a rather masculine Oxford shirt that could be buttoned right up to the throat. "This is perfect."

"Those are my bloody pajamas. Really guys? Do I need a bleeping burkha?"

"Actually," said Karla. "For ordinary services, I would recommend wearing a head scarf. A veil is needed only for special masses."

"A veil? Really?" said Jessica. "What about him?" She sneered at Renfrew. "Are they going to let him near the church in his corduroys and flannel?"

"He is a man," said Karla. "No one cares what he wears. As long as there are not so many stains or holes."

"I'll have you know I'm bringing my grey wool slacks, a white shirt and a clip-on tie," said Renfrew. "Even packed my nose hair trimmer."

"Too much information, Ren," said Jessica.

"Got a question," said Renfrew. "These second vacant—or whatever—blokes, do they use all that Latin mumbo jumbo?"

"Good point," said Karla. "I should warn you that you will find no missals in the pews. Everyone is expected to know the rites. I would suggest you try to mimic everyone else, but keep your voice down. Kneel and stand when they do. Go up when they take Communion. Take the host directly in your mouth, never in the hand."

"Always say Amen afterwards," said Isobel. "And never chew! Your teeth can't even touch it!"

"Bloody Christ! You mean we've got to do that fooking Communion thing?"

"Aaagh! You can't take the Lord's name in vain!" said Isobel, kicking him.

"No expletives!" said Karla. "Nice words, only."

"Nice words!" said Helen, looking on from the vats. She gave a hearty laugh. "Do you really expect Ren to string two sentences together without a 'fuck' or a 'bugger' or a 'Jesus Christ'? You're better off having him pretend he's deaf and dumb."

"Oh, shaddup, you hairy Wiccan. I can keep clean for a good cause. And springing James is as good a cause as I've been involved with since the Falklands."

"At least tomorrow's not a Sunday," said Jessica.

"It does not matter," said Karla. "There are masses every day, three times a day at least. Our congregations are small, but someone will always be there. Those people practically live in the church."

"Alrighty then. You ready Jess? We're taking the little Ford." He buckled his valise and slapped on his porkpie hat. "Remember, when you're walking with me, you've got to keep two steps behind."

"He's joking, isn't he?" said Jessica.

"Actually, that would not be a bad idea," said Karla. "It shows deference."

"Ladies? Where are your bags?" said Helen, packing the last of the curds on a stainless steel bench.

"We're not going," said Karla. "We're staying to help you?"

"What?" Helen scrunched her face.

"I need someone to go down and open the gate."

"I'll get it, boss!" said Harry, reaching for his crutch.

Renfrew smirked. "Someone's in a hurry to see me off."

Harry shrugged. "Just being helpful."

They left the barn and headed for Renfrew's blue Ford Focus. The boot was open and waiting. Harry hurtled down the dirt lane, swinging his cast with the aid of a single crutch.

Renfrew flung his valise into the boot and climbed into the driver's seat. Jessica came around and joined him as Karla looked on, kneading her fingers into Isobel's shoulder.

"Not so hard, La. You're digging into my bones."

"Well, then," said Renfrew, hanging his arm out the driver's side window. "Farm's all yours."

"Be careful. And good luck," said Karla.

"We'll pray for you," said Isobel.

Helen burst out of the cheese house. "What's all this? You two aren't going with them?"

"We're staying behind to help you and Harry with the chores," said Karla.

"Nonsense. We don't need any help. Milk production's already starting to peter. The last batch of cheese is all racked. Ren's got no right to make you stay behind and fester. You'll just worry yourself to death."

"No, really, it is alright," said Karla. "We have discussed this. It is better we stay back and—"

"Harry! Don't you dare open that gate yet."

Harry stood with the chain dangling in his grip. Helen ran up to the car and had a brief but intense exchange with Renfrew. She turned to the girls, victorious.

"Karla, Isobel. Get your things. You're going with them. Harry and I can manage the farm just fine. If we need any help, I'm sure my lady friends would be glad to come and spend a few days. They love it here."

"Oh, just what I need," said Renfrew. "A satanic, bestial orgy on my consecrated land. And to top it all, I'm not invited."

"There'll be no such thing. And if even there was, we wouldn't invite you, you old fart. And... consecrated? Who are you kidding? You're farming atop a bloody slag heap."

"Just promise you won't burn the place down or sacrifice any goats while we're away."

"You don't have to worry," said Helen. "This farm runs better without you. But you be careful, old man. Not too quick on that trigger."

Chapter 25: The Sanctuary

With a swirl of umber and gold, Mom, or at least the Freesoul who so uncannily looked like her, passed beyond the parade ground and out of sight. I ran after her as if possessed, the blood surging into my head. If she was here, then I was sold. This place had to be Heaven, or at least some reasonable facsimile.

I dashed across the open space and cut into the mass of huts and lean-tos that filled most of the space between the outer and inner walls, hoping catch up to her on the main thoroughfare, a lane about twenty feet wide that hugged the slick, pale slope of the inner wall.

Lille had told us that it ringed the Sanctuary—the exclusive domain of Frelsi's Freesoul population. While the outer wall was riddled with gaps, each unguarded, the Sanctuary had only two outlets and both were under heavy guard. Hemis could enter for work, but every last one of them had to leave by nightfall.

Careening down the narrow, twisting passages between huts, cutting through vacant shanties, leaping over cots and benches, I broke out onto the main road and straight into a jam. A convoy of huge Reaper-drawn wagons had just pulled in from a spoke-like side road and had compressed all of the traffic trying to go the other way.

I caught a glimpse of Mom just beyond the tie-up. As I squirmed past the jam, a six-legged Reaper hauling one of the big wagons growled and lunged at me. I leapt aside, straight into a man laden with a bundle of empty gourds so large it made him resemble an ant carrying a peanut. His gourds went clattering to the ground.

"So sorry!"

The man didn't even look at me. He just shrugged and put his mind to recovering his load.

"You fool! Never get in a Reaper's way," said the wagon driver. "I don't care if it's muzzled."

I ignored him, my eyes glued to the patch of gold and umber rapidly receding up the lane. The Reaper took advantage of my inattention to take another swipe at me. It knocked me down and slobbered over me until the driver hopped off his seat and beat it back with his sturdy staff.

Even for a Reaper, this was a particularly nasty-looking beast, a wart-studded snout that dripped with drool. If the cage-like muzzle strapped to its mouthparts was any indication, this one had nipped at passersby before.

I sidled away and shoved my way through the backup, dodging around the wagons, trying desperately to catch up with Mom. A Freesoul in a long, cobalt blue coat stood beside the inner wall, watching me.

Caught in the flow of the crowd, I had no choice but to brush past him. He grabbed my wrist as I went by and hauled me aside, slamming me against the wall.

"What's all this rushing about, Hemi? Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I'm... I saw... my mom," I said, all flustered. "I need to go. She's getting away!"

"Your... mother?" he said with a smirk. "Where's your working party? Where've you been assigned? Don't you realize we're at war, boy?"

"I'm new here," I said, craning my neck, trying to keep tabs on Mom, but I had already lost sight of her.

He flipped my wrist over. "You... have no mark!" He seemed almost repelled to have touched me.

"Like I told you. I'm new."

"But you can't be here, un-vetted," he said. "Come with me. I'm going to have to take you back outside these walls."

I yanked my arm free and dove under one of the huge, Reaper-drawn wagons a large wagon that was rolling past. I scrambled beneath it, barely avoiding being crushed by the massive wheels.

I slipped under a sheet of fabric screening the busy lane from someone's hut and squeezed down a narrow alley between rows of huts, and into a tent-like cook shack. Baskets brimming with tiny, disc-shaped beans and various types of white and yellow meal were arrayed in one corner next to a clay cistern. Caramelized brown goo encrusted several cauldrons in the central fire pit.

I picked up a half-burned twig and sketched a large C on my arm, shading the edges to give the appearance of three dimensions. My art work would never withstand the scrutiny of a close inspection, but it might be enough to fool a casual glance.

I pulled back a flap and peered out into the next alley. The encampment seemed abandoned. Apparently, everyone who slept here was elsewhere working. I wondered how Lille got away with hanging around idle at her place all day.

I made my way warily back to the main lane, keeping an eye out for the guy who had hassled me. That nasty wagon train had moved on and the foot traffic was moving again, most of it turning a corner onto a broad, trapezoidal ramp that fed into a set of three gates. Most of the crowd queued en masse behind the large, central gate, while Freesouls filed through the smaller portals on its flanks.

And there was Mom and her entourage. They had almost reached the entrance. I joined the larger queue and pushed ahead, taking advantage of my lack of cargo to slip ahead of those who were laden with goods or had carts to tend.

I watched as Mom passed through the entrance, while her bodyguard kept watch over the crowd still waiting to get in. Our eyes met. He seemed puzzled and annoyed to find me staring back at him. With Mom safely through, he turned and followed her through the opening.

The main gate was complete chaos as the throngs converged. A wagon clipped a whole line of waiting people and sent them and their wares crashing to the ground. Baskets ripped. Leaves fluttered free in the breeze. Berries bounced and rolled. Spilled roots writhed and crawled away.

I took advantage to zip ahead in the queue. The guards were so overwhelmed, they let people pass with the vaguest glimpse of their markings. A flash of my fake C was all I needed to gain a flick of a guard's chin and I too was through the main gate.

I entered a huge elliptical plaza covered in pale and seamless clay that gleamed bright in the sun. A dense cordon of weird, columnar buildings rose abruptly along its entire periphery. Branched like chubby scrub brushes, striated, segmented, green towers rose hundreds of feet from bases as broad as carriage houses. They reminded me of artist's depictions of prehistoric forests from earliest days of earliest dinosaurs.

Railed platforms circled each node, supported by the radial spoke-like branches, connecting to others by bridges, extensions and ladders. The segments remained roughly equal in size up till the topmost third of the trunks, from which they narrowed successively at each node, tapering to perches that reminded me of the crows' nests atop the masts of sailing ships. On the tippity top, mace-like balls studded with vicious-looking spikes bobbed in the wind, providing protection, I assumed, from aerial assaults by mounted mantids.

Soldiers manned the highest platforms which were fitted with cannons and harpoon launchers. The lower segments and platforms were the domain of Freesouls. A group of brightly-clothed folks leaned on the rail of one of the closest towers, sipping from stemmed glasses and watching the bustle below.

Once past the gate, the wagon trains and foot traffic fanned out and dispersed to various points across the plaza. I scanned the borders and spotted my mom huddled with her entourage at the base of one of the towers.

I tore ass across the open space, slowing up only as I came within earshot. That voice! I knew it better than any other in the universe—that slight Ohio twang to her hard vowels, just a shred of a lisp. It sealed the deal. This could only be Darlene.

I hovered in back of her little group, giddy with excitement in expectation of our reunion. Happy tears dripped down my face. It took all the restraint I could muster to not shove past the others and dive into her arms.

I know she saw me. Our eyes kept meeting and she kept glancing away. That confused me. Why would she be giving me the cold shoulder? Did she not want to show her emotions in public? But how could she hold back? It had been months since her funeral and I was her only son.

Was she in denial? Was this the last place she expected to see me? Did she not believe it was me? Might this woman not be my mother?

I stood there, holding back, as I studied her nuances. I knew in my bones, there was no way this could not be my mom, even though there were aspects of her face that seemed slightly off. The flesh Weavers had not only made her younger, they had tweaked her looks a bit, narrowing the unusually broad bridge of her nose, adding delicacy to her heavy chin and fullness to her lips.

Who could blame her for wanting to improve her face a mite while she had the chance? As Lille had said, this makeover was for eternity.

"Are we in your way, sir? Are you trying to get by?"

Sir? I couldn't believe she had just called me sir. I was speechless.

"Argyle, see what this man wants."

"M-m-mom?"

She stared back, half annoyed, half quizzical. Not even the faintest glimmer of recognition crossed her face. How could she not remember me?

"Mom. It's me. James," I pleaded.

She shook her head slowly.

"Argyle, please. Move this Hemi along. I have things to do."

"But Mom!"

The burly guy, her bodyguard, grabbed my arm and pulled me away.

"Let go of me! That woman is my mother. I just want to talk to her."

"Shove off, or I'll stick you in the pens," he said, with a distinctly Australian accent.

"Darlene!" I shouted, as he dragged me away. "Your name is Darlene Moody"

Something connected with her. She teetered a little bit and had to catch her balance. She knew her name at least, even if she no longer knew her own son.

"Jeez, Mom! How can you not remember me? I'm your only child."

With fear rimming her eyes, Mom reached behind her and touched the green tower. The wall split open. The bottom corners peeled up and apart, forming a triangular entrance. She ducked into it with considerable haste and distress.

"Mom! Wait! It's me! James. It's really me!"

She didn't look back as she bustled across a floor of translucent tiling, trotting up the spiral staircase that was carved from and curled up the inner wall.

The bodyguard snatched me by the shirt and dragged me away from the tower. He shoved me, and I went sprawling onto the clay, dripping tears onto the dust.

"Why doesn't she remember me?"

"What makes you think it's not your mind that's been addled?" said the bodyguard. "You're not the first Hemi to come here with a scrambled brain. Now move on! If I catch you anywhere near my mistress again, I'll have you turned to chowder."

***

Hemis and wagons passed all around me, but I just sat there amidst the tumult, cross-legged in the clay, unable to will myself back onto my feet. My insides felt like they had been crushed and swirled in a way that could never be put back together again. Now I knew how Humpty Dumpty felt.

From the middle of the bustling plaza, my idleness drew the attention of an angelic faced Hemi, who wore a vest of many pockets bearing flasks of amber liquid and carried wreaths of what looked like bay leaves and rosemary.

She diverted her path to come and stand right in front of me. She had hair so blonde it looked almost white.

"What's wrong?" she said. "Are you fading?"

"Nah. I'm just... I'm confused. I need some time to think."

Her eyes flitted about. "Well, this is not the most appropriate place to meditate. You'd better get off your bum and get moving. Find yourself a working party. Otherwise, they'll brand you a Defective and— Oh! There are some soldiers coming this way. They've spotted you. Up, up, up!"

I looked up and there they were, crossing the plaza towards me in their armor and weird, little helmets—four of them—and they looked like they meant business.

"Run!" she said.

The level of fear in her eyes startled and propelled me. I popped up and sprinted to the opposite end of the plaza, glancing over my shoulder as I ran. The soldiers went up to the girl, stopping her as she tried to walk away. They spoke with her a while before letting her continue on.

I reached the opposite edge of the plaza, up against another solid bank of those tree-towers. The soldiers were standing there, staring at me so I left the plaza, darting into their shadows, this way and that.

There was no order to the arrangement of the towers. The twisty paths between formed a random meshwork with no dominant direction. I circled this way and that around the base of each tower. Before I knew it I was deep in the forest and all turned around, lost in the shadows.

I could hear Freesouls laughing and chatting on their platforms above me, but wasn't foolish enough to ask for directions. I just wanted to get back to the plaza and leave the Sanctuary without being spotted by those soldiers. The look in that blond girl's eyes still bothered me.

I kept walking, hoping to blunder my way back to someplace more recognizable. But the towers got wilder and more unkempt the deeper I plunged. This really was a forest.

Every pillar was hollow, but not all were habitable. They ranged in size from saplings the width of telephone poles to bulbous monstrosities wide as a school bus. These structures were alive, not built, their green coloration coming from actual chlorophyll.

Many dead towers were intermingled with the living. These were bleached and faded to the gray of weathered, cedar shingles, their walls split open and decayed. Here and there, were hollow stumps outlining where some outrageously massive towers had stood, bigger than any I had yet seen.

I heard a ripping sound. Something splintered and crashed. I followed my ears to a clearing, pausing at the edge to see what was going on. A work crew was dismantling a fallen tower with crystalline blades mounted at the ends of long poles. Their blades passed through the woody stems like steel through whale blubber. The sections were pulled aside and stacked neatly. Some of the shanties between the walls had been made from sheets of this stuff.

I moved through the clearing briskly, pretending as if I had sent on some urgent errand. Through the corners of my eyes I could see one of the supervisors watching me, but I didn't engage him, I just kept on walking until I was once again surrounded by towers.

These looked like they had long been vacant. Their slitted entrances had knotted over and healed shut. Platforms dangled in shreds from the spokes that supported them.

It seemed like such a waste of space. There was plenty of room to house every Hemi in the Sanctuary. It made no sense to cram them all between the walls. But I guess that's why this place was called the Sanctuary. Freesouls preferred to be among their own kind after dark.

'Their own kind.' Listen to me! I was already assimilating their warped view of humanity. The Freesouls were really not any different from us Hemis. They were just a little more dead.

I meandered in a daze, deeper into the jungle of towers. I had no purpose, no direction, no goal. I just wandered, trying to process what had gone wrong with my mom. Did they flesh Weavers brainwash her? Then why hadn't it happened to Lille? Was loss of living memory part of the price of becoming a Freesoul? Maybe they really meant it when they said it severed one's connections with the living world.

I came to what I thought was yet another wall ringing another level of the city. The portals here, though, were many and unguarded and there was no one clamoring to get in.

Something flapped and honked on the other side. It sounded like some humungous goose in a tizzy. Against my better instincts, I found myself drawn into the portal, though I stepped cautiously.

I found what looked like an empty stadium without seats, just a slope of hardened clay leading down to a circular field of the same beige clay that seemed to underlay everything up here.

The bleating and flapping came from overhead, behind me. When I turned around, I nearly shit my pants. A winged Reaper came gliding down from a massive perch, dangling nasty claws that came swinging at my head. I hit the deck. It whooshed past. I rolled to my knees and crawled back into the portal.

The beast swooped down towards the floor of the arena. I was sure it was going to crash but it gained some lift at the last second and pulled up onto the opposite ramp, its claws skittering on the hard clay.

The thing was skinny for a Reaper and long—at least twice the length of those giant mantids. It had a set of three diamond-shaped wings on each side of its elongated body, each reinforced with ridges and veins.

It sported a sparser, lighter, more skeletal version of the decking that the escort Reapers carried. There were several soldiers on board, apparently training the beast to fly.

A chorus of bleating kicked up behind me. There was a whole flock of the monsters perched on a massive scaffold atop the arena, stretching their wings, getting ready to practice their gliding. I got the heck out of that place before the next one came crashing down on my head.

Once outside, I gazed up at the blue-tinged sun, trying to guess how to make my way back to the main gate.

The best I could figure, I had to circle around the back of the arena. The city opened up here, mainly because a large section of those green towers had been toppled, leaving only broken stubs. Beneath them spread an understory of house-sized bulbous things that looked like puffball mushrooms. Many had been crushed or turned to dust.

The Hemis here seemed to be preparing for war. They transformed bins of squirming roots into harpoons and swords and contraptions that looked like large-bore elephant rifles. Body armor was being distributed from the stacks stored within the stump of a fallen tower. Across a vacant lot, a line of soldiers practiced firing rocket-like projectiles that left corkscrew contrails behind as they flew.

When Victoria had vetted me, she had asked if I would be willing to fight for Frelsi. I had said yes, but I wasn't so sure about that anymore. War is war, and people had a right to defend themselves, but I had seen nothing so far that made me feel like this place was worth fighting for. This place wasn't exactly my idea of Heaven. Not even close.

As I rounded the arena, I spotted an opening back into the plaza beyond a huge array of those rectangular depressions they used to stable their Reapers. I made a beeline for it, not crazy about having to go past all those nasty, smelly things, but it was the quickest way out of here.

I was desperate to get back to Bern and Lille's and sort everything out. Mom's snubbing still stung.

The Reapers' powerful stench hung like a curtain before the trenches. I don't know how people could stand riding these beasts.

Reapers lounged in heaps at the bottom of the depressions, relaxed in their limbless, slug-like, undifferentiated state. They were as placid as cows, chewing their cuds of gristle and bone.

The first trench held a bunch of lunkers, well-suited for decking, but beside them was another, deeper depression holding a herd of smaller, quicker beasts no bigger than a donkey. These somehow scared me more. They were so active and hungry, sending feelers reaching up over the top of the trench and brushing my ankles as I passed.

Keepers were unloading bodies from the back of a carriage and lining them up all in a row, only this time they weren't mummies. They had grey skin and mottled faces. Many bore wounds that were gaping and grisly. I imagined they were Dusters fallen in battle.

Just beyond them was a roofed-over pen packed with people. I thought at first they might be prisoners of war, but when I got closer I could see that they were just Hemis like me.

They were a pathetic and sullen lot, staring at me blankly. I knew that look well. These were souls that had given up, and it was probably far from the first time they had felt that way. They were well versed in hopelessness.

They had a different sort of marking on their forearms. The usual C of a Hemi was modified by scabs and purplish scars across the open end, making a sort of stenciled D.

One of the keepers brushed by me, dragging a thick coil of braided rope.

"Excuse me," I said. "But why are all these people locked up in here?"

"They're Defectives," he said, tossing me a brief and weary glance.

"Huh? How are they... defective?"

"Whatever," he shrugged. "Don't pull their weight. Fade too much. Don't cooperate with their Mentors.

"So... this is like punishment? How's this supposed to help?"

"It ain't punishment, it's disposal. Reapers gotta eat, no?"

"Jesus Christ!" I said, thoroughly disgusted. "Who don't they feed to the Reapers around here?"

"Me. If I can help it," said the keeper, looking up nervously at the platforms of the nearest tower. There was a group of Freesouls gathered, their bright plumage like a flock of tropical birds. Their laughter carried on the breeze.

"Enough screwing around," said the keeper. Go find yourself a working party unless you want to join these folks." He staggered off, dragging the rope.

I stood there staring at the idle souls socializing on that platform. It seemed they thought of themselves as little gods, every one of them, even my own mother. And that wasn't like Darlene at all. She had always been the earthy type, a wanna-be hippie chick. Used to be, she couldn't pass a homeless person on the street without striking up a conversation. The damned Weavers in this place meddled with far more than flesh.

I marched past the rest of the trenches, looking straight ahead, ignoring the farts and groans and belches that erupted within them. I passed a cluster of puffballs, through a grove of modest towers and arrived back at the plaza.

The traffic there had already reversed. More people and wagons exited the gates than entered. I hesitated, gazing longingly at the tower where mom had retreated. She was up there somewhere, relaxing on a deck or ensconced in some cylindrical chamber.

I wondered if any memories of me had come back to her. I could only hope that her life with me was not entirely wiped away, but filed someplace deep, somewhere recoverable.

I had half a mind to go check on her, but that bodyguard was lingering at the base of her tower. The last thing I needed was another hassle. I was already seething from the accumulation of shocks and insults I had withstood since coming to Frelsi.

But I took careful note of the tower's location. For now, it was enough to know that Mom—or what was left of her—was here, and that she was safe. Our reunion would have to wait.

I knew what had happened to her wasn't her fault. She had probably thought she was just getting a facelift. By the same reason there might be few Freesouls who could be faulted for their attitudes, if their brains had been unwittingly modified by some Flesh Weaver. Lille's personality so far seemed intact, but I had to warn her and Bern before it was too late.

A fire had ignited in me that could not be snuffed. I looked at all these dutiful Hemis filing out to their slums and I could not help but look at them as slaves with disposable souls. I couldn't stop dwelling on that cage of 'Defectives,' biding the hours until feeding time.

If I had ever aspired to Frelsi, my little excursion into this Sanctuary had destroyed that ambition. Eternal life or not, I could not forgive what they had done to my mother.

I could no longer look up at Freesouls and the powers who made them as my betters. They had become my enemies.

I knew a Duster girl who needed to be saved from this madness.

Chapter 26: The Crossing

As I crossed the plaza to the gates of the Sanctuary, my stride grew heavy, every step a chore. My senses retreated, erecting a wall between me and my surroundings. Things kept shifting in my head and clicking into place. These changes felt solid and permanent, like continental plates realigning.

This wasn't depression. I knew depression. This was simply existence shoving its ugly mug into the fore. This was illusion falling like scales from my eyeballs.

According to Lille, Frelsi's founders were attempting to shape this place into their common vision of Heaven. But if this was their idea of paradise, I sure didn't want to see their vision of Hell.

There had to be something better out there. I mean, not all of the afterlife could be this warped. Could it? There had to be something more than the Liminality and the Deeps. A bona fide Heaven must exist, a place without privilege, where every soul could find some rest.

The problem was, no one here seemed to know anything about this other place. But why should they? They didn't belong. Heaven didn't want them. The Freesouls may have figured out a way to beat the system here, but that didn't make them any less ignorant about the real Heaven.

Root was just a way station for suicidal souls—who, as far as I knew, constituted a tiny fraction of the human race. It was some kind of spiritual plumbing, a toilet for flushing those who didn't deserve the gift of life into the cesspool that was the Deeps.

But where did all the others go, the people who died of more natural causes like murder or calamity or embolisms? People like Dad.

There had to something better, some alternative to the Deeps. I doubt it looked anything like the harp and angel Heaven-in-the-clouds idea of pop culture. But why wouldn't there be some final resting place for all the well-adjusted, good-hearted souls who make up the majority of our species? And it shouldn't matter whether or not they followed one faction's idea of the one true faith. Should it?

I wondered about those 'Old Ones.' Maybe it was just some accident of mummified and contracted facial muscle, but every last one I had ever seen looked pretty darned content, even when they lay in the feed trough of a Reaper's trench. Wherever their souls resided, it couldn't be too horrible a place, even if it was only inside their own heads.

I reached the end of the queue of Hemis leaving the Sanctuary. Looking at all those hopeful, striving faces, I felt like an atheist at a prayer meeting. How had Frelsi managed to delude all these souls into sacrificing their labors for such a sketchy cause?

Sure they had folks up here who could make you look young and pretty and Weave any object you desired. But did these souls really aspire to spending all of eternity in a gated community of tree houses? Other than the fresh breezes, how was this place any better than Luthersburg?

The sun dipped low, gilding the outer wall and glinting off the roofs of the shanties visible through the gate. Those leaving the Sanctuary with empty packs and carts now outnumbered the crowd waiting to get in. I jostled my way through the weary mob, anxious to leave this nasty place.

My charcoal C had long been reduced to a smudge, but it didn't matter. I didn't need a ticket to exit the Sanctuary. No one cared who left this place.

Despite Mom being here, I would not be coming back anytime soon. Maybe the place would be bearable with Karla, if we had nowhere else to go. I could probably tolerate the fires of Hell with Karla by my side, if there was a Hell and if it had fire.

But there was no guarantee I would ever see her again. A lot depended on what happened with Edmund on the other side. That, I couldn't bear to think about.

Once I passed through the gate, I careened down the still busy main thoroughfare and broke past the last line of shanties onto the parade ground. My eyes went directly to the edge of the trench, looking for the tidy, web-wrapped bundle that would be Urszula.

Except, she wasn't there. My wild goose chase into the Sanctuary had caused me to break my promise. She was gone, probably chomped down by some belching Reaper.

I stood there, stunned. I had blown it. I had failed to protect Urszula.

Disgusted with myself, I went over to Lille's hut and called inside. No one answered. I pried open the door, which was basically a slab of some bark-like material that scraped against the clay on leather hinges.

There was nobody home. A kettle sat on the hearth, still warm. When did Lille ever let a kettle cool? I wish I could have said goodbye to them, but there was no way I could hang around this place any longer.

I dipped a gourd in Lille's water cistern, scooped a cup of ambrosia from a small cauldron and stomped out of the hut. The parade ground was devoid of soldiers for a change. I walked along the trench. The Reapers were becoming active, heaving their flesh around and bickering.

"Oh God." A wave of nausea rippled through me when I realized they were fighting over a corpse. I turned my head, but couldn't tune out the crunch of bone and squish of flesh.

At the end of the ramp, Old Ones were heaped like a bunch of rag dolls. And yet they looked happy, every last one of them, no matter how undignified their posture.

There was one that stood out from the mossy crowd, its lithe figure all covered in a sticky mesh—Urszula. I rushed over and knelt by her side.

"You alive?" I said, hopefully.

She said nothing. I poked my finger through the mesh and prodded her side. She squirmed and growled like a panther and tried to bite me.

"It's okay. It's me. James."

I undid her hood and yanked it off. She stared through the mesh, unblinking.

"Sorry I didn't get here sooner," I said. "Here, have a drink." I dribbled a stream of water onto her lips. She sputtered and balked at first, but then lapped at it thirstily with her tongue.

A thin stream of saliva and blood trickled down her cheek. I stuck two fingers of gruel through the mesh and onto her lips. She sucked at it hungrily.

"You poor thing. You must be starved."

She stared at me as she ate, every muscle in her face as stiff as a bronze statue. I noticed for the first time, the odd flecks of color embedded in her grey eyes, shards of greenish gold, a violet haze. It was really quite mesmerizing... and pretty.

The Reapers below were getting agitated, grunting and snorting like pigs. I dabbed some more porridge on my fingers and brought it to her mouth. This time, she pressed her lips tight and refused it.

"Come on, you hardly had any."

"Why bother feeding me?" she said. "I will not last one more night."

"Yeah, you will."

I saw a wheelbarrow sitting near a pile of empty sacks. I hefted Urszula up and into it. She groaned as her swollen ankle bumped the edge. I glanced around to see if anyone was watching, but though there was a steady stream of foot traffic, every Hemi had their minds on their own business.

I threw some sacks on top to help conceal her and wheeled her away.

"Where are you taking me?" she croaked.

"Out."

"Out of where?"

"Out of Frelsi. Now shush! Keep still."

Given this second chance to redeem myself, I was determined not to fail her again. I would not rest until she was free.

***

I wheeled the barrow against the flow of traffic through the unguarded entrance of the outer wall. As we passed through, I spotted a half empty sack of wriggling roots that must have fallen off a cart. A train of them were escaping through a hole in the side and inching across the road. I scooped up a couple handfuls and crammed them in my pocket.

A woman hunched under a massive load of what looked like driftwood stopped and glared at me. "I saw you take those."

"So what? They're just roots."

"Put them back. They don't belong to you."

"But they were crawling away. Nobody wants them."

She peered into the wheelbarrow. "What do you have under there? Is that... a corpse? Where are you taking it?"

"None of your damned business! Get the out of my face, lady!"

I grabbed the handles of the barrow and trundled off. The woman watched me go, her face like a librarian witnessing a patron abscond with a book.

A Freesoul in a maroon shirt came strolling through the gap. The lady bustled over to him, that huge load rattling on her back. I knew that guy! It was Master Felix, out of uniform.

I stepped up my pace, pushing the barrow along as quickly as I could without breaking into a run. The stiff, gourd-like wheel provided no cushion whatsoever over the bumps. Urszula groaned with every pothole and rut.

Just before the road curved out of sight, I looked back one last time. Two soldiers had joined Master Felix and the woman, all staring after me.

"Things are about to get bumpier," I said, shoving the wheelbarrow over the large stones that lined the curb.

I traversed onto a sun-parched meadow, heading for a line of large monoliths, the fragmentary remains of an even more ancient fortification. Ducking behind one, I risked a peek back towards the road.

The soldiers came running down the road, their heavy soles thudding against the clay. I ducked back down behind the stone.

"What is happening?" said Urszula.

"No biggie," I said. "Just some soldiers."

I grabbed the wheelbarrow and started down the steep hill behind us. It dropped over a ledge and skittered sideways, jostling Urszula. She squealed and moaned in pain.

There was no way I could maintain control of the barrow down a slope so steep and rough. I might dump her off a cliff, if I tried.

"We're gonna have to do this differently."

I propped the wagon against a thicket of shrubs and lifted her out, slinging her over one shoulder.

"Sorry if this is a little undignified, but it's the only way."

"Just... do not drop me."

I angled down the slope. We quickly descended out of sight of both the wall and the road. I kept peeking back to see if we were being followed. So far, so good.

My heels kept sliding on patches of loose, flaky talus. It took me every bit of effort I could muster to stay upright and hang onto Urszula.

One top of it all, those dang roots in my pocket were driving me nuts, squirming around, trying to burrow through my jeans, tickling my thigh.

At the head of a gully, I stopped and put her down. I pulled some of the roots out of my pocket and laid them down on a flat stone. Each was about as long and thick as my pinkie finger. I pointed my finger at them and tried to conjure an image of my last sword, the one Master Felix had taken from me.

But nothing happened. The roots lined up behind each other and crawled away.

I emptied the rest out of my pocket and tried again. Same thing. They crawled up to the gully and tumbled over the edge one by one, following each other like lemmings.

Urszula looked on, bemused. "Herding worms, are you?"

"I was trying to make myself a sword so I can cut you loose."

She shook her head. "You have no powers here."

"But I've done this before."

"Down below. Yes. Up here, you have no powers. That is the problem with your spell craft. It weakens away from the Core."

"But I saw people making stuff in the Sanctuary."

"They were Masters, most likely," said Urszula. "You are just a Hemisoul."

"Yeah, well. I have to say, I did pretty darned well down below."

"Hah! Any fool can Weave in the pits and tunnels. There, imagination and matter are one and the same."

Her dissing pissed me off. I don't know what got into me, but I ripped a branch off a bush and stripped it of leaves and twigs. The sleek bark, the color of coral, smelled like strong tea.

"If only I had my scepter," said Urszula. "One touch and I could free myself. No matter. When morning comes, the bees will find me. They will call my brothers and sisters. Their Craft will make short work of these binds."

I grabbed that stick in both hands as if were restraining a snake, and touched its tip to the mesh that clung to her like shrink-wrap. It sizzled at the point of contact like a lit fuse, spreading outward in all directions, sending up puffs of smoke and dust.

Urszula gasped. When the last shred of mesh had disintegrated, her rib cage expanded as she took in a long, deep breath. She spread her limbs, writhing into a position that at last gave her comfort.

"How did you do this?" she said.

"I... uh... seem to have a knack."

As the wind carried the white smoke across the scrubby slopes, her eyes gripped me.

"You are one of us," she said. "You have the Craft."

"Me? A Duster?"

"We are Weavers all," she said. "Roots are only the material of dreams. But no one dreams in the Deeps. There is only dust and stone. That is how we come to the Craft."

"But I've never even been to the Deeps."

"Don't ask me to explain," she said, rubbing the splint on her broken arm. "It appears you are a maverick in more ways than one."

"I suppose I should hang onto this stick, huh?"

"Of course. It is bound to you now. It is... your scepter."

She rose to her feet, putting pressure on her swollen ankle but it wasn't physically able to support her. It kept flopping over on its side.

"Jeez! Don't do that. That's gotta hurt."

"Pain is nothing. It is just a sense like any other. Like smell. Like taste."

"Yeah, but... you're gonna ruin your foot."

"Whatever is broken can be mended."

"I'm sorry. But I can't watch you do that. You're going to have to let me help you."

***

I walked with one arm around her back and one supporting her good arm so she didn't have to put her full weight on her ankle. On the uneven slope, it was as awkward as a three-legged race. We kept blundering into thorn bushes and cacti.

As the twilight thickened we entered a gully packed with these stunted trees with waxy, whitish leaves. Deadfalls and branches impeded our way and slowed our progress.

Every step was a struggle, but Urszula had the endurance of a mule. I was the one who had to beg that we stop for a rest. All this going downhill on uneven ground was hell on my knees.

"Are you weary, already?" she said, as I sat down on a slab of stone to catch my breath.

"It's a lot of extra work, walking with a gimp."

"I can go on without you. I don't need your help."

"Yeah, right. You wouldn't make it ten steps on that bum ankle."

"Wrap it tighter and I would be fine."

I got up off the stone. "You know, it might be easier if I just carried you."

"What?" She backed away. "Get away from me."

"No, really. We could keep a better pace if I—"

"Get away!" She backed into a boulder and stumbled. As she crumpled to the ground I swooped in and caught her in my arms. I scooped her up the way a groom carried a bride over a threshold.

"I can't get over how light you are. What are you made of, fiberglass?"

"Put me down!" she growled, squirming.

"Let's just try it this way for a while, okay?"

"I can walk!"

"I know you can. But let's try it this way for a while, okay? Humor me."

Finally, she settled down, relenting. "I don't understand why you do this."

"Because I made you a promise. I couldn't stand seeing you suffer. And... I hate those freaking Reapers. Domesticated or not, they stink. And the way they eat, maybe I could handle them if... if...."

"If what?"

"If they were... vegetarian."

***

The gully cut deep into shadows dark as the approaching night, the sky a slash of grey between buttresses of layered stone. Carrying Urszula quickened our progress drown through the narrow defile, though the stone underfoot was still loose and treacherous.

She kept silent the entire way down, her head bobbing with each step. A spot of moisture formed on my shirt where her eyes pressed against my shoulder. She was stoic through the pain but I guess even she had limits.

Full-blown night immersed us by the time we bottomed out onto the valley floor. We stopped to rest by a spring that seeped from a crack in the sandstone. We both drank. I redid the wrapping on her ankle, which kept coming loose and waving like a banner in the breeze.

A scraping, creaking arose across the flats, accompanied by the snap of branches. It sounded like a pair of street sweepers taking a detour through a park.

"Reapers patrolling," said Urszula. "Moving out to the plains. Wait till they pass."

A slight breeze flowed down the mountainside. I worried they would pick up our scent and come after us. But I kept that concern to myself as I twisted the loose the ends of her wrap and knotted them securely.

"Once we cross the border—the river—you can leave me. Go back to your people."

"My people? What people?" There was Bern and Lille, perhaps. And... Mom... what was left of her. "If you mean Frelsi. I ain't going back there."

"Where will you go, then?"

"Dunno," I said. "Go wait for Karla, I guess. And see what happens from there."

"It is not safe in the bottom lands for you. My brothers and sisters will come hunting."

"Well, couldn't you... like... call them off? Have them leave me alone? I mean, I'm no threat. I ain't going back to Frelsi if I can help it. I'm sure as hell not joining their freaking army."

She sighed. "They are difficult. Stubborn. I don't know if I can make them understand. I am not sure if I understand you. Maybe if they see you have the Craft...."

Across the valley, the mesas loomed like blacked-out skyscrapers. Light from the moon and stars sketched her form with soft, lustrous strokes. We kept silent as the Reapers scraped past about a hundred yards away, between us and the river.

"I owe you, for what you have done."

"Ah, forget about it. You don't owe me nothing."

She rose up and tested her ankle, stumbling as it failed to support her weight.

"What are you doing? I just wrapped it a little tighter. That doesn't mean you can walk on it."

"I don't want to burden you."

"It's no burden. Really. You're not that heavy. But maybe you should go piggy-back this time? We can cover more ground that way."

"You want me... to ride on your back?"

"Well yeah. That's the idea."

I crouched down and she came up behind me, reluctantly. I hooked my arms beneath her knees and lifted.

"This is strangeness," she said. "I haven't been carried this way since I was small."

"Just pretend I'm a giant bug. You don't seem to have a problem with them." I took a step forward and paused. "Which way?"

"A cross the valley," she said. "Keep the mountains to your back. Reapers patrol only on this side. We will be safe once we cross the river."

***

The terrace along the riverbank had all the makings of a Reaper superhighway. The place was thick with their spoor, the ground trampled and churned, bushes uprooted, the air laden with their stench. I could them calling to each other out on the plains, their screams halfway between an elephant and a whale.

I let the bank collapse and crumble beneath my feet, descending in a sort of controlled landslide. The first river bed we crossed had no water. The rounded gravel underfoot clattered musically under my tread.

I had seen from above that these channels formed a broad complex of braids, most of them dry. They must be a bugger to cross in full flood.

Urszula hung her chin over my shoulder and snuffled in my ear. Her tears dribbled down my neck. I kept asking if she was okay, but she kept ignoring me.

After crossing yet another dry channel, I eased her down onto a sand bank.

"Why are you crying? Does it hurt? Want me to redo your splint? Did I make it too tight?"

"I do not cry!"

"Oh? Then what's that stuff leaking out of your eyes?"

She refused to answer.

"It's okay. It's only natural. You're in a lot of pain, I bet."

"I do not cry!" With that, the last of her bravado shattered and she wept openly. I reached out my hand to console her but she slapped it away. She curled up into a ball and sobbed.

"I haven't felt this way... in centuries. What have you done to me?"

"Me? I didn't do anything. I'm just trying to help. I don't like seeing people suffer."

She shuddered and wailed. "I thought I was done with these... these feelings! I thought the Deeps had eradicated them from me. And good riddance! It serves no use to feel this way. It is weakness. I am weak."

"You're human," I said. "The Deeps didn't change that."

Slowly, she unfolded herself and stood, her sobs having subsided into occasional sniffles.

"Let us go," she said, her voice grim and cold.

***

The sound of trickling water heralded our arrival at the actual river, which was only several inches deep, rippling across a wide bed of coarse grit. We knelt together on a sandbar and drank, the water sweet but gritty from the glacial milk. It was much colder than the lukewarm streams I had encountered on the plains.

"We are safe here," she said, her voice calm and relaxed. "The Reapers never cross."

"Not sure why not," I said. "It doesn't pose much of a barrier."

"In the light, my brothers and sisters would fall upon them like harpies."

"Harpies, huh?"

I wondered how many hours we had before dawn. I had lost all track of time. I couldn't even remember how many days had passed since I had last been on the other side. Could it mean I was already dead? But that was impossible. If everything they had been telling me true, with my soul here under the full influence of the Core, an earthly death would condemn me to the Deeps.

"Hey Urszula. What the heck is this Core thing?"

"It is the dream space. The center of this existence. Where everything becomes anything."

"O-kay." I said, struggling to come up with a follow-up question that would add more clarity.

"Now that we have crossed, you may go," she said.

"So what are you gonna do? Sit here all night by yourself?"

"Maybe... I will walk home." She rose to her feet.

"Oh no, you won't. Come on. Let me take you a little farther."

"You don't need to—"

"Maybe I want to. It would give me some peace of mind, so I don't keep thinking those Reapers came after you. It's not like you could run. You'd be a sitting duck."

"I don't understand."

"Just get over here."

She hesitated; the light glinted off the rippling water and shimmered against her lean form.

"We walk together, side by side. No more carrying."

"Deal," I said.

***

Again, we slogged over yet another network of mostly dry channels, some with stranded ponds. Startled frogs the size of Labrador retrievers croaked and splashed into the weedy depths as we passed.

When we finally reached the last of the dry channels, the essence of daylight had at last begun to seep back into the landscape. As we climbed the bank I noticed the strangest vegetation studding the flat spaces between us and the tablelands. Each 'shrub' had three dark bulges with spiky branches that angled skyward or folded back against themselves.

As the light improved, I saw that they weren't shrubs at all, but the empty husks of giant insects—ants, to be exact—lying legs up. All had root-like things snaking in and out of the exoskeleton of its underbelly as if someone had stitched them with a huge needle and coarse rope.

When I tried to veer closer to one, Urszula tugged me back.

"Stay away," she said. "There is fellstraw here."

"What?"

"See there?" She pointed at some innocent-looking spirals lying on the ground that could have been extra-long curly fries or freeze-dried, corkscrewed earthworms. "Fellstraw. You touch it, it comes alive and burrows into your spine and devours the brain.

"What the hell?"

"A new and terrible weapon, bred by their Master Weavers. Already, it has decimated the lower colonies, our first line of defense. They come and spread it in the night with their winged Reapers. Workers become infested and infect the soldiers. Once the soldiers are gone, spiker slugs are free to go after the queens."

"Do I even want to know what that is?"

"Another breed of Reaper. Smaller. Quicker. They kill with the sharp bone on their snouts. They are like the cone shell, they puncture and inject venom. I hope you never have to meet one face to face."

"Yeah, well... me too."

We came to a set of ant hills as big as department stores—their gritty covered with more ant carcasses and riddled with partially collapsed tunnels.

We continued past the carnage to the base of one of the first mesas, with slope of rubble that led up to a nearly vertical rise of deeply fluted cliffs.

Something that sounded like an electric hedge trimmer came careening out of the sky at us. I leapt into a briar patch as a honeybee the size of a woodchuck landed with a slap against the trunk of a dead tree, waving its antennae at Urszula.

"Oh Christ... I hate bees," I said, slipping behind her. I couldn't take my eyes off the stinger pulsing in and out of its abdomen. Urszula acted unperturbed. She called to it in her odd, burbling language as if she were cooing to a lap dog. She stretched out her hand and let the bee climb onto her arm. It lingered, lapping, before buzzing away in a burst of wing beats.

"This one will send for help," she said.

***

I sat with Urszula in a patch of golden grass to await her brothers and sisters, as she called them, and watched the rising sun paint the hills. She looked far more at ease than I had yet seen her, sporting a mild smirk, which I guess passed for a smile among her kind, until they joined their Old Ones.

I probably should have left her there, but I couldn't quite bring myself to go. Maybe I was a maverick at heart but I was no recluse. I was in no rush to be off on my own just yet. Besides, it might be better to have Urszula around to explain things when her 'brothers and sisters' showed up.

I was feeling kind of funny, my head filled with that jittery, buzzing fog you get after an all-nighter. There were these numb patches on my hands. I wondered if this could be the prelude to a fade. Usually, with me, a fade came on without fanfare and swept me away, no dilly-dallying. Maybe I had finally learned how to resist.

I was not looking forward to the next trip back. I could only think of the bad things waiting for me in that cell.

Rocks began to clatter down a chute carved into the side of the mesa. Dark shapes leapt across the ledges.

"Ants!" said Urszula, her voice rising with excitement. "They have come for us!"

"Us?"

A giant, jointed feeler waved out over the cliff above us. Urszula made a clicking sound with her tongue. A large black head with mandibles the size of armrests peered over the ledge with its bean-shaped compound eye.

More rocks fell and the ant clattered down the rock fall, with a second close behind it. They stood over Urszula, probing her wounds with their palps. I backed away slowly as the first ant seized Urszula around her hips with its mandibles.

"Oh Jeez!" I picked up a rock.

"It is okay," said Urszula. "They have come to help."

The second ant came trotting over to me. It lunged. I dove away, but it snatched me up around my chest, its mandibles exerting just enough pressure to hold me firmly without snapping my ribs.

"Tell it to put me down!"

"I cannot," said Urszula. "The colony has decided you are to come to Neueden. It is out of my control."

The ant cocked its head back and lifted me high as it clattered up the rubble slope to the first vertical pitch.

"Jesus Christ! It's not planning to go straight up that cliff, is it?"

"Don't worry. They are excellent climbers, these ants."

Chapter 27: North

Isobel had to pee really, really bad. To Renfrew's chagrin, they had to stop at a petrol station at Ross-on-Wye, on the last stretch of secondary roads before they hit the motorways.

"Oh, bloody hell, my ears are ringing," said Jessica, leaning against a pump. "I can't stand that old school metal he plays. Gives me a splitting headache."

Renfrew came back from the shop area, tapping a pack of cigarillos.

"What say you let me drive for a spell, Ren?" said Jessica, leaning against a pump.

"But we just started," said Renfrew. "We're barely out of Wales."

"It's such a long haul. It's only fair we split the task."

Renfrew shrugged. "Suit yourself. The keys are in the ignition. I can take back the helm in Yorkshire, if you like."

Isobel trotted back from the lavatory, light on her toes and beaming. Jessica turned to Karla and winked. "Music's driver's choice."

As they passed the roundabout and entered the motorway, the car filled with the jangle and wail of mandolins and accordions. "Much better, eh?" said Jessica.

But all music was background noise to Karla. Secular recordings of any sort had never been allowed in their household, not even classical music. Papa claimed he could detect Satanic influences in Chopin and Vivaldi, and especially Beethoven. Karla had never developed a taste for anything other than the sounds of nature. She was mighty fond of crickets.

She stared out the window at the passing paddocks and meadows and tidy little villages, impervious to Renfrew's witless banter and Isobel's petty concerns. Her mind centered on James' fate and how they might possibly intervene without provoking a battle royal. With a persecution complex well ingrained in their culture, Papa's crowd tended to be well-armed.

As they zoomed along the motorway, Renfrew conked out first, and soon after the sandman claimed Isobel. With one snorer in front and another in the back, even thinking became a challenge. Karla was too wired to join them.

She counted sheep, literally, to take her mind off James and tried to be responsive to Jessica's endless recounting of her life's stories. Hours later, as they left Lancashire, Jessica's narrative finally began to trail off.

"You know, I'm starting to feel a little bit groggy," she said. "Do me a favor, dear? Give Ren a little nudge."

Karla banged on his headrest and shook him by the shoulder. She leaned over and sang inches from his ear: "Oh Ren-frew! We're in York-shire!"

Nothing could rouse him from the depths of his slumber. It was almost as if his soul had passed into another world. Karla wondered if this was how she appeared to others when she was in Root.

"Ah, it's hopeless," said Jessica. "He sleeps like the dead. You'll just have to give me directions once we get close to Glasgow. I've never been this far north."

"I wish I could spell you," said Karla. "But Papa never let me sit behind a wheel. He does not believe that women should be allowed to drive."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Isobel yawned herself awake. "I'm hungry. Does anyone have any food?"

Jessica handed back a brown paper bag. "Helen packed us some crisps and cookies."

"We're making good time," said Karla. "Once we reach Glasgow, we can stop for a late lunch, or an early dinner. There is an Italian take-away—"

"Santini's Kitchen!" said Isobel.

"And they make this excellent pasta dish with melanzana."

"With what?"

"Aubergines," said Karla.

"Oh, how I love that place!" said Isobel. "Linval used to treat us... on special occasions."

"Whenever he got a paying gig," said Karla. "It's good, but not as good as any corner shop in Roma."

"Or Mama's cooking," said Isobel.

"True, but Mama was from the north. We actually ate more polenta than pasta at home."

"And risotto!" said Isobel. "Remember how she made it with the wild mushrooms? And the carpaccio on the side?"

"Believe it or not, our family used to be relatively normal."

The snoring in the front seat had stopped. Though Renfrew's head remained tilted back, one eye cracked open."

"Renfrew? Are you awake? I thought you were going to spell me."

"I will. But not without a decent lunch. And I'm not waiting a couple hours for spaghetti noodle with eggplants. Get off at the motorway at the next town, Jess. Find the nearest pub. I'll buy us all a nice ploughman's lunch.

***

Heavy metal blaring through the speakers, they crossed the Scottish border still noshing on their crusty bread with Stilton cheese and ham slathered with Branston pickle.

With a pint of bitter propped between his legs, Ren pushed the envelope of his little Ford's capabilities like a test pilot, revving the engine to RPMs meant for sports cars. At times, when overtaking lorries, Karla found herself digging her fingernails into whatever was at hand, a head rest, her sister's thigh.

"La, stop that! You're hurting me."

"Mr. Renfrew, do you really need to drive so fast?"

"Wouldn't have to if Jess hadn't driven her leg like my grandmother. I was hoping to arrive in Glasgow at a reasonable hour, to what we need to do."

"A lot of good that does us if you get pulled over," said Jessica.

"Don't you worry, girlie," said Renfrew. "I know all the traps."

When they arrived at Glasgow's city limits, Renfrew took the M74 eastwards towards Springboig. The plan was to check in with Linval to make sure he was alright, and see if he knew anything about James.

Karla had Renfrew park on the street, not far from their old neighborhood launderette. Jessica offered to go to the door by herself, but Karla worried that he might have unwanted visitors, so they all went together. There was safety in numbers, not to mention, in Renfrew's sidearm.

"We should have worn those caps and shades, like I suggested," said Isobel.

"That would only make us look strange and attract attention," said Karla.

"I don't know about that, but... whatever."

As they turned the corner and went up the alley, Linval's landlord, Mr. Jones was exiting the stairwell.

"Oh hello there, Miss Karla. Haven't seen you much about lately. Nor, for that matter, Mr. Linval."

"Has he not been around?" said Karla, alarmed.

"Well, no. But it's not surprising, considering his rent's overdue. Again, I realize you're just a guest, but I've got bills to pay, too. I just slipped a note beneath the door but I would appreciate it if you could give him a little nudge to get his rent to me."

"Will do," said Karla. "Next time I see him."

As Mr. Jones went back to his idling car, Karla fished in her purse for the spare key Linval had given her.

Jessica had dropped to her knees and was reaching under a hedge. She pulled out a battered, old motorcycle helmet, the inside littered with dirt and twigs.

"Renfrew, is this yours?"

"Bloody hell. If that's here, where the hell's my fooking bike?"

"James was here!" said Karla. "He came here." She pushed past Isobel, trotted up the stairs, jiggled the key in the lock and shoved open the door.

Her heart lurched. One of the kitchen chairs lay broken on its side. Bits of blood-stained duct tape were strewn on the floor.

A guttural cry slipped loose in her throat, startling her in how much it sounded like an injured animal. Renfrew and Jessica craned their necks around the door frame." Is everything alright?"

"Oh Lord, this doesn't look good," said Renfrew. He stormed in and flicked on a light, examining the dark spatter marks on the paisley wallpaper. A muscle quivered in his chin. He fingered the weapon in his pocket. "We need to get to that church... now!"

***

St. Ringan's was only three blocks away, but they got in the car and drove, anyhow. Better to have the car closeby in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Renfrew parked across the street, facing down the road that would take them shooting out of town on the M8 East.

St. Ringan's was a decommissioned Catholic church that a group of Sedevacantists had purchased from the archdiocese. Karla had been alarmed to discover how close it was to Linval's neighborhood. Henceforth, she and Isobel had given it a wide berth, lest they run into any of Papa's friends.

Papa did not come to Glasgow often, but St. Ringan's was known to his network. She had heard him speak of it in meetings with fellow travelers. His group was expanding rapidly, forming alliances with other Catholic splinter groups, acquiring properties throughout Scotland.

Members of his cult were a tight lot, well known to one another. St. Ringan's would have provided the most obvious haven in Glasgow for confining and interrogating James and Linval.

Isobel shoved a knit cap into Karla's lap, and this time she relented and put it on. At least the weather was cool enough for a cap, with clouds coming on, hinting of a steady rain to come.

The sunglasses, though, were a bit much, oversized and goofy, borrowed from Helen at the last moment. They looked less like movie stars hiding from paparazzi than a couple of precocious lady pensioners.

Renfrew peered up at the mirror and adjusted his clip-on tie. "Ready, Jess?"

Jessica nodded.

"Well then, wish us luck." He opened the door of the car and stepped out.

"Remember, kneel before you enter and exit the pews," said Isobel. "And make the sign of the cross. Coming and going. At the door of the church as well. And when you pass any image of the Lord Jesus or the Virgin Mary."

"Izzie, they know all this stuff," said Karla. "We've been through it over and over."

"Doesn't hurt to go over it one more time," she said. "One slip-up and they're sunk."

"So what if there's like a whole wall of them?" said Renfrew, with a chuckle. "Does once suffice for all, or do we have to do one for each?"

"No laughing!" said Isobel. "Never in church. Solemnity shows respect."

"Oh, you shouldn't have told me that," said Renfrew. "You'll give me a case of the giggles."

"Don't worry girls, I'll keep him in line," said Jessica, poker-faced. "Come on, you."

Renfrew nodded and started across the street, striding one step ahead of Jessica. Isobel took Karla's hand and squeezed it as they watched from the back seat. They trotted up the stairs of the church which was littered with bags of cement and plastic buckets of paint.

They tried the door, but found it locked. They lingered on the top step until a man in coveralls came out and spoke with them. They reversed course down the steps and crossed back to the car.

Karla unrolled her window. "What's wrong?"

"It's closed... for renovations," said Renfrew.

"I caught a peek inside," said Jessica. "The place is empty. No pews. No parishioners. Just work men."

"Hmm, James didn't mention any construction."

"So... shall we move on?" said Renfrew.

Karla felt torn. It would have been so convenient for Papa to take them here. It was just down the road from Linval's.

She pushed open the door and bolted out. "I'll be right back."

"Karla, wait!" said Jessica. "Let me go."

But she was already charging across the street and trotting up the church steps. A man held the door open for another man who was carrying in a sack of concrete. He stopped Karla as she tried to enter.

"Hold on, miss. This church is closed."

"Please! I need to check quickly... down in the basement. I left something behind before the work started... something very precious to me."

The man shrugged. "Alright, but make it quick. Careful on those stairs. The treads are loose and rotten."

She jogged across the open and space, her steps booming in the emptiness. The altar had been shifted back under the apse, where it had likely been before Vatican II. Its power seemed magnified in the absence of pews.

The door to the basement was off its hinges. An orange work lamp dangled like a pendulum over the stairs. The treads were not only loose, but some of them were missing.

Easing her way down to the windowless darkness below, she took off her sunglasses and flicked on a light switch. She found herself in a cluttered function room with checkerboard linoleum tile. Catechism posters and teaching materials for were heaped at the end of a long table that also held a tarnished coffeemaker and a tea service. Stacks of folding chairs leaned against a wall.

There were more store rooms off the main, but nothing resembling the stone-lined hallway and dungeon-like spaces that James had tried to describe to her. This was a modernized, finished basement, the walls plastered and painted, beams hidden by a dropped ceiling with bright fluorescent lighting recessed above fire-proof panels.

This place was way too cheery for Papa's tastes. It wouldn't surprise her in the least if he had the workmen strip everything back down to stone and stuck dim, guttering candles in sconces.

She poked through the stack of tracts, coloring books and Bible comics. They all looked like ordinary Catholic stuff, nothing that a Sedevacantist would find appropriate for catechism.

This church must have been a recent acquisition. They had not yet rid the place of traces of the 'false papists,' a process that would undoubtedly involve a night of prayer before a Holy bonfire.

She felt a spurt of relief that there would be no confrontation here, but it also meant that there would be no possibility of rescue for James today. They had to go on to Inverness, now.

That realization sank like an anchor into the muck of a deep, dark lake. The next stop would be St. Aynsley's, that den of terror and shame in the heart of Papa's stomping grounds.

She had been hoping to avoid Inverness altogether as it was thick with his cronies and associates. Here, in Glasgow, at least he would have had less support. They might have even had the chance to corner him alone. But that was not to be.

She was about to leave when she noticed a dog-eared notebook lying atop a cardboard box. Spiral bound, its plain, red cover was coated with dust.

She thumbed through it, finding it dense with page after page of sloppy script, lists of numbers and odd, little sketches. She tucked it under her arm and skipped up the stairs. If nothing else, the notebook would maintain her pretense of having to come down to fetch something.

***

Back in the car with Renfrew at the wheel, they rolled out of East Glasgow and onto the M8, heading towards Falkirk. They had a long drive ahead, and would not reach Inverness till well after nightfall.

With rapt fascination, Isobel thumbed through the notebook that Karla had taken. The tiny, cramped scrawl had pained Karla's eyes when she had tried to read it. Isobel had more patience for such things.

"What's that you have there, Izzie?" said Jessica, twisting around in the front seat.

"It's quite fascinating! Part diary, part ledger, part doodle book."

"Is it from one of your father's friends?"

"I'm not sure, but it's full of gossip, confessions, prayers for forgiveness. Quite personal. Scandalous. Who would leave such a thing lying around?"

"I'm not Catholic so I don't know how these things work," said Jessica. "But might it be someone's notes for the confessional? Surely you folks must need to keep track of these things if you're to be absolved of them all."

"Well, usually you just remember," said Isobel. "I've never heard of anyone with so many sins, they had to write them down in a book. Oh, my gosh! Some of this is most unsuitable for someone my age to be reading."

"Hang onto that book, Missy. I might like to have a look," said Renfrew.

"Is there no mention of James?" Karla felt disembodied from her voice, as if she had no physical connection to its generation.

"There's nothing, La. They don't even mention Papa, though they do talk a lot about Inverness and something called the Center with a capital C."

"The Center. That's St. Aynsley's," said Karla. "That's Papa."

"I can't believe this person," said Isobel. "Here, they're praying for the Lord to help them win the lottery and promising the church a cut. How crass! That doesn't sound like one of our crowd."

"Oh? Would they not ask for divine lottery intervention?" said Jessica. "Are they too pure for that?"

"Too pure, my arse," said Renfrew. "You saw all the blood in that kitchen. What kind of church participates in that kind of thuggery? Roughing up a fine young man like Linval, for what? Giving shelter to runaways? His own cousins, no less."

"Papa has no fear of spilling blood or inflicting pain," said Isobel. "He calls it purifying."

"So long as it's not his own," said Renfrew. "Oh, I know his type well. He's a bully of the worst order. But, don't you worry, my darlings, we'll put things right. I won't stand for this. I won't stand down until we get this done."

The conversation in the car hit a lull and the absence of voices allowed Karla to retreat further into her head. Power chords rattled Renfrew's speakers like buzz saws. The wind whistled through a partially open window.

As low as she had felt before, the bottom had now fallen out of Karla's mood. She felt stuck between worlds, repelled by both, with no clear longing to be in either. All that mattered anymore was to be with James. Wherever.

But she had no desire to be stuck in the wilderness of the Liminality alone. James said he would wait for her at that canyon. But what if he couldn't keep his promise? What would she do? Make her way to Frelsi?

The prospect of returning to Inverness filled her with even more foreboding, even though James was almost certainly there, unless... Papa had taken him to Aberdeen.

Karla prayed for the roots to come and take her, but she felt nothing, not a rustle or prickle to hint of their presence. Instead, her soul dangled over the far more vast and terrifying void between worlds.

Chapter 28: Hollow

As Renfrew sped towards Inverness, Karla's head bounced with every bump, colliding with the rear window. Under her gaze, the meadows shed their glow and grayed as the sun sank deep beneath the hills. Renfrew's CD player had stopped playing its raucous fare. No one spoke.

Karla hovered in a semi-sleep, having given up her longing for the roots to come take her. And whether she had schemed for it or not, that very act of giving up had provided the roots their cue, luring them after her.

They came and took her without warning or fanfare, dragging her over the edge and through the void in one smooth swipe, dumping her onto a sandy trail reeking of Reaper.

She lay on her back on the pitted plains, staring up at alien stars arranged in unfamiliar constellations, and waited for her senses to pull together and make her whole. Always, some parts of her senses and soul lagged behind in these transitions. She had learned be patient over many crossings.

Now that she was here in the Liminality, she almost regretted wishing for it. How was being plopped down in this dark wilderness alone any better than hunting for James in Scottish church basements? At least there, they were guaranteed to find him. He might not even be here in this world.

"James?" She called out, just in case he might be closeby. It was a long shot, but this was where they had last seen each other. He might have returned to wait for her.

She recalled him pointing off the deck of that heaving Reaper at a dark dimple in the hillside, a box canyon. That was to be their designated meeting place. She understood the logic of the choice. It was distinctive, easily spotted from afar, even at night. It was off the main Reaper track, but not too far, to allow them to follow the trail of spoor to Frelsi. It held a water source and perhaps the possibility shelter in caves and overhangs.

Alone, in the deep of night, the place held very little appeal. Its darkness gaped at her like the eye socket of a skull. In contrast, far up the side of a hill there were patches of glow that curved like static wildfire. It could only be Frelsi, and it looked so close. Just a few hours walk and she could be there. The sight of it made her spirit leap with hope.

But she had to do her due diligence and check for James in the canyon. She got up, shook her nakedness free of grit and walked towards the darkness, her heart cowering, retreating with every step. She was not one to be afraid of the dark. How many nights she had roamed the drizzled gloom of Inverness alone, taking alleyways and garden paths to avoid any chance of being spotted by Papa or his minions?

But this was different. There were no doors to knock on if she got into a tight spot. No kindly grandmothers with a fondness for waifs. She was on her own here, exposed to whatever lurked in those deep shadows.

And it wasn't the known that concerned her. She could deal with Reapers and Dusters and giant insects. What chilled her more were the things she hadn't considered. Things she did not yet know existed. Because the Liminality had surprised her before with strange, new terrors. And it was a given that it would surprise her again.

But her stride did not flag as she marched into the darkness, joining up with a lazy creek and follow its bank deep into the hollow, its steep walls flaring out like the jaws of a trap, sheathing the bottom in blackness. The joyful trickle of a slender waterfall provided the only consolation. She couldn't remember her heart ever beating this fast.

She reached the edge of the still pond, its surface as inscrutable as a pool of crude oil in the feeble starlight. She called out.

"James?"

Her voice echoed faintly against the walls of the box canyon. She shouted louder.

"James!"

There came no answer. She stood and waited, clutching her arms against her chest. She wasn't cold as much as exposed. And she just didn't have it in herself to attempt to Weave anything here, particularly if it meant crawling into some pit to fetch some roots.

A breeze kicked up and rippled the pond. The shrubs across the way shivered their leaves. She supposed she could scratch together some sort of shelter of sticks and branches but this place spooked her. She couldn't stay here, not by herself, not surety of seeing James.

She would feel better on the move. Mobility would negate the sense that unseen things were sneaking up on her in the night, surrounding her, preparing an ambush. What sorts of things they might be, she had no idea, but she thought she could sense them gathering, and she wasn't about to wait around for them to introduce themselves.

Reapers bellowed on the plains. They were probably escort patrols, but there was no way she could be certain. They might just as well be Reapers from the tunnels below emerging to hunt down stray meat.

And even if they did bear decking and crews, some primal instinct inside her prevented from seeking them out. It just seemed wrong to approach any Reaper voluntarily, against her human nature. She would rather walk to Frelsi by herself.

She found a flat outcrop, took a rock and blindly scratched a simple message for James. She kissed the stone and laid it down gently, turned her back to the hollow and set out for the plains.

Chapter 29: Yaqob

I flopped and dangled in the ant's mandibles as it raced up a vertical chute. I tried to hang on, my fingers seeking something to grip on its slick and waxy exoskeleton. But the creature wasn't about to drop me. Tooth-like corrugations in its jaws held me snug. It applied just enough pressure so that it crushed no bones but I did not slip an inch.

It bounded up a sluice, its head tilted up, holding me high so my legs wouldn't bash against the rocks. I was never too crazy about heights. I guess there wasn't much opportunity to familiarize myself growing up in the pancaked landscapes of Ohio and Florida. Even the dinky Ferris wheel at the St. Lucie county fair used to freak me out. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, wishing I could fade so I wouldn't have to deal with this or what was to come.

Rocks dislodged by Urszula's ant came hurtling down, banging off the armored tibia of my ant, not fazing it one bit, though one direct hit with those grapefruit-sized stones would probably crush my skull.

We crossed a slant of talus and then up another set of vertical, fluted cliffs—columns of basalt that rose like bundles of pencils. We passed through clouds, their mist basting me with tiny droplets.

The moisture begot greenery. Tree ferns perched on every available ledge. Huge loops of vines dangled down, thickly crusted with lichen and ear-shaped mushrooms.

We passed over a sharp lip and emerged onto the lumpy top of a huge plateau with bulges of meadow clothed in a blue-tinged elephant grass and wagging yellow blooms. Old Ones studded the landscape, embedded in the turf here and there, sporting their Mona Lisa smiles. Mists propelled by a swirling breeze bathed the landscape in dew.

There were clumps of tree ferns here and there, and thickets of succulent plants, their leafless green stems and lobes connected at odd angles like a random construction of Tinker Toys. Worker ants bustled over the scaffolding, harvesting nectar from herds of aphids the size of small pigs.

Beyond the groves rose the ruins of a low and angular city of stone, its towers shattered crumbing, their remains jutting upward like broken teeth. It was protected by a series of concentric walls of massive polygons of a dark and greasy-looking stone, its blocks fitted together tightly without mortar, in the manner of the Incas.

The city looked like the aftermath of a battle between the kingdoms of the plants and the fungi. Fungi had claimed most of the lower reaches, with bulges of woody mushroom butting together to form chaotic collections of roofs and bowls that reminded me of oyster beds.

The upper wards, though, were dominated by cloud forest. Ferns and moss covered every surface. Vines like giant anacondas formed free-standing trellises on which the giant mantids sunned themselves. Giant dragonflies patrolled high overhead, their wings sparkling in the sun.

The ants carried us through a series of zigzagging, stone-lined trenches into an amphitheater-like bowl that had been stripped of all vegetation, depositing us in the center. Truck-sized patches of bubbles were heaped neatly along the periphery, some transparent, some gone cloudy where the sun struck them directly. Only when Dusters began swarming out of the bubble masses did I realize that they were dwellings.

Their task completed, the ants bounded away and disappeared over the encircling wall. The crowd of Dusters hung back, gazing nervously back to a larger mass of bubbles draped over the terraced wall.

"Are you fine?" said Urszula, panting.

"Fine? Yeah. I'm okay. I guess."

A small Duster stepped out of the crowd and gawked at us, her eyes alive with curiosity.

"That's a girl. A child. How is that possible? Do you people... give birth here?"

"No," said Urszula. "She is Fea. She is an error. She should never have been sent to the Deeps. But she was."

Fea's approach emboldened the others and they all gathered around, jabbering and bantering in their strange tongue, peppering Urszula with questions and accusations. From their tone alone I could sense that some relayed concern, while some dripped with derision.

Some leaped forward to prod me with their scepters before springing back. Gobs of spittle came flinging my way, which I mostly dodged. Urszula scolded the spitters and threatened them with her claws, but they just shook their scepters and laughed.

Urszula struggled to rise to her feet, but collapsed back down. Two women rushed forward and examined her wounds. Her ankle was looking mighty ugly. It had swollen to monstrous proportions and threatened to break out of its wrapping.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as a pair of huge soldier ants came over the wall besides the largest of the bubble houses.

"Yaqob is here," said Urszula. "Let me speak. You stay silent."

"Who's Yaqob?"

"Here he comes! Silent!"

A stocky and muscular man with a blocky beard came striding between the ants. Dark patches covered his cheeks and brow like a mask, exaggerating his pale, grey eyes.

I recognized him. He was the leader of the group that nabbed me and tossed me into the pit when I had attempted to go up the canyons.

The women attending to Urszula stripped off the splint and wrappings from her bruised and purple ankle and forearm, replacing them with a pink and brown slime one of the woman squeezed from a pouch made of folded palm fronds.

Urszula threw her head back and groaned as the slime frothed and swirled over her wounds, penetrating her flesh like acid.

This Yaqob bore a scepter bigger than any I had seen. It had a flared and knobbed end, like a Polynesian war club. He climbed onto a pearly platform of overlapping fans of fungus just outside the center of the bow, claiming it as if it were his throne. It seemed molded perfectly to his proportions.

The soldier ants took up positions to either side of him. They were much bulkier and longer of limb than the workers that had borne Urszula and me up the side of the mesa. Their mandibles bore wicked, foot-long spikes that would have impaled a soft-bodied creature like me had they tried to carry me. The angular flanges and thick wedges of their armor looked sufficient to deflect bullets. They stared inscrutably at me with compound eyes, their antennae continually waving and sampling the chemistry of the air.

A woman came rushing over to Yaqob bearing a huge, lidded mug that looked like a caveman's beer stein, handing it to him with a deep bow. He seized it from her, opened the lid and took a large gulp of some frothy, yellow liquid. Bits of foam clung to his dark beard.

He rested the mug on his knee, took a deep breath and looked down on us with disdain. He started muttering to Urszula in a low squawk. She squawked back, breathless and wincing as the brown ooze went to work on her wounds. Yaqob's lips peeled back and he grimaced at me like a chimp, exposing a set of perfect, taupe and pointed fangs.

The girl—Fea—ran up to me and touched my hair with one finger and ran back into the crowd. Yaqob bellowed at her. He stood up and tucked his scepter against his forearm and extended it towards me. The other Dusters did the same.

Urszula shrieked and crawled over to shield me with her body.

"They want to obliterate you."

"Why? Coming here wasn't my idea. Those fucking ants." From all the vicious, skulking looks that Urszula's friends were giving me, I was already girding myself to meet the Deeps.

Yaqob came off his throne and loomed over me, jabbered in my face.

"He knows not what you say you fool," said Urszula. "He is speaking only English."

"Stupid spy? He expects to return to Frelsi?"

"He is no spy," said Urszula. "He wants no part of Frelsi. He is on his own."

"And what would a Hemisoul seek in Neueden?"

"He seeks nothing. He was helping me return home."

"Why? What did you promise him?"

"Nothing. He is just helping, because that is what he wants."

"You coerced him?"

"I did not. I was at their mercy, at the brink of a feeding trough. He rescued me from the Reapers on his own volition. He asks for nothing in return."

This prompted a ruckus of confused deliberation.

"Cheater. What is he doing out of the pits?" said another Duster, an unusually tall man with a black bar running up the center of his face.

"He found his way out. Like all of us. Can you blame him?"

"We all paid our dues in the Deeps. This one is a Cheater."

"Send him to the Deeps!" screamed a woman in the back of the crowd.

"No! This one is not like the others," said Urszula. "He does not aspire to Frelsi. He has refused their mark. Look at his arm."

Several came forward. A woman grabbed his arm and twisted it, roughly.

"And not only this," said Urszula. "He has the Craft in him. He is not just a Weaver. Show them, James. Show them your scepter."

"My what?"

And then I realized she was talking about that twisty little smooth-barked twig I had in my back pocket. I pulled it out and held it up. The crowd shrank back defensively. Some drew their own scepters that ranged in size from walking canes to shepherd's crooks. My twig was less than a foot and a half long and only a half inch across at its thickest point.

Yaqob started to croak rhythmically like an overheated frog. It took me a moment to realize he was laughing. And then the rest of them put away their scepters and roared. Those that knelt beside him toppled and rolled in the dirt, consumed with paroxysms of laughter.

They were so consumed in mirth that I probably could have gotten away right them. The only thing that dissuaded me was that thousand foot drop off the edge of the mesa.

"Show me what he can do," said Yaqob.

"Show him," said Urszula.

"Show him what?"

"What you can do."

"With that swizzle stick?" said Yaqob. "That's barely adequate to stir my drink."

He took another gulp and clomped down his massive mug back down on his knee.

A weird, little tickle traveled down my spine. I never did react well to belittling. I took my swizzle stick and pointed it at his drink.

A bolus of energy erupted in my nerves. Like a squirrel frantic to get free, it shot down my arm, through the twig and out the tip in a blob of whirling plasma.

It struck his mug square on, pulverizing all but the handle. The contents sloshed onto his lap.

The mood in the amphitheatre turned murderous. A dozen scepters pointed at my head, but Urszula continued to shield me.

"You asked for a demonstration. He provided it. Now back off."

"What do we do with him? We can't just release him."

"Why not?" said Urszula, panting, her eyes clenched tight. Steam began to rise from the brown foam slathered on her wounded limbs.

"Mantis prey," said a woman.

"To dust with him!"

"Stop!" said Urszula, bolting up, eyes glaring. "He is mine. I brought him here."

"Since when do we keep slaves... or pets?" said Yaqob.

"I found him. I claim him."

"This is not right," said Yaqob. "His soul is committed to the Deeps."

"How will the Deeps improve him?"

"It is the penance of doom," said the Duster who towered over the others. He must have been close to seven feet tall. "We all have paid the price."

"James saved me from the Reapers, Kyrim," said Urszula. "I would not be here if not for him."

"You can't keep him here," said Yaqob. "He's not one of us."

"I will deal with him, once I heal."

"He can't stay."

"He won't! I said I would deal with him."

"It had better be soon. His presence soils us all."

"Is it wise to reject potential alliances? Our numbers only dwindle."

"Alliances? With the Hemisouls that Frelsi rejects? Please. I want him gone before the sun falls. I don't care how he goes. Just make him gone."

He rose from his throne and strode off without looking back. The soldier ants followed behind him.

Urszula swiped a glob of the brown foam from her wrist and flicked it on the ground, defiantly. Her chest heaved. She flexed her mended hand. Some of the strain had left her face. I could tell that her pain had eased.

"Come," she said. "I need more time to heal. But then I will take you."

"Take me where?"

"Wherever you want to go."

Yaqob disappeared into his own regal mass of froth, while his ant guardians took up stations on the vine-covered wall above.

A blob of mist came pulsing over the wall and swept across the amphitheater like a ghost. Most of the Dusters had dispersed but several lingered, staring and glaring at me, rolling their scepters in their fingers.

Urszula snapped at them and they snarled back. She rose slowly and tested her mended leg, and this time, it held her weight. She took one step and then another, limping heavily, but it amazed me that she could walk at all, considering her ankle only minutes earlier had been a mass of swollen flesh.

"Come. We need to get you out of sight. Without Yaqob here, someone might be tempted to mess you up. I have no scepter to defend you."

Sneering at those who looked on, she clamped her hand around mine and led me out of the amphitheater.

***

We passed through a network of zigzagging walled passages down into sunken courtyards and up over elevated plazas. There were living mummies scattered everywhere, some seated, some prone, some with vines snaking around their limbs.

"These poor things," I said. "Are they like... paralyzed?"

"They do not feel connected to this world. Their bodies are merely receptacles. Their minds are their universe."

"How did they get this way?"

"I think their souls are sated," said Urszula. "One can only hold so many experiences and memories from an existence. And when a soul fills, it turns inward and moves on. But where do they go? Nobody knows. We can't ask the Old Ones. None have ever returned to this existence."

"But... if they're not coming back... why are their bodies so well preserved? Why don't they just die and rot away?"

"Who knows?" said Urszula. "Maybe there is a purpose. Maybe not. Not everything has to have a reason."

A part in the masonry opened into a walled garden overgrown with tree ferns, succulents and vines. White and yellow of bubbles draped over of the thicker vines and flowed onto the ground.

I paused under one frothy arch, reluctant to pass beneath. "There's something in there." Something striped and greenish moved within the mass.

"No worries," said Urszula, gliding through. "Just a spittlebug. Sapsuckers. They make the bubbles, and they feed our mantids."

I touched one of the bubbles, expecting it to pop, but its skin was tough and elastic. It stuck to my finger and I had trouble getting it off.

A pair of tree ferns rustled and a giant mantis, still wearing its saddle thrust between them, its head swiveling back and forth excitedly. The oozing body of a lamb-sized cricket was clutched in its forelegs.

"Seraf! She made it back!"

She rushed over and stroked the mantid's wing case as if she were calming a horse. "You poor thing. No one's bothered to remove your saddle." She ran her fingers down some deep grooves in its tibia, which had crusted over with scaly granules. "And you were injured!"

The mantid dropped the carcass and raised its forelegs at me like a boxer, shifting from side to side on its other four limbs.

"Shush, shush, it's alright, Seraf. James is a friend."

She turned to me, grinning. "To her, all Hemis are prey. Never to be eaten—not usually—but to be collected and returned to the pits. So she is a little bit confused. As were my peers. As... am I."

"Join the club," I said. "Even I don't know what's up or down anymore."

Urszula unstrapped the saddle and slid it off her mantid. It burst into the sky and did a loop around the garden. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she gazed at the dragonflies jousting high overhead.

"Is that Lalibela up there? I think so."

"Don't tell me you have a pet dragonfly as well."

"These beasts are not pets. They are our allies. If not for us, the Frelsians would hunt them to extinction. You've seen their harpoons, their fellstraw."

She took my hand again and led me past the arch to a larger mass of froth, shaped to form a dwelling. We pressed through a slitted opening into a large igloo-like space that was vaguely reminiscent of Karla's old chamber. But there were no hangings or carpets. Nothing woven, in fact. The spongy mats had the mushroomy scent of Lille's shanty walls. There were made of some kind of iridescent slime mold that seemed to be alive and growing.

Urszula settled down onto a thicker patch as if she were settling onto a chaise. She slipped a finger into the brown froth coating her ankle and winced.

"It needs more time," she said. "My arm is in good shape, but the bones in my ankle were shattered."

I stood there, all awkward, afraid to touch anything. I had never been inside such a bizarre structure. There was an easy chair-sized lump of orange gel in a corner that heaved rhythmically as if it were breathing.

A pensive look came over her face. She brushed back her wiry hair. "You fed me. I must return the favor." She pointed overhead to tree-sized vine that looped inside the dwelling. A cluster of what looked large papayas clung to the scaly bark. Golden droplets oozed and dangled from tubercles studding their surface. These were aphids the size of footballs, their mouthparts deeply embedded in the vines.

"Go ahead. Take some of the fluid. It will restore you. Give energy."

"How?" I said, looking around for some kind of receptacle.

She got up onto her chaise-thingie and ripped a leaf off the vine. It was indented in the center, making a sort of shallow bowl. Holding it against the knobby nozzles protruding from the abdomen of one of the larger aphids, she rubbed its leathery plates.

A large glob of viscous fluid grew at the end of the knob. She touched the hollow of the leaf against is and it poured in, jiggling like a loose jello. I could only think of milking Renfrew's goats.

She offered me the leaf in both hands. "Drink up. You will like it.

I came forward and took the leaf from her, but hesitated when I saw there were particles like floating in the goop.

"I take it like this," she said, stretching out and placing her mouth directly on one of the aphid's tubercles, sucking up a large glob of the golden fluid.

No way was I going to do that. Those king crab-like legs, jointed antennae and multi-beaded eyes creeped me out. One appeared to giving live birth to a miniature version of itself.

But I felt bad refusing her hospitality. After all, I had made her eat some of Lille's gruel. I took the plunge and gobbled up a droplet from the leaf. It tasted like a cross between watered-down honey and chicken broth. It stoked my appetite. I ended up licking the leaf clean. She handed down another leaf.

She hopped back down and reclined on her patch of ooze. I just stood there, arms at my sides, staring.

"Relax," she said. "No one will harm you here."

So I went over to that orange thing in the corner, hoping it was furniture and not some kind of slumbering pet, and settled my frame down onto it.

I sank into it like it was a slab of ice cream that melted and refroze away from my pressure points, but supporting me where I needed support. It was probably the most comfortable chair I had ever sat in, better than memory foam.

Urszula smiled at me. It felt strange, seeing that relaxed and easeful grin directed at me. It had happened before, but initial impressions were hard to shake. I still had a hard time accepting that her facial muscles could form such an expression. The absence of tension transformed her into an entirely different sort of creature—less demon, more human.

And it wasn't just her being transformed. My head felt like I had taken a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach. A spigot opened and drained away my anxieties. A steady buzz thrummed through my nerves and veins. I almost felt giddy. Was it the nectar?

My mind began to wander in a dozen different directions. I wanted to know stuff. I wanted to figure things out.

"This Yaqob guy," I said. "Is he like your... king... or something?"

"Hah! He wishes," said Urszula. "He is just the oldest. One of the last of Neueden's Founders. My brothers and sisters defer out of respect. Soon, he will be joining the Old Ones. My brothers and sisters may mourn, but I won't miss him."

"Oh? Is there bad blood between you?"

Unruffled, Urszula took a long, deep sigh. "I am just tired of his interference... with everything."

"So if he's not your leader, who is?"

She shrugged. "Nobody. We have none. We are each to our own. When we act in concert, it is by consensus. Sad to say, but the ants are better organized. We have plenty to bind us towards a common cause, but it is not always easy to coordinate actions. It can be chaos at times. It is a wonder we have not already been exterminated."

She hopped down from the chair, landing on her feet without out even wincing and strolled back to her chaise, with no trace of a limp.

It made me think of Bern's chronic leg issues. "Hey, uh... where can I get some of that brown slime they put on you? That stuff's pretty amazing."

She closed her eyes and frowned. "It is not for Hemisouls. But... for you? If you ever need some, you let me know." She yawned and rolled over onto her side.

"Hey... uh... they wanted me out of here by nightfall. Shouldn't we be—?"

"Allow me a short nap," she mumbled. "And then I will take you." She slumped and I knew she was already out. But there was no way I was going to be able to follow suit. I was way too hyped.

***

I don't know if there something in that aphid juice causing it or what, my thoughts began to run wild, as I sat there, sinking deeper into that orange blob. Somehow I became convinced that I was deceased.

I mean, it made sense. Why else hadn't I faded by now? I couldn't even remember how long ago it had been since I had seen the living side of things.

And if that was true, the implications were mind-bending, because my soul hadn't been whisked away to the Deeps. It meant that I was no longer a Hemi, but a Freesoul.

I just sat there, digging my fingers into the blob, thinking: "Whoa!" It meant no more movies. No more pizza. No more sequels to the Game of Thrones. No more NFL, NBA or MLB. No more wandering through the cities of Earth.

But how was this possible? Going free wasn't supposed to happen unless a soul was high enough in the mountains to be out of the influence of the Core, whatever the hell that meant.

But you know, I had already demonstrated that the usual rules didn't apply to me. It began with me freeing myself from that pod, and then Weaving a glass giraffe from nothing on my first attempt, and then blowing apart those tunnels, Reaper and all in a maelstrom of hate; and just a little while ago, accepting Yaqob's challenge, shattering his favorite mug with a command of Spell Craft that took most Dusters a millennium in the Deeps to acquire.

Karla, Lille and Bern had all said I was special. Even Luther recognized something different about me. So maybe I was, Maybe I was special, even more so than they suspected.

There had to be a reason for this gift. But what could possibly that be? And why me? Why, of all people, would the powers that be pick James Moody of Ft. Pierce, Florida?

Suddenly, I felt all claustrophobic, like fate was clamping down on me. I needed some open air. I needed to see some sky.

I peeled myself out of that blob and charged across the floor, pushing through the wall of bubbles and crossed through the garden to the wall that enclosed it. I climbed onto the ruins of what had once been a stone tower. Just a jagged stub remained.

Across the valley, the spires of Frelsi were barely visible, hugging the side of a massive mountain. Other mesas and spires, shrouded my mist, stretched off into the distance in either direction.

I stepped through a jumble of blocks to a place that kind of looked like a throne. I sat down on it and this thrill shot through me, as if this makeshift throne had the power to king me.

Screw Yaqob and the so-called Masters of Frelsi, this was gonna be my domain. No Freesoul or Duster could do what I could do. No Reaper could touch me. And now that I had my own scepter, I had mastery over any giant bugs as well.

Too bad that mantis of Urszula's hadn't gotten the message. I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and found that damned creature—Seraf—stalking me. Her head popped up at the juncture of two walls, and the next thing I knew, she had alighted on the stone platform and was coming after me.

I pulled that crooked stick out of my back pocket and waggled it at her. That immediately agitated her. She pulled up her barbed forelegs and clacked her mouthparts. But at least she came at me more warily. Evidently, she had some experience with scepters, and even a wimpy little wand like mine was enough to give her pause.

If only I knew for sure how to summon the power that obliterated Yaqob's mug. Being angry apparently greased the skids for any kind of magic in this place. I could pretend I hated bugs, which was generally true, except that I kind of liked mantids. I always thought they were cool.

But that line of thinking was doing nothing for my scepter. There was no plasma burbling anywhere in my nerves, just me and crooked stick and a mantid that could eviscerate me with one swipe.

So we did this little parry and dance around the stone platform, circling like boxers. And you know, as we got into it, I did start to get a little pissed off. Here, I was, scheming to be the master of a universe, and a dang bug wanted to turn me into an appetizer.

Stuff started to happen. I felt the energy loosen and gather in my nerves. Now, I wasn't thrilled about what was about to come down. Urszula was going to freak out if I wounded her pet. But it would be no different if she was some girl with a pit bull. Self-defense was self-defense.

And then there was this massive ripping sound overhead. I looked all around and found this glider-sized dragonfly screaming down at my head. I dove between some stone blocks as six sets of claws raked through the space I had occupied just moments ago.

Urszula came stumbling out of her abode, her eyes all puffy and bleary. The dragonfly made a swooping turn for another pass. "Lalibela! Seraf! No! Bad girls. Shoo! James is a friend!" She waved her arms. Seraf hopped back down into the garden and clambered through the overlapping crowns of some tree ferns. The monster dragonfly soared out over the precipice.

I crawled off the edge of the platform and lowered myself back into the sunken garden, running back to Urszula and her bubble house.

"What are you doing out here?" she said. "Are you crazy? You should have never left the safety of my house. These insects hunger for flesh. And my friends, they are jealous. They would take any opportunity to turn you to dust."

"I was just... getting some fresh air."

"Fresh air." She shook her head and came over, sitting down on some steps built into the wall, holding her head in her hands.

"Are you okay?"

"I am just... waking up. It takes time... things are fuzzy after a healing."

"You're ankle! It looks like new."

"Yes, but I am not yet whole. I need a new scepter. It won't be easy finding one as suited to me as the one I lost."

"You can have mine."

She smirked. "It does not work that way. That one belongs to you. But in the future, you might want to choose something a little more durable, and perhaps more impressive. Perception matters in a confrontation. Your scepter intimidates no one. But, in a sense, that might be good. Your foes might underestimate you."

"Hey listen," I said. "This is gonna sound crazy, but... do you think it might be possible that I'm dead?"

She squinted, puzzled.

"You are a Hemisoul. You are half dead. One foot in the grave, as they say."

"No. I mean like totally dead. A Freesoul."

"Impossible. There are only two ways for a soul to be free. Our way, through the Deeps, and the way of the Frelsians—below the glaciers."

"Well, I've got reason to believe that there might be a third way."

Urszula just stood and stared at me, one eyebrow arching high. "That nectar has really gone to your head, hasn't it?"

"I'm serious. I was in pretty poor shape on the other side. And I've been here so long without fading."

"But you have been too close to the Core the entire time you have been with me. Even here on this mountain the Core has sway. Weaving is possible here."

"But what if I'm different? What if the rules don't apply to me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, up till now I've been kind of dismissing all these weird talents that keep popping up, because that's me. It's what I do. I'm humble. On Earth I had no special skills whatsoever. Not in sports, not in music, language, so it was easy to be humble. But the stuff that's happening to me here. These strange talents. What if they were given to me for a reason? What if I was put here for a special purpose?"

She shook her head at me and turned to go inside.

"Hey, look at me. I'm serious! You have to admit, these powers I have, they're unusual, right?"

"Yes. They are not usual."

"So what if I was send here for a reason? I mean, you read about these things in stories. Someone with special powers who shows up to be your... like... saviour, or something? Your... uniter? Whatever. You guys weren't expecting someone like that... were you?"

Her face went blank momentarily and then she guffawed. "You think you are some kind of 'chosen one?' Some kind of Messiah? You think because you can make dust with your little, crooked stick, suddenly you think you are like Jesus?"

Each laugh was like a punch in the gut.

"No. That's not it at all. I just thought it was weird that I had these special powers. I mean why do I have them if they weren't meant to be used... for a special purpose?"

"Mistakes happen," said Urszula. "Freaks of nature. Flukes. Black Swans. Look at Fea? Why is an eight year old girl here? That is not supposed to happen. Never are there children in the Liminality. Except for her. The forces that control this place, whatever, whoever they are, they are not perfect. We of Neueden were never meant to leave the Deeps, yet here we are. And still they cannot keep us contained. The flow has slowed, but to this day, we have Latecomers arriving. So, yes, you are special, but please do not think it is part of some grand plan. It is just accident of luck that you can do these things. Be grateful and forget about it."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I said, as my ego settled slowly back to earth like a hot air balloon with its burners extinguished. "It's not like I'm the best Weaver... or Duster out there. I'm just... precocious."

"Enough of these pointless contemplations," she said. "It is time we go."

"Go where?"

"Anywhere you wish, so long as it is off this mesa. Yaqob wants you gone by nightfall, and if I don't take you now I do not doubt he would throw you off the mesa himself. You will not survive the night if you stay. My brothers and sisters are offended by your presence. And I have no scepter with which to protect you."

"Well, okay," I said, glancing at the heap of stones that only minutes ago had been my throne. Maybe that aphid juice was starting to wear off. I would be thinking twice about taking a hit of that stuff again.

"So where do you wish to go?"

I had to think about that a little bit. If I was already dead—and I still clung to that notion, despite Urszula's skepticism—then it didn't matter where I went. But if I wasn't dead yet and I wanted to become a Freesoul, I had to be up in the mountains, away from the Core.

And then there was Karla to think about. She might be waiting for me in that hollow or she might not, depending on how things are going on the other side. If she had discovered I was dead, she might not be too thrilled. Come to think of it, if that was the case, she might already be here. What was I doing on this freaking mesa?

Urszula whistled and clapped and her mantis came bounding over like an obedient dog. "You must tell me where you wish to go," she said, impatiently. "Otherwise I will bring you back to the pits."

"There's a hanging valley on the other side of the river," I said. "We passed it on the way to Frelsi. There's a pond and a waterfall. It was the last place I saw Karla. That's where I want to be."

Her eyes lost their focus momentarily, but came blazing back. "Then that's where we will bring you. Come!" She extended her hand.

Chapter 30: Vetted

The Reapers' trail veered off the plains and slashed up the side of a hill. Each step of elevation added to Karla's peace of mind, bringing her closer to the glow she assumed to be Frelsi and away from whatever unseen menaces stalked the pits and plains, at least in her imagination.

It made no sense why the open sky of the Liminality should frighten her more than its underworld where night was perpetual. The intensity of her terror puzzled her. Below ground, she had felt at ease, like a bunny safe in its burrow, despite the ever-present danger in those confined spaces.

Perhaps the tunnels were the devil she knew. And because the Weaving came easier down there, weapons and Reaper-proof refuges could be simply willed into existence. Her chamber had provided a womb to curl up in, impervious to all harm. What she would give to be there right now... with James.

Up top, she felt exposed. Her marginal Weaving skills had been weakened even more by the added distance from the Core. Here, it was tooth and claw against her bare flesh.

The stars grew numerous—a continuous smear of light across the sky, far broader than the Milky Way. The way grew steeper and rougher, studded with boulders and pocked with gullies. The Frelsians didn't seem to bother to grade their access roads, probably because smoothness didn't matter to their shape-shifting mounts. The trail remained about as rugged as the terrain it traversed.

At least the stench of the Reaper's excretions made it obvious when she had wandered off the path. It was so odiferous, a blind woman could follow it all the way to Frelsi.

It went against her instincts to be intentionally following a path laid by Reapers, but she could understand why the Frelsians had domesticated the vile creatures. What other choice did they have for beasts of burden? Giant arthropods? That Reapers could be harnessed for good as well as evil somehow struck a nice chord.

As hauled herself up between two boulders, she detected a soft patter on the slope above, where the trail switched back on itself. There was a gaggle of people walking, with no sign of any Reaper.

She was seized with an urge to join them. It didn't matter who they were. She didn't want to be alone any longer. She picked up her pace and left the trail, scrambling up the side of the mountain, homing in on the voices.

The advantages of following the Reaper's trail immediately made itself evident in the bramble and cacti that kept scraping against her bare legs. She persevered, panting, scrambling up the slope. The voices grew louder. People were laughing. Someone was actually singing.

She knocked a stone loose and it tumbled down, clanking against other stones. The voices went silent.

A bright orb, glowing green, flared into existence and floated down. It stopped and hovered an arm's length in front of her face, blinding her.

"Who is there? Please identify yourself."

Karla knew that voice.

"Victoria?"

A pause.

"How do you know my name?"

"We met. In Luthersburg."

"Really? Oh, not yet another one. Next, it will be Luther himself. Come forward please. Do not be alarmed by the glow. It is harmless, but it will follow you."

As promised, the orb floated behind her, throwing a sickly green glow over the scrubby slope, washing over the faces staring down at her in various mixtures of awe, trepidation and curiosity.

There were about twelve people in all, mostly women. Karla was the only one among them who was unclothed and it made her feel suddenly self-conscious. She walked awkwardly, knees together, arms crossed over her bosom to cover her nakedness.

Victoria stood at the head of the group, bearing a long staff with a loop at the top. A steady wind blew her hair back and pressed her long shift against her calves. Her stare was penetrating. As if Karla had anything to hide. Her feelings were just as her flesh, exposed for all to see.

"Ah, I remember you," said Victoria. "You are that friend of Lille's."

"Have you seen her?" said Karla. "How is she? Is she here? Is she alright?"

"She is fine, as far as I know, and staying in Frelsi. If you come with us, I can tell you where to find her."

"And James? James Moody? Do you know him?"

"He's that American who was with you all. Is that right? The one who destroyed my favorite portal?"

"Yes," said Karla.

"I saw him get taken by Dusters a few days ago. I had asked him to wait for my return, but he wasn't there. I had assumed he had crossed back to Earth in the interim."

"Actually, I think he has gone on to Frelsi," said Karla. "At least, that was where we were headed."

Victoria maintained a subtle smile that never wavered. Her face provided zero insight into her thoughts.

"Come to me. Come here."

Karla went forward. She did not feel threatened at all. This was Victoria, after all. She and her friends had held her in as much regard as a Saint since her confrontation with Luther. The glowing orb followed and took up residence within the loop of Victoria's staff.

"I have heard a lot about you, Miss Karla Reith," said Victoria. "Miss Lille thinks very highly of you. She had asked me to keep a lookout."

Karla halted a few paces away. The stares and whispers of the others began to annoy her.

"Please come closer. Show me your arm."

"My arm?"

Karla took a hesitant step forward. Victoria grabbed her wrist and twisted it gently around, exposing her forearm. She reached into a pocket, took a pinch of something wiry and squirmy, cupped them into her palm and clapped it against Karla's skin.

There was a stinging sensation, followed heat and an intense itching. Victoria drew her hand back. Karla rubbed the inflamed patch with her other hand, finding a thickly embossed C raised on her flesh.

"Consider yourself vetted," said Victoria.

"But... what did you do to me?"

"It's just a mark that shows you belong to Frelsi."

"You mean you've just branded me? Like a cow?"

"Oh no, not, not at all, it's called vetting. See? I also have a mark." Victoria pulled up her sleeve, revealing the complete circle on her arm. "Now let's see about getting you covered.

She tore a strip of cloth from her hem and tugged at its edges, expanding and shaping it into a sari-like wrap. Some of the other women came up and helped fit and fasten it around her frame, but the fabric itself did most of the reshaping on its own.

"Come, we had better get going. The steepest pitch yet lies just ahead. We don't want to get there late and keep the Mentors waiting."

"Did walk all the way from the pits?" said Karla. "No Reapers?"

"A little exercise never hurt anyone," said Victoria. She lowered her voice. "And to tell you the truth, I cannot stand those filthy creatures. I wish they had never been taken and tamed."

***

It was still dark when they reached the rugged outer wall of Frelsi. Though, the stone of the external ramparts loomed darkly over them as they came up the final stretch of finely graded road, the inner wall glowed with its own intrinsic luminescence, casting its diffuse light on the bizarre and spiky trees within its confines.

"Please make yourselves comfortable here," said Victoria, as they passed through the unguarded entrance into a chaotic mess of shabby, little shacks. "Any unoccupied dwelling that you find is fair game. Hemis are not allowed to claim property here. Fewer than half of you are present in this world at any one time. Your average residency is less than two days. If you encounter anyone objecting to your presence, please find a Master immediately and report them. As Hemis, you are all required to share."

She panned the group, her eyes contacting each member of her flock, as if to ensure they understood the rules. "Alright, then. By first light, I want you all to reassemble back here so I can introduce you to your Mentors."

She started off up the lane.

"Wait! Miss Victoria!" said Karla. "You were going to tell me how I could find Lille."

Victoria turned to her, her face calm, her eyes weary, almost sad.

"Lille keeps a shanty near the outer stables. Not the best of locations. It reeks of Reaper, but at least there is some open space. Just follow this wall to the left and you will know it when you see it, I'm sure. Lille has a certain flair for distinctive décor, even when it comes to shanties."

Karla walked away from the rest of the group, who seemed tired, befuddled and reluctant to part company with each other after their journey. Who knows how long they knew each other down below?

She threaded her way through a solid mass of shacks devoid of alleyways or paths. She nodded to a few souls who were awake, fanning coals, but they did not even react to her trespass, as accustomed to strangers treading through their kitchens. The porridge they were warming smelled quite good. She was tempted to ask for a taste but was too proud to beg.

She smelled the stables before she saw them, and her heart revved when she broke out into an open space surrounding a series of deep, rectangular depressions full of grunting, snorting Reapers.

The glow of the inner wall cast a faint light over the line of shanties packed cheek to jowl along the wall. In the far corner, where another solid mass of dwellings resumed, she spotted a pastel-colored wall with crude ginger-breading tacked on and dangling just below the roof line. A little round table with two chairs stood in front, a primitive simulacrum of the set Lille and Bern had in their cottage garden back in Luthersburg. This had to be the place.

She trotted across the open grounds, went up to the door and knocked. There was a muttering from inside. The quavering light of a lantern sifted through gaps in the sheets cladding the outer wall.

"Who is it?" The voice was creaky but familiar.

"Lille! It's me. Karla."

The door scraped open, dragging across the rutted clay.

"Oh my Lord," said Lille, palm clasped to her chest. "Bern, can you believe it? It's our Karla!"

Lille smothered Karla in her arms. Karla put her palm on Lille's cheek, amazed by her youthful appearance. She looked to be in her late twenties at most.

"Oh, it's marvelous to see you, my dear! I so missed our little chats."

"How? Who did this for you? Look at you! You look wonderful."

"What, this face? Oh that's nothing," said Lille. "Just turning back the clock a bit. Everyone does it here. Everyone except Bern, it seems."

"I'm still cogitating," said Bern, limping out of the dark recesses of the hut and into the light of Lille's lantern. "It's taken me decades of experience to become this distinguished-looking. You can't expect me to give up all this gravitas, this patina that I've worked so hard for... just like that." He snapped his fingers. "Without as much as a second thought?"

"I'm sorry dear, but any more experience on that face and you'll start looking those mummies they feed to the Reapers. I'm not asking for much, get rid of a few creases here and there, smooth that rumpled brow, and maybe shift your hairline a little more forward. You don't want people to think you're robbing the cradle, do you? What, what?"

Bern slipped around Lille and gave Karla a peck on the cheek. "It's so nice to see you, dear, though I assume your presence means you've no luck finding James on the other side? Is that so?"

"Yes, we have not found him yet. But I thought... is he not here? In Frelsi?"

"Well, he was," said Lille. "He arrived with Bern yesterday, but he seems to have gone away somewhere. He did leave a message saying he would be right back." She pointed to the terse and uninformative message he had scratched on the wall.

"So where do you think he went?"

Bern rocked his head. "I would venture to guess that he went back down the mountain to wait for you. Down on the plains... where you last faded."

"I just came from there... from the place he said we should meet. I didn't see him."

"I don't know what to say," said Bern. "Except that he didn't seem to like this place very much. I can't say I blame him."

"Now Bern, you've just got here. You've hardly given it a chance."

Bern sighed. "Well, you see his little note there. Maybe he just wanted to get away from the hubbub for a bit. He obviously intends to return. I suggest you just sit tight and wait for him to come around. You're welcome to stay here, though, it looks like Lille won't be sticking around past today."

Karla was shocked to hear that the couple might have had a falling out. They seemed amicable enough, or at least no more fractious with each other than usual.

"Why are you moving out, Lille?"

Lille beamed. "Oh, don't look at me that way. It's all good. You see dear, today is a very special day for me. Once the sun is up, we're going up to glaciers. And if all goes well on the other side, my soul is going free today. My Mentor, Alec, has finalized the arrangements."

"You mean... you're dying?"

"Yes!" said Lille, with a smile a mile wide. "He's found someone to go to my nursing home and pull my plug!"

"Oh Lille! I'm sorry, but... that sounds so ghastly."

"No, it's all good. Don't you see? It means security for all eternity. No longer having to worry that my soul will be whisked off to the Deeps."

Karla glanced at Bern, who looked less than thrilled by the prospect.

"Bern has promised to join me, as soon as Alec figures out the logistics. Who would have thought that a prison would be such a hindrance to an assassin? Oh! My gown! I'd love to hear what you think of it."

She held up a long dress of creamy chiffon with accents of satin and lace. It looked almost like a wedding gown.

"It's... lovely," said Karla. "Just lovely. But... did they tell you what happens... when you die? How will you know that it's happened? That you're gone... on the other side?"

Lille gazed out through the eaves. "Well, Alec says you feel something like a little shiver that goes through you like a thrill. He described it almost as if it were some kind of... like... an orgasm." She giggled. "The Mentors then verify your freeing by checking your eyes. They have some kind of instrument that they shine through your pupils. Something about the reflectance changes. The light no longer bounces back, as if there is a void there, as Bern had always suspected." She shot him a glare. "Oh, I haven't been so excited since I... since I went to college... or when my Mum and Dad took me to France for a summer!"

"So, as I was saying," said Bern. "This, eh... cottage... will become available." He looked quite glum. "Lille won't be coming back here. And neither will I."

"What nonsense are you talking, Bern?" said Lille. "Of course you will stay here. Wherever would you go?"

"I thought perhaps I'd take the cue from James and do a little walkabout."

"Oh, poppycock! When James comes back, you can all stay here together. Work with your Mentors, get your bodies in tune, not that you need any improvements, Karla my dear. But this old man of mine needs to get that bum leg of his finally taken care of, and whatever else I can convince him to refurbish."

"But where will you go, Lille?"

"Not far," she said. "Not far at all."

"Free souls stay within the inner wall," said Bern. "Inside the Sanctuary. "Hemis, that's us, we're not allowed in after dark."

"But of course I will visit you all right here, every day. And this is all temporary. Once you all free your own souls...."

"If," said Bern. "Not once. If. Don't just assume it will happen, Lille. Especially with Karla. She's so young still."

"Not to be coy," said Lille. "But we've talked about this many times... down below. Aren't we all here... in the Liminality... for the same reasons? Hasn't it always been our dream all this time to come to Frelsi? And now here all are... together. Can it have worked out any more perfectly?"

"I might have neglected to tell you, Lille, but... things are different now... for Karla. She's finally free of her dad."

"Oh. Well, in that case, the more power to you, dear. I'll certainly miss you, if you ever stop coming. Though... I see that you're here right now. Thing must not be so—"

"Oh my gosh, Lille. Don't root for the poor thing to be miserable."

"But... I never... I'm not—"

"I would gladly never set eyes on her again if that meant she was to have a happy... or at least a normal life."

"As would I," said Lille. "But... she's obviously not happy, is she."

"She's working on it."

"And what's your excuse old man? Having too much fun in solitary confinement are you?"

Bern sighed. "I've told you. It may sound easy arranging an assassination in a prison, but it's not. I'm not the most accessible prisoner. There's the not so small matter of the guards. I happen to be on a suicide watch."

"I've told you," said Lille. "Alec is working very hard at getting one of his Facilitators into your facility. And until then we can still see each other. You can even visit me in the Sanctuary. I mean, in the daytime, when you're not working."

"I don't know, Lille. This whole arrangement makes me a bit uneasy. I mean, assassins? Really? All these social castes, dare I say... apartheid? Something about it all seems very crass."

"Oh, you're making it sound worse than it really is. Everyone knows that being a Hemi is temporary. Let's not fool ourselves. The process of becoming free is the only way to establish a permanent residence here. And this process... it is available to each and every Hemi. Everyone is assigned a Mentor. I don't know why you're so bothered by it all, it seems quite democratic to me."

Watching the two of them bicker made Karla queasy. It was like when things started to go bad with her family, when her father's religious obsessions began to intrude into their relationship. Something fundamental had changed in the way they spoke to one another and Karla could sense it happening here.

Friction between Bern and Lille was nothing new, but there was now something strained and desperate about it. Things seemed unstable, as if their equilibrium had been upended.

As far as impressions of Frelsi were concerned, she sympathized more with Bern, but didn't want to voice her reservations lest she spoil Lille's celebratory mood.

She was genuinely happy for Lille, whose wishes were finally coming true. Her face and body looked absolutely stunning. Her days of scrapping to stay out of the Deeps would soon be over.

"You know what, my dear?" said Lille. "I'm thinking that it's quite possible that we might find James up at the glaciers."

"Where?"

"The glaciers. He gave us the impression that he... I'm sorry to say... that he wasn't long for the world, on the other side. He was very worried about his physical condition."

"Did he say he was getting worse?"

Lille nodded. "And the fact that you are here right now doesn't bode well for getting him timely medical attention."

"Oh no, not at all. Right now, my friends and I are in a car heading up to Inverness. We have already ruled out Glasgow. We're closing in on him."

"Still, it would be wise of him to hedge his bets. No? I bet he's gone up to the glaciers, just in case. He's clever, that one. Knows how to take care of himself."

The curtain screening the gap above the eaves began to glow from a direct blast of sunlight, but no sun could beam as brightly as Lille just did.

"And here comes the dawn! This means the gates to the Sanctuary are open. Any minute now, Alec will be coming to fetch me."

She pulled off her wrap, revealing a shockingly petite and slender torso. "Help me with my dress, dear? There's no zipper, just ties in back. It was the best I could do. Oh, and if you wouldn't mind, I would love to have my hair in braids. Bern's all thumbs when it comes to that kind of thing. It would be so nice to have a feminine touch. Or, do you suppose I should just tuck it up in a simple bun? Oh Bern, would you mind stepping out for a moment? That way I can dazzle you with the complete package when I'm all put together.

Nodding, Bern bit his lip and limped out of the shanty. Karla felt sorry for him. She had never seen him look so old and broken, especially in comparison with the new Lille. That contrast along with their imminent, forced separation must have bitten at his soul.

And then she realized, if it was true that James was up at the glaciers waiting to become free, then she might soon be in the same boat as Bern. Soon, there would be a wall between her and James—an actual, physical wall—along with rules to keep them apart. The more desperately she searched for him, it seemed the farther away they drifted.

Lille chattered on, but her words were just butterflies fluttering aimlessly as Karla wallowed in her own thoughts. As she braided Lille's honey-blonde locks, she already felt more like a Hemi tending to her Master than a kindred soul helping out a friend.

Chapter 31: Waiting

Urszula had me sit in front of her on a saddle that wasn't really large enough for two riders. She feared Seraf's shifty maneuvers might take me by surprise and spill me, and frankly, so did I.

While she adjusted the strapping, I sat there gazing out over the void we imminently intended to occupy. My stomach tumbled at the prospect. It was like waiting in line for a wicked, scary rollercoaster like that beastly Hulk contraption at the Islands of Adventure theme park.

To distract myself from my imminent doom, I reached forward and stroked Seraf's leathery neck, one of the few soft spots in her armor. The insect's hide was a lot warmer than I expected given her cold blooded nature.

Holes in her side wheezed with every movement. She had no lungs, just ventilation ports that ran the whole length of her body.

And those compound eyes, the way they curved around, some of them had to be watching me, even though she faced straight ahead. Freaky.

Urszula's cool breath wafted past my ear and her hair brushed gently against my neck as she leaned forward.

"Hold on," she said. "We are ready to go."

She pressed one hand firmly against my stomach, claw-like nails digging into my skin. The other held an elaborate set of reins connected to six points on the mantid's integument that allowed her to command to her mount with a flick of her wrist.

"Yaaah!" she said, her voice gone deep and guttural.

Seraf scuttled to the edge of the mesa, opened her wing cases and hopped over the brink without a moment's hesitation. I clamped my eyes shut. I couldn't bear to look. I pictured us plummeting down the side of the mesa, bashing our brains against the rocks.

I had witnessed the helicopter-like power of Seraf's flutter, but I wasn't prepared for the vigor of her vibrations. Her thorax rattled the heck out of the saddle. It was way worse than Renfrew's Suzuki, more like a Harley with a thrown pushrod. Each oscillation ratcheted the levers that drove her wing beats.

Once we got going, I settled down and actually manage to open my eyes and enjoy the smooth, controlled glide all the way down to the banks of the river. It sure beat being manhandled up a cliff in jaws of a giant ant, I can tell you that.

Seraf was capable of only short stretches of flight, so we made the rest of the journey in short hops, passing over the many twisting channels of the river bed to the opposite bank. From there it was out onto the outwash basin where the river ceased to be a river, and then around the bastion of foothills that guarded the massif harboring Frelsi.

The landings, however, were a little too abrupt for my comfort. An F-18 landing on an aircraft carrier probably had a gentler go of it. Seraf's tactic was to glide and then stall about ten feet off the ground, dropping straight down and hard on bent legs that cushioned much, but not all of the impact. My poor crotch took the brunt of these impacts. Talk about saddle sore.

Urszula must have taken pity on me, because when we pulled into the box canyon, she guided Seraf down with a nearly horizontal approach, skimming over the tops of bushes. We skidded across a dried mudflat and curled to a stop at the edge of a pond.

I sat there, gathering my breath when, without warning, Urszula shoved me hard off the saddle. I flailed, fingers grasping, slipping on the mantid's sleek and slick cuticle. I landed in a patch of dust.

Urszula laughed, hopping down nimbly beside me, her eyes displaying something between malice and mischief. Now that she was healed, it was almost scary to see the bundle of wiry energy that was her normal self. The days of hauling her around like an invalid were over.

Seraf stomped around, antennae to the ground. It seemed agitated or excited.

"What's up with her?" I said.

"She has discovered a scent," said Urszula. "Most likely a Hemi."

"Really? Can she tell if it's a girl... or boy?

Urszula shook her head. "She is not that discriminating. Prey are prey."

She gazed with distaste at the patch of dried mud and shrubbery that surrounded the stagnant pond.

"Are you sure you want to stay here? This place is so desolate."

"This is where I told Karla to meet me. Though, I have to admit, it sure looked a lot more enticing at night."

"This Karla... is she... your woman?"

"She's my friend," I said. "I don't have a... a woman."

Urszula pinched her eyes at me. "She is your woman. Don't fool yourself." She kicked at the dust with a pair of ugly sandals that looked like they had been cobbled together from scabs. "This place is quite exposed. You will have a hard time keeping out of sight. It is not a place we regularly patrol, but I can't guarantee that my brothers and sisters will never come here. Yaqob, in particular, will take offense if he discovers you are here."

"Can't you just ask them to leave me alone?"

She frowned. "You did the favor for me, not them. They owe you nothing."

"Not even for a friend of a friend?"

She shook her head. "It is not easy being a maverick here. There is a reason they are rare."

"Rare? Does that mean there are other free agent Hemis... like me?"

"There have been a few," she said. "Most, if not all, are likely down in the Deeps by now. They don't seem to last very long on the surface." She grinned. "Thanks to those like me."

She squinted up at the diving sun, whose bluish tint seemed to green up a little bit as it approached the horizon. "Now I must go, while there is light. In the heights there grows a special kind of tree. The wood is like iron and sinew, but more importantly it is sensitive to the will, responding like no other. That is where I will make my scepter." She glanced over at the stick jutting out of my pocket. "Not all wood responds. You got lucky with that twig. But maybe I will take you to that grove sometime, find you a real scepter."

"So... I'll see you again?" I said. I don't know what I was expecting or hoping, but the idea of her coming back for a visit warmed me. I guess I thought she would just ditch me here and run off, never to be seen.

Urszula was a strange girl, the strangest I had ever known, but inside she was still just a girl. I had no idea how much the Deeps had warped her thinking, how much humanity remained, but it was there. She intrigued me. Now that I knew a little about her existence, I wanted to know more.

Urszula's eyes narrowed and this smirk moved like a slow ripple across her face. "Unless you want me to stay away."

"Oh no, not at all. Feel free to come by. I mean, that... would be nice. I would like that."

"Nice?" How could it be nice? I am not nice."

"Just an expression, I was—"

She grabbed me and pulled me close, pressing lips against mine that I never imagined could feel so soft. She smelled like the first moments of a summer rain when the dust rose from the pavement, all ionized and electric. She tasted like bitter greens with a dash of salt.

I started to push her away, but she latched on and wrapped herself around me. She felt so lithe and vital, my body couldn't help but respond. It wouldn't let me be the first to let go.

But then the tip of her tongue tapped the back of my throat and I gagged. I ripped myself free and staggered back, gasping and coughing.

"I can't do this," I said.

"Do what?" She folded her arms, smirking.

"I never, uh... I'm a virgin."

She stood there with her chin held high, her stance wide and haughty.

"You thought that we were going to...?" Her eyes went huge. A massive grin blew apart her smirk.

I couldn't look in her in the eye. She had been toying with me, teasing me. That's what this was all about.

"You, a virgin? Really? You mean... you never...?" She cackled and howled, falling to her knees, shaking and shuddering. The way she arched her spine and rolled her head back, it looked like she was having a grand mal seizure. But she was only laughing.

"I can't believe... I almost had myself... a virgin! A virgin!"

"Why is that so funny? I'm only nineteen."

Her convulsions calmed and she swept her wild hair behind ears more delicate than I expected. She picked herself up off the ground.

"I was thirteen," she said, her eyes gone cold. "When I lost my virginity... and my life."

She whistled for Seraf, who had wandered off across the canyon. She bounded and fluttered over to us. Urszula leapt into the saddle before the mantid could even fold her wings.

She twisted the reins and Seraf's wings exploded into action, blowing grit in my eyes, blinding me. They soared away, without a word of goodbye or even a glance. I watched them disappear over the canyon wall into the foothills, feeling used and confused.

***

I meandered down to the edge of the pond and stared into its opaque waters. It wasn't much a pond. Contracted in its muddy socket, a remnant of its rainy season glory, it supported about as much life as a tar pit.

I carved myself a seat into the muddy bank—my new 'throne'. Urszula's derision had cured me of my Messiah complex. I wasn't feeling all that special anymore.

Whether or not I was some kind of savior or 'Chosen One,' I was still fairly certain I was dead. When I reached inside myself it just seemed like all connections to the other side had been severed, that I was fully committed to this world now.

That should have left me despondent, but I was actually in a pretty good mood. I had done a good deed, made a new friend. I had been among demons and lived to tell.

I realized that there wasn't much I could do about being dead. I had to make the best of it, the same way I worked things out when we lost Dad and then the house and then Mom.

Loss is a given in any existence. You just reshuffle priorities, adapt to the new conditions and move on.

Besides, things weren't so bad here. And they would only get better once I found my niche.

I just needed someplace where people would leave me alone, a place above ground but close enough to the Core so that Weaving would not be an issue. I could create my own version of Luthersburg and populate it with souls of my own vetting.

It wouldn't take much to qualify. A little distrust of authority. Tolerance for differences. That's all anybody would need to become a member of my little republic. Maybe I could even call it Jamestown, if that wasn't too pretentious.

Once Bern and Lille got themselves freed maybe they could be convinced to come down and join me. And Karla—if she still wanted to be free. If she still want to give up on life. I would feel bad asking her to do something like that, now that she had broken loose of her father. I had no right to take that away from her.

Before it got dark, I needed to find myself a shelter. There were boulder fields at the base of the canyon walls, some scrubby bushes, but no actual trees. They might provide some cover.

Urszula was right. The place was pretty desolate. The pond had shrunk away from its original banks. There was absolutely nothing living in this still water, not a ripple marred its surface. It made me wonder if the water might be toxic.

But maybe all it needed was a good rain to green up the meadows and get some water flowing through the creek. It had to rain down here in the lowlands sometime.

I supposed the thing to do would be to Weave myself a cabin or something. But I had no desire to go climbing down into any pits to harvest roots.

The night Urszula had attacked Karla I had been able to modify those trees, as if their fundamental particles were also roots. It seemed that anything made of flesh or vegetation was fair game.

I pulled my twig out of my pocket and stuck it into the mud. I glared at it, trying to make it feel ashamed that it was a twig, making it want to strive to be something bolder. I stuck my hand out, shaping the air with broad sweeping motions, and wouldn't you know, the thing started to move.

First, the corkscrew-like twist straightened itself out. The wood flattened. A point formed at the tip. It lengthened, turned grey and acquired a sheen. I found myself looking at a samurai sword just like the ones I had made before. This seemed to be the tool most suited to my soul.

Why a samurai sword? I'm not really sure. I had admired one I had seen at a pawn shop in downtown Ft. Pierce, but I had never laid my hands on one in real life. I was a big fan of the Kill Bill movies, not to mention Akira Kurosawa. Maybe that was all my imagination needed to make the choice. To think that twig had a sword in it waiting to be all this time. I dare Yaqob to laugh at me now.

I plucked the sword from the mud and swirled it in the air like a big swizzle stick, trying to stir the pond with my will alone. Nothing happened. But I'm not sure why I expected anything. This was water, not roots.

A scrawny, little bush grew by itself on the opposite bank of the pond. It looked half dead. There were hardly any leaves left on its branches.

I remembered my favorite tree—a majestic weeping willow that had grown in my neighbor's yard in Ohio, in full view of my bedroom window. Shaggy as a mastodon, even in winter, it would leaf out so early in the spring with the most brilliant chartreuse that was like a signal that the world was waking up to summer.

I took that sword and pointed it at that bush, letting my feelings flow. I didn't feel one bit angry, just disillusioned and sentimental and lonely. Apparently the art of Weaving could draw energy from any strong emotion, not just anger, because that bush responded to my sword, shaking and shuddering as if a flock of birds were flitting about its branches.

But I wanted more. I stood and extended my arm, and the bush rose with me, its stem expanding into a trunk, its twigs extending into long, floppy canes. I kept at it until the bark grew thick and grooved and its branches dangled over the pond just like that willow in Ohio.

Mission accomplished, I sat down on the muddy bank feeling mighty pleased with myself. With a little time and imagination I might actually make this place into something really nice. But that would be pointless without anyone to share it with. I might be a loner, but I was not hermit. I needed Karla here with me.

I looked back out over the plains, hoping I'd be lucky enough again to spot a familiar figure striding across the barrens. And would you believe it? There was something out there that looked like a person, standing.

Heart galumphing, I popped up and started running towards it only to be halted in my tracks. It was just a dead tree, animated by the shimmer of heat waves. In other words, a mirage.

***

As twilight approached, my optimism eroded, replaced by a deepening pool of dread that dragged me down. I could have used a hit of that aphid nectar, something to counteract the icy seepage flooding into my bilges and weighing down my keel.

The pall settling over me felt familiar but this was no ordinary depression. I guess I'd have to call it a meta-depression, because it wasn't the futility of life that was troubling me, but that of existence itself. What good was it coming to the Liminality if feelings of suicide followed you here? That made it just another level of Hell.

I wondered if the Deeps would offer any escape from myself or if it would be the same thing all over, another link in an endless iteration of malaise. Perhaps no escape was possible? Maybe Hell was this whole system of nested worlds, starting with Earth, through the Liminality and the Deeps

But from what little I knew of the Deeps, it couldn't be that horrible a place. Urszula seemed to have gotten through it okay. Maybe she was a little warped here and there, but most of her humanity had survived the experience intact.

She sure seemed to have made lots of friends there. Dusters seemed to be a heck of a lot more sociable than Frelsians. They had the camaraderie of soldiers.

But what made me thought I could handle the Deeps if the mere thought of being alone in a canyon with the sun going down was enough to trigger a panic attack?

But it turned out I didn't have to worry about any of these secondary hells, because without any warning, just a flash and a bang, hell number one came a calling. The fading hit like a shock wave, blowing me out of this world and into that basement cell.

***

Crap. This meant I was alive. But from the way I was feeling, death wasn't very far around the corner. It also meant my soul was far from free.

The church was silent but for the occasional creak of a timber. The blanket had fallen onto the floor and I shivered like a cornered bunny. My elbows were stiff, my range of motion limited when I reached to retrieve it. Spikes shot through my abdomen as I twisted.

I managed to snatch a corner and nudge it back up over me. For once, I didn't mind the scratch of the wool.

Shafts of light still seeped around the door from the lone bulb in the hall. There was a wrinkled apple on a tray, along with the remnants of two slices of bread. It looked like the mice had been having a field day from all the droppings in and around it. A plastic mug filled with water sat untouched. I needed a drink, badly but I didn't want to budge.

From the condition of the food, it looked like at least a day had passed since Edmund or Joshua had last come to see me. Maybe they didn't know what to do with me now that they realized I had no useful information to offer. They couldn't just turn me loose, could they? Why would they trust me to keep my mouth shut?

So what then? It looked like they had stopped bringing me food. Were they trying to starve me and then dump my emaciated remains in some roadside ditch? Maybe they would say a prayer for my soul before driving off.

Perhaps neglect was less of a sin in their eyes than cold-blooded murder. Edmund himself had never laid hands on me. It was that little bastard with the cricket bat—Mark—who had done all the beating. Perhaps Edmund and Joshua would pray for his absolution and make it all better. This way, their hands stayed clean.

I could hear cars outside. Horns beeping. There were probably people strolling down a sidewalk not ten feet from my bed—contented people, on their way to see a movie, or a supper at the pub with friends.

But there was nothing to be done. Banging on the wall would be useless. No one was going to notice the faint thud of my fists on solid stone. The way my ribs felt, I doubted I could raise my arms above my shoulders.

As I lay there, I noticed how off-kilter the rhythm of my heart had become. It would go along fine a few beats and then stop dead like it had no intentions of ever starting up again, and then boom, there would be a huge wallop in my chest. This pattern repeated over and over again. It couldn't be healthy. I took it as a sign that my body systems were gearing up for shutdown mode.

Come to think of it, when was the last time I had to pee? My bladder didn't even feel that full.

I lashed out, slamming my fist against the wall, bloodying my knuckles. It was so damned frustrating and confusing. First, I think I'm dead and I'm fine with it. Then I find out I'm not, and things aren't so great. Because, though I'm dying, I still have a chance, and that little bit of hope makes it worse because I actually have something to live for now.

It was so fucking unfair. All those times back in Florida when I had felt suicidal, I never came close to offing myself, but now that I had chosen life, here I was, on the brink.

There were too many things I would miss on this side, and not just Karla, but little things. I wanted to eat pizza again in Rome. I wanted another Sonic milkshake and a cheeseburger, like the ones Mom used to get me when she thought I needed a little perking up. I wanted to see the Cairn Gorms on a sunny day.

And as for Karla. I had never gotten to do anything with her in this world. Never. Not even a walk in the park, or a dinner, or a movie. That just didn't seem fair.

If I died right now, with my soul in those bottom lands, I would not only never get to do any of those things, I would never see Karla on the other side, either. I would be sent to the Deeps.

The Deeps. The idea was still too abstract to frighten me. I understood it to be some sort of Hell, but it couldn't be all that bad if Urszula came through it intact. It couldn't be much worse than being locked away and rotting in this freaking church basement. What scared me more was being shut off from Karla, from Bern and Lille, even Urszula.

Frelsi, I could do without. That place seemed more like High School 2.0 than a substitute for Heaven. Free souls were the cool kids; Hemis, the worker bees. As for me? Again, I was the home-schooled dork—ever the outsider.

But who said I had to go to Frelsi? Why not get free and stay free on my own terms? The way things were going, becoming free might be the only way I would ever get to avoid the Deeps and see Karla again.

I needed to get up to those glaciers.

Chapter 32: Lalibela

This time, no roots came entangling to drag me down. Darkness gave way to light. In a blink, I was back at the pond, slumped in the 'throne' I had carved into the rim of packed silt surrounding it. Transitions from life to Root had become seamless. My dual existences had become as one.

Streamers of mist spilled down from the hanging valley like the ghosts of some ancient torrent. Fog filled the basin. The bluish disc of the sun struggled to burn through the haze.

Where had the night gone? I couldn't have been in that basement cell more than an hour.

I kept forgetting how time shifted during these excursions, as if the hours of each world turned on different-sized cogs in the cosmic clock. One minute on Earth was like ten in Root.

A bee came hurtling into the hollow, landing on my hand-crafted weeping willow. It traversed the droopy branches, swinging like a monkey, poring over the modified leaves with its antennae.

When it was satisfied, it detached itself and came winging low across the pond, buzzing close to my head. It made a couple loops and vectored out of sight. The damn thing had come to spy on me. The question was: who had sent it? Yaqob or Urszula?

I got up and brushed myself off. Before that last fade, believing I was both dead and free had been immensely liberating. There was nothing I could do about it. But now, knowing I was neither dead nor free, spikes of panic went shooting through me.

I had to get up to those glaciers. Yaqob's patrols would be out and about, but I had to chance it. I couldn't afford to wait for nightfall.

Between the mists and canyon walls I had no chance of glimpsing the mountains from here. But from the plains I remembered seeing shrouds of white nestled in the curves below the sharper peaks. It was going to be a long haul to get up there, so I had to get cracking.

The cliffs walling in the box canyon looked a little too sheer for my abilities so I made my way out and around one of the anvil-shaped bluffs that bracketed its outlet to the plains, heading for the more climbable slopes along the Reapers' trail.

As I picked my way along the rock falls at the base of the cliffs, a shadow passed over me. A mantid, silhouetted in the sun, had pulled up and landed on the bluff across the canyon. I dashed into a cleft in the stone and pressed myself into it as far as it would take me.

Three more mantids arrived and landed beside the first. I wondered at first, if they were Yaqob's crew, come to haul me back to the pits. They lingered a while, resting their mantids, I supposed; before taking off in unison and converging around a sinkhole. I guessed it was probably a routine patrol, out to round up or scare off any stray soul looking for Frelsi.

I wriggled out of the cleft and picked up my pace, hoping to get around the backside of the bluff before they could spot me. But another movement caught my eye, high overhead—long, tapered body; sunlight glinting off meshed wings, two by two. It was a dragonfly, too high up for me to tell if it had a rider. I paused until it, too, glided off over the plains.

I made my way around the bluff with haste and as soon as its cliffs transitioned to something more walk-able, I charged up the slope. I aimed for a swath of taller grass in a crease just below the ridge crest that would provide a place to rest undetected.

I pounded up the side, huffing and sweating, my thighs burning with acid, muscles turning to jelly, forcing myself onward and upward until I reached the grass. I collapsed, gasping, struggling to catch my breath.

A bee came gliding along and looped around my head, wings whining like a low budget chainsaw. Had the same one been following me?

I waved my sword overhead, trying to shoo it away. That only seemed to agitate it. It swooped in and bumped me, dragging its antennae through my hair, before buzzing off out of sight. These damned bees!

I gazed out over the plains at the hundreds of pits dotting the landscape. Their spacing looked too regular to be natural. These were not some accident of randomness. They had to be put here by some higher intelligence—ventilation ports for a giant soul-crunching machine. I'm pretty sure they were not intended as exits.

Fans of outwash debris spread from the mouth of every canyon and gully. Some of the boulders were of a size that could only have been carried down by massive floods. I wondered where all the water had gone. I hadn't seemed that wet down below. Did the powers that be flush the tunnels clean every now and then? Why else would the riverbeds stop at the pits?

What kind of sick being would design such an elaborate system for processing suicidal souls? Wouldn't it have been more humane to just snuff them out and whisk them off to whatever their final destination, even if it was the Deeps?

Or was the purpose of the Liminality to give souls a second chance to accept life. Apparently, the powers that be hadn't accounted for scofflaws like the Frelsians and the Dusters. Or had they? Was the Core's weakness at the glaciers yet another loophole they hadn't accounted for?

The whole arrangement left me feeling more peeved than mystified. This world was a construct, and a sloppy one at that. Who were its makers? Incompetent underlings of the Supreme Being? It wasn't as if someone all powerful and all knowing would have created such a place. Why would they allow its malleable Core of roots become crusted over with real stone and dirt?

Once my heart wound down and my breath returned, I rose up and pushed to the top of the ridge. Straight on, the land dipped into a vale, before resuming its climb up the main bulk of the massif. To my right, the land dropped abruptly to a ravine that gashed one side of the bluff. The Reaper's trail angled up the ridge to my left—apparent as a vague, linear disturbance in the vegetation. Above it, parts of Frelsi were visible above the rumpled slopes.

I wondered if Mom was up there on some patio, sipping whatever concoctions Freesouls sipped, gazing down at the foothills. Maybe she even saw me as this insignificant speck on a hilltop, sort of the same I felt standing three feet in front of her.

I wanted nothing to do with this Frelsi place right now. My only viable path was straight ahead, down into that little crease of a vale and up. I would blaze my own trail to the glaciers. The mountainside ahead looked daunting in scale, but certainly do-able. I saw plenty of walkable passages between its cliffs and outcrops.

It was pretty clear, though, that I would at least an entire day to get anywhere near the glaciers. Hopefully, that translated to only a couple hours of Greenwich Mean Time on the other side and only a negligible deterioration of my health.

If felt good to clamber down into that vale and put a hilltop between me and the plains, screening me from Yaqob and his roving patrols. As I descended, the landscape grew lush and thick with tree ferns and fleshy-leaved shrubs bursting with buds about to bloom.

I came to a little stream and stooped down for a drink. It tasted like rust, but not too bad. At least it felt secure beside the stream with an interlocking canopy of fronds sealing off the sky. No mantid or dragonfly would ever spot me down here.

Now, this was the little paradise I had been looking for, never mind that barren hollow with its desolate pond. I could picture me coming back and Weaving myself a little hut here once I was free. Maybe Bern, now and then, would want to sneak away from Lille for a little commiseration. Maybe Karla—if it came down to her getting free—maybe we could settle here.

And then this pounding sound kicked up, repetitive, like someone driving a well. My hackles went up and I crossed the stream, seeking cover in the ferns. The sound was moving closer. I spotted a snatch of something black and glossy.

A block of stone tumbled over a rumple in the land. Two beetles appeared—dung beetles as large as hippos. Together, they were rolling a cuboid block of quarried stone down the stream bed. I watched them pass. They were powerful creatures. That block probably weighed tons more than them, but they kept it moving, never letting its momentum settle, shoving their weight against the most opportune leverage as each face of the cube crunched against the underlying stone.

I had no idea where they were taking that block or what they planned to do with it. Given that they were insects, I could only assume that they were somehow in cahoots with the Dusters. Maybe this activity had something to do with their little conflict with the Frelsians.

I continued on my way, up and out of the vale. Reluctant as I was to pass from the embrace of that forest, I had no choice. Leaving now was my ticket to staying here. Once my soul was free, no one could tell me where to go.

The slope turned dry and scrubby apart from a few huge trees with sprawling limbs that loomed like guardians over the vale. In no time at all, I had climbed even with that first ridge. A little further on and the far plains came into view. I advanced in surges, stopping to rest every hundred paces or so.

The breeze grew stronger, the air noticeably cooler. I was going to have to Weave myself something warmer soon, before Weaving became impossible. For now, the exertion kept me plenty warm.

A dragonfly shot up and over the top of hill I had just climbed. I froze in place. I had read somewhere that insect's eyes were more sensitive to movement than shape.

All I could think of was that this was that ornery fucker—Yaqob—coming to square off with me one on one, to teach me not to be so insolent.

The creature crossed the vale, darting one way, and then the other, before veering ninety degrees straight at me like a heat-seeking missile. I tore ass back down the slope, heading for the safety of the tree ferns.

Rocks gave way underfoot as I ran, slipping and stumbling, somehow managing to stay upright. That thing was coming at me fast. Another dozen strides and I would reach the edge of the ferns. I kept a firm grip on my sword.

A loop of root snared my foot and hauled me down. The sword caught in the caught and ripped free of my hand. I rolled in the dead grass and grit, coming to rest against the base of a sun-bleached tree.

The dragonfly halted its dive and pulled up as if someone had suddenly yanked its leash. Its wings hummed overhead as it hovered and settled gently on a jutting bough stripped of leaves or bark. The wood groaned under its weight as six sets of claws dug in like ten penny nails.

It waggled the hinges and joints of its mouthparts. Something viscous dripped from its palps. I stared back at a hundred reflections of my own face in each facet of its compound eyes. I reached slowly back for my sword.

A pale scepter, leaking sap and bearing bits of greenish under-bark, swung towards me.

"Don't you dare," said Urszula.

"You! What the fuck? Are you stalking me?"

"Back to the pits with you!" The voice was gruff and female.

"Urszula? No... I'm not going back there. I can't."

"I am only joking, you fool. You have left your hole. Why? I thought you were waiting for your woman."

"Well... circumstances have changed," I said. "Turns out, I'm not dead."

"Dead," she said. "I do not know what this word means. I don't believe such a thing as death exists. Do you not have a body here along with your soul? Do you not feel alive?"

"Yeah, well. Let's just say a person gets attached to a world, even if they've only lived in it nineteen years. And I'm getting kind of attached to this one too. I'm in no hurry to go to the Deeps."

Her eyes lasered in on me. "The Deeps would be good for you. The Deeps would make you strong."

Lalibela buzzed her wings restlessly. Urszula patted her side.

"What happened to your other bug?"

"Seraf is resting. And Lalibela needs to fly with a rider now and then or else she turns feral. I assure you, you don't want to see her go feral."

"Let me guess. She gets a little discriminating about her diet?"

"Correct."

The dragonfly cleaned her palps with a fore claw to emphasize the point. I didn't like the way these bugs could stare. I could a step back and kept my sword at the ready.

"I see you got yourself a new stick. How's it working?"

Her arm flung out and she leveled it at the hillside. A glob of energy came looping out. It slapped into the ground. Dirt flew everywhere. An undercut boulder came bouncing down the hill.

"Not bad," I said.

"Where are you going?" she said. "Frelsi is in the other direction."

"I'm not going to Frelsi. I'm going up to the glaciers."

"You are not dead, but you are dying?"

I nodded. "Sure looks that way."

"And you fear the Deeps?"

"No. It's not that. It's just—"

"Well, you should."

"I just figure I'm already here. Why not stick around? Why not short circuit all the rigmarole? This has got to be the better place to be, right? I mean, you wound up here, when you had the choice. Right?"

She slitted her eyes and tilted her head. "Come up. Ride with me. I will bring you to the glaciers."

I looked up at those clacking mouthparts, those Velociraptor-like claws, and I felt no compulsion to move.

"Come! I promise Lalibela will not eat you."

She cooed something and the dragonfly fluttered off the bough and landed atop a boulder, its claws scraping into the granite. The tree rebounded wildly, waving its branches like an angry Ent.

I went around the back of it, away from those ever-staring eyes. The saddle was different from Seraf's, arched over the thorax so as not to interfere with the plates and knobs that levered her wings. Using a spine as a foothold, I grabbed a handful of bristles and hauled myself onto the saddle behind her.

"No," she said. "You should sit in front."

"No thanks," I said. I still had welts in my stomach from Urszula's claws digging into me."

She cackled. "Ah, you just want to be back there so you can fondle me."

"What is it with you demons?"

"Demons? This is what you think of me?"

"Well... you said you came from the Deeps."

"I am a soul like any other, an old soul, but still just a soul like you. When you call one of us a demon, you are no better than the Frelsians."

"Sorry. I didn't realize you were so sensitive."

"Not me. It is your safety I worry about. My brothers and sisters do not respond well to such insults. As for me? Fa! Words do no harm. Hold on, my little virgin. Off we go." She shrieked and flapped the reins."

The dragonfly's glassy wings sizzled into action and we surged off the slope, gliding over the trees. Lalibela zig-zagged up the side of the mountain, gaining altitude with each successive jag.

I tried hanging onto the saddle; it was a sleek and Spartan affair that offered no handholds. So I was forced to slip my hands around Urszula's trim waist. She scooted back and made this purring sound that kind of weirded me out. But I had no choice but to hang on.

Lalibela's fluttered her wings in little bursts. She provided a much smoother ride than Seraf, whose saddle sat flush against her chitin and transmitted every oscillation of her thorax directly to my butt. Lalibela's saddle arched over the plates and levers that drove her wings, insulating us from the action.

We skimmed low over the trees, their tops waving in the wind like an ocean of green. It was wicked sweet watching all that mountainside slide by beneath us. The dark-needled evergreens were getting so dense and tangled with deadfalls. It would have taken some nasty bushwhacking to get through it—the kind of terrain where you could struggle all day and not cover a mile.

"Hey, thanks for this lift," I said. "It's a big help. I really appreciate it."

"I think I can take you no farther than the tree line," said Urszula. "Lalibela does not handle the cold well."

"No problem," I said. "I can take it from there just fine."

As Lalibela tacked back and forth, she was drifting closer to Frelsi. Frankly, the proximity was making me nervous. I was about to mention something to Urszula when we passed over a swath of splintered trees that cut through the forest like the path of a tornado.

The overgrown ruins of a city appeared below, its walls and terraces constructed of the same square blocks I had seen those beetles trundle through the vale. Its architecture of elevated plazas and sunken alleys reminded me of Urszula's home atop the mesa.

"What the heck is this place?" I said, shouting into Urszula's ear to be heard over the rushing wind and buzzing wings.

"Neueden," she said. "The original. Long abandoned. The oldest of the One Ones lay here. Frelsi was second, its sister city, before it too was abandoned."

Hemis worked among the ruins, hacking at the trees with machete-like blades, stacking bodies of Old Ones on wagons. They scattered at the sight of us, cowering in alleys, fleeing into the forest. Urszula cackled, taking pleasure in their fear. She made Lalibela descend, feigning spells with her scepter, harassing those who fled.

"Really, Urszula? Do you have to fly so low?"

"What is wrong? Afraid your friends will see you riding with a demon?"

"It's not that. I just think it'd be safer if—."

A raspy-throated howl drew my gaze to a clearing. It was one of those huge Reapers. A frantic crew scrambled across the decking as the Reaper bent its body to face us.

Kerchunk!

Urszula slammed her heel into the dragonfly's side and we dropped and turned abruptly to the left, nearly dumping me out of the saddle.

A huge, barbed harpoon went zipping off to our right, nearly clipping one of Lalibela's wings. It reached the end of a slender, translucent tether and went springing back to the ground. A massive Reaper crashed through the trees, clad with decking and armor and bearing a crew. The aft harpoon launcher took aim while the forward mount reeled in the one that went astray.

She jerked the reins to the left. Lalibela pulled up abruptly and spun, reversing direction, sending my stomach flying into my chest. Urszula raised her scepter and moaned a spell, summoning the force that nestled in the depths of her being. She shuddered and a shapeless, shifting blob of plasma came spiraling out of the blunt end of her scepter.

It slammed into the decking, sending up a geyser of dust, splinters and flesh. The Reaper reared up, bellowing in pain. Two helmeted crewmen who had been reloading the forward harpoon went flying over the side.

The aft harpoon released. In basketball, you know how you can tell a three-point shot is going in from the moment it's released? I saw a direct hit coming at Lalibela's chest. Apparently, she did too because she stilled and tilted her wings, dropping like a rock as the harpoon went whooshing past our heads. Her claws scraped granite, but just before her body could make impact she restored the trim of her wings and vectored off.

We zoomed across the slope, back over intact forest. Looking back, I saw a second Reaper maneuvering to join the fray, but we were already well out of harpoon range.

We flew over terraces, ravines and shattered cliffs. Patches of alpine meadow topped atop island-like knobs that rose above the forest. When the ruined city was out of sight, Urszula put Lalibela down on a stunted but sturdy tree. Our weight bent the tip down until we were partially immersed in the canopy.

She gazed back over the terrain we had just crossed, her eyes lost in calculation. "Our bees have been less than vigilant," she said. "I had no idea the Frelsians were active here. But I should not be surprised. It was only a matter of time."

"They're expanding?"

"Perhaps. For now, they come to harvest." She looked at me with those twin pits of coal, bending her mouth into a sour grin. "And where do you think they will find food for their Reapers once the Old Ones are gone?"

I didn't want to think about that, but I couldn't keep out the image of those people penned up in the Sanctuary with those D's embossed on their arms.

I sighed and look up at the bare slopes rising before us. We were close to tree line.

"I can get off here," I said. "If... you need to go back."

"Nonsense. These trees are too tangled to push through on foot." She slapped the reins against Lalibela's trembling thorax.

Lalibela took a moment to respond, her reflexes dulled by the chill. That would not bode well in a fracas. Next time she put down, I was hopping off the saddle, I didn't care where we ended up.

The trees grew shorter and shorter until they became not much more than a creeping green carpet studded with boulders.

Before us, the shroud of mist had peeled back to reveal brutal fins and blades of stone, like bones behind vestments. Dirty, shattered glaciers pressed through every gap. Not a shred of vegetation came between sky and stone.

Lalibela set down awkwardly in an isolated patch of stunted firs on the back side of a moraine.

"This is as far as we can go," said Urszula.

"This is fine," I said.

"I am not sure if this is high enough from the Core," she said. "You may need to climb higher. But... I do not know for sure."

"Don't worry about it. I'll get it figured out."

Lalibela shivered like a frightened rabbit. I had no idea that insects could shiver.

"I will send the bees to check on you. Do not be afraid if they want to touch you. Let them. They need to taste to confirm their targets."

"Taste?"

"Do not worry. They will not bite or sting you. And if you are in trouble, just speak my name, and it will come find me wherever I am."

"You want me to talk to a bee?"

"Please. I am serious. Do as I say. I want your soul to stay safe."

She gave me a sad look, and for a moment, I could see the child in her, before her face hardened and she glanced away. It was the first hint she had given me of her prior existence. Not even when she had been trussed up and on the brink of being fed to the Reapers had she looked so vulnerable.

But she avoided my stare. Reaching into a saddlebag, she tossed me a wad of grey cloth, about the size of a folded bandana. "Take this. You will need it."

It landed at my feet amidst a miniature forest of lichens and moss. It looked like a silk hankie. I picked it up.

"What's this for? To blow my nose?"

"It is made by spell craft. It will keep you warm. It will hide you."

"How?" I shook it open. The damned thing was no bigger than a hand towel.

"Wrap it around yourself."

There was hardly enough of it to wrap around my head, but I did as she said. I flopped it over one shoulder and on contact it started to spread and thicken in all dimensions until I was holding a blanket made of thick silken fleece. I could feel the warmth building already.

"Now throw it on the ground."

I tossed it down, just to humor her and watched it disappear amidst the lichens and moss.

"Where'd it go?"

"It is still there, right where you dropped it. It is chameleon cloth. It shapes itself to resemble into whatever it touches."

I reached down, found its corner by feel and lifted it up to reveal the plush pile underneath. There were no visible seams between it and the landscape. Its camouflage was perfect.

"Cool!"

Lalibela shuffled her feet, thorax rattling fiercely.

"I had better go now and get her warmed up," said Urszula. "If she stays up here any longer, she will not be able to fly." She looked down at me, her face a paradoxical clash of ferocious eyes and sardonic grin all shaded over with melancholy. The wind blew scraggly wisps of soot-grey hair across her face.

"Thanks again for the ride," I said. "And for this." I held up the cloth, which in the absence of my touch had thinned and shrunken back to handkerchief size.

"When your soul is freed," she said. "The bees will tell me. I will come for you. You will join me in Neueden."

"But I thought I wasn't welcome there."

"You are not. But I will make it so."

Before I could politely decline her offer, which actually sounded more like a command, Lalibela's wings exploded into action, blowing grit and bits of twig every which way as she burst into the sky.

Chapter 33: Sturgie

Karla awoke coughing and gasping, her head reclined on Isobel's lap in the back seat of the little blue Ford. Droplets misting the windshield refracted light from a street lamp, transforming a row of rowan trees into living pointillism. Bursting with berries, their leaves had begun to turn.

Renfrew glanced over his shoulder from the driver's seat. "She lives! Goodness darling, we thought you went into a bloody coma. Sorry you had to miss out on dinner, but your sister insisted we let you sleep."

"Don't worry La, I saved you some fried rice," said Isobel.

"Where are we?" said Karla, squinting, cobwebs muddling her brain.

"Home," said Isobel.

"Inverness?" Karla bolted upright, alarmed.

"It's okay, La," said Isobel, patting her. "Ren wanted to stop and check on Sturgie. Jessica's gone to see if he's alright."

Renfrew ran the wipers to clear the accumulated droplets. He wiped a cloth above the dashboard. The night world came clear for a few moments before the mists and fog again smothered it.

They were parked on the street before an array of three modern apartment buildings with glassed-in lobbies, arrayed around a square and sterile-looking central green space haunted by a smattering of scraggly lindens.

She knew the spot well. They were a block from Longman Road, near the busy roundabout at Inverness College—part of the consortium of small schools that formed the University of the Highlands and Islands.

Inverness College was too small to have its own residence halls, so students either commuted or rented flats in rowdy apartment blocks dominated by students and young professionals.

A chill shuddered through Karla. Isobel had her window rolled down partly, probably because the glass was fogging up from the inside, but that wasn't entirely the cause. Being back in Inverness was enough.

"You shouldn't have let Jessica go by herself," said Karla.

"Had to," said Renfrew. "Sturgie would never open his door if he saw me coming."

"Why not?"

"It's a long story. We had a... a bit of a falling out."

"How long has she been gone?" said Karla.

"Not long. Maybe ten minutes."

"I should go check on her," said Karla, reaching for the door latch.

"She'll be fine," said Renfrew. "She has her mobile."

A car pulled up across the street under street lamp—a black Vauxhall. The vehicle barely registered with Karla, until the door opened and a tall man stepped out, blonde locks spilling from beneath his watch cap. A younger man in a hooded sweatshirt exited the passenger side. They stood and consulted a map together, before striking out across the street right in front of them.

"Renfrew! Turn off your wipers. And keep them off."

"But why?"

"Turn them off!"

Before the mist rebuilt to consume their view and conceal them, approaching headlights of the pair, confirming what she feared.

"Why's that bugger carrying a cricket bat this time of night?" said Renfrew.

"They're from Papa's church," said Karla, undoing her buckle. "They must be coming after Sturgie."

"It's Mr. Joshua!" said Isobel, daubing the side window with her sleeve for a better look.

"Izzie! Get away from that window." She pulled her sister back against the seat and puffed on the spot she had cleared to fog it back up.

"There's someone else still in the car," said Izzie. "I wonder if it's Papa?"

"Heaven forbid," said Karla.

"You know, I've always liked Mr. Joshua," said Isobel. He's always been nice to me. Though, his son Mark is a bit demonic."

"They are both evil," said Karla. "Joshua's kindness is a veneer. Spend enough time and you will see what sits beneath."

"Looks like they're going to the wrong building," said Renfrew. "They must not have a proper address."

"We can't just leave Jessica out there on her own."

"She's with Sturgie," said Renfrew. "And he rooms with a couple ruggers. They'll be fine."

She reached for the door handle. "I'm going out. Isobel, you stay put."

"Wait! Let me just give her a call," said Renfrew.

"You do that. I'm going." She slipped out of the car and pushed the door closed gently.

"Careful, La!"

She hustled down the pavement to the poorly lighted back side of Sturgie's building. A pervasive film of mist instantly dampened her skin and clothes.

The place was familiar. She had visited Sturgie's flat several times during her night-time rambles after meeting him at the college. Sturgie had been confused at first about the nature of her attentions, but he soon realized that she just needed someone to talk to over tea and bitters, and was happy to oblige.

He had always been a gentleman, never forcing himself on her physically even though it had been apparent from the yearning in his eyes that he had hoped something more intimate might develop. What else could one expect from a freshman boy, far from home, when a waif from out of nowhere, wanders out of nowhere into his life?

And when their relationship never materialized, he was not bitter about it, just grateful to have this unexpected and intermittent friendship.

But how had Papa found out about him? She had never written his name on any correspondence or mentioned him to anyone but Isobel. Perhaps he had made the link through Linval. He and Sturgie had been band mates at one point, when Linval had lived in Cardiff.

Karla slipped past a row of trash bins and went up the back entry. On the third landing up, she entered a bright hallway redolent with foot powder and spilt ale. Sturgie's flat was halfway down the hall—Number 323.

She knocked on the door. A murmur of voices ceased. Moments later, Sturgie spoke up. "Who's there?"

"It's me. Karla!"

The door whipped open. Sturgie stood there, rusty locks heaped on his shoulders, way longer than she remembered. His formerly wispy facial hair had filled out into a full beard that could almost compete with Renfrew's.

"Karla! Long time no see."

She squeezed past him and pulled the door closed, making sure it was latched.

"Ren just called," said Jessica. "Those men have gone into the building across the way."

Karla flicked off the lights and went to the window, pulling aside the drapes. She stared out at the sparse garden, devoid of all souls, pools of light glistening on the intersecting walkways. The rain had picked up a bit. Drops speckled the puddles.

She turned and glanced around the flat. It looked no less messy in the dimness.

"Are you alone? Where are your roommates, Sturgie?"

"They're in Aberdeen... for a match."

"We should just stay put, then. Pretend no one's home."

"These people... who are they?" said Sturgie, tucking in his shirt over his slight paunch.

"They're from my dad's church. It is me and Izzie they are after. They think you might be harboring us."

"They've been after me at school. Freaked me out, I tell you. I skipped classes the other day so I wouldn't run into them."

"Have you been in touch with Linval lately?"

"Tried calling him the other day. I had an angle on a gig. Student activities is looking for some bands. But he's unreachable. His message box is full and he never picks up the phone."

Karla bit her lip and sighed. "Maybe Papa still has him."

"What do you mean he, 'has him'?" said Sturgie.

A figure appeared on the walk, slight and female, her eyes wandering from building to building—Isobel!

"Oh merda! What is my sister doing out of the bloody car?"

"Is Ren not with her?" said Jessica.

Just then, a tall man in a raincoat emerged from the building across the garden. He squinted up into the rain and popped open his umbrella. Isobel passed before him like an unsuspecting fawn in the path of a wolf.

Karla tore across the room, burst out of the flat and pounded down the stairwell. She shoved open the back exit and flew around the side of the building. Izzie was gone. The garden was empty.

She ran back towards the car. As she passed between the buildings, something dark and bulky stepped out from behind a hedge.

Her heart felt like it might pop as she lurched away.

"Easy. It's just me." Renfrew leaned against a utility pole, puffing casually at a cigarillo. "So how did it go with Sturgie?"

"Ren? Where's Izzie?" said Karla, in full panic.

"She's back at the car. I just stepped out for a little smoke."

"But I just saw her walking through the garden."

A brief but plangent cry cut through the sizzle of the rain and traffic before it was muffled. She ran towards the source, Renfrew close behind.

An engine cranked to life. The black Vauxhall pulled out and began to execute a three point turn. Behind a bus stop enclosure, two figures struggled in the shadows. Mark had his cricket bat wedged up under Isobel's chin, his hand clasped over her mouth.

Renfrew barreled past Karla, knocking her aside. "Take your hands off her, you bastard!"

Mark tossed Isobel down to the pavement. Renfrew went to tackle him, but he stepped aside and cracked him squarely in the back of the head. He dropped like a sack filled with rocks.

Isobel popped to her feet and started to run, but Joshua blocked her way. She collided with him and he seized her. Mark came after Karla, grinning like a ninny.

"God Bless! We've really hit the jackpot, Mark. Here they both are, right under our noses."

Mark lunged and tried to grab Karla, but she slapped his arms away. He shoved her down. She rolled away and pried loose a large chunk of blacktop.

"Jess! Sturgie! Help!"

The black car hopped the curbing and squealed to a halt. The passenger door flew open. Joshua muscled Isobel into the front seat.

"No! Let her go!"

"You girls are going nowhere but home," said Joshua. "Your Papa, he misses you dearly. Mark, be a gentleman and help Miss Karla into the car."

"Fuck you, and to Hell with Papa!"

Joshua did the sign of the cross and shook his head. "Oh dear. Something tells me you're due for a little intervention, perhaps even an exorcism."

Mark lunged at Karla. She swung the chunk of paving upward and caught his solidly in the brow. Blood gushed into his eyes, blinding him.

"Gah! You little whore! We were trying to help you."

"Karla? Where are you?" Jessica called around the corner of one of the buildings.

"Over here! On the street!" Karla grabbed Mark's bat and pulled it free of his grip.

Renfrew, groggy, was attempting to stand, the pistol loose in his grasp.

"Mark! Get in the car! The other guy's got a gun!"

With one hand clasped to his head, Mark stumbled over to the car and climbed into the back seat.

The car squealed away as Jessica and Sturgie came running up.

"They got her," said Karla. "They got Izzie." She collapsed back to the pavement, burying her head in her arms.

***

Everyone piled back into the blue Ford, sans Isobel. Sturgie kept his eyes averted from his uncle, but Renfrew was too dazed to even notice or care. Jessica had to shove Ren out from behind the wheel. He was in no condition to drive.

The black sedan was long gone. A chase was out of the question.

Karla fought a losing battle with her tears in the back seat. Sturgie patted her on the back, trying his best to console her, in his self-conscious and plodding way.

"Where do you suppose they took her?" said Jessica.

"Home, I would guess. To Papa's house."

"We should call the police."

"We can't. I've tried telling you people. The police are on his side."

"Two strangers snatch your thirteen-year old sister. How would they not see that as a crime?"

"They're returning her to her father. She's a minor. He's her legal guardian. The law is on his side."

"That just ain't right," said Renfrew, voice still a bit slurred, his eyes bleary. He popped the magazine from his pistol, cleared the chamber, checked it and popped the magazine back in.

Jessica started up the car. "So what do we do? Where do we go?"

"I can call some friends," said Sturgie.

Karla shook her head. "Let's go to the house. Go down this street and take a left."

"But they'll be expecting us, won't they?" said Jessica.

"Let them," said Renfrew, his voice restored, his eyes clear and hard.

***

They parked opposite Ardconnel Terrace, separated from the terraced houses by the private sunken garden they all shared. Karla still retained her keys so she let everyone in the wrought iron gate and led them down the stone steps to the ravine-like park below.

The plantings were thick with shadow. It had always been a minimally lighted place. The residents who shared the space were not expected to frequent it in the middle of cold, rainy nights.

Renfrew and Sturgis had still barely spoken a word to each other. They walked meters apart, as if separated by magnetically repellent bubbles of personal space.

They reached the bottom, thick with holly and yew. Karla led them across and up the steep stairway on the other side.

"Stay back," said Karla. "Let me check things out."

She went up to the black iron fence and gazed across at the terraced townhouse where she had spent the three worst years of her life.

Every window was completely dark. She glanced up and down the street. Papa's white Peugeot was nowhere to be seen, nor did there seem to be any black sedans of the model that had whisked Isobel away.

Jessica inched forward behind her and laid her palm on Karla's shoulder.

"They don't seem to have come here," said Karla. "The house is all dark."

"Where else would they have taken her?"

"Joshua and Mark's, perhaps. They live on the other side of Inverness, near the Lock. Or maybe the rectory, or even the church."

She reached for the latch on the gate.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

***

The group formed a protective gaggle on the stoop behind Karla, everyone uneasy and glancing around guiltily. Renfrew had his pistol out and pointed straight up. Sturgie carried a leafy branch he had torn from a mulberry tree. They must have looked like a gang of incompetent cat burglars.

"Are you sure you want to go inside?" said Jessica. "What if your dad's home?"

"I doubt he is here. I do not see his car." She slid her key into the chamber. It turned freely. At least he hadn't changed the locks.

She pushed open the door and stuck her head inside, listening carefully for any signs that the house was occupied. Besides the hum of a refrigerator and the muffled jabbering of a neighbor's television, all was silent.

"Alright, everyone come inside. But keep the lights off and your voices down. Someone might be watching. And I don't want the neighbors to tattle."

She walked to the center of the front room, illuminated only by the oblique wash of a street lamp. The curtains had been stripped off the windows. Cardboard moving boxes were heaped along one wall.

But Papa's shrine remained in place along the wall beside the hearth, the spot where a normal family might opt to place their television. Racks of votive candles had all burnt down to nubs and smears of paraffin in the bottoms of their colored glass receptacles. Papa would never have let a single flame go out. It was obvious that he had not visited the townhouse in at least a day.

She bustled across the hardwood floor, down a short hall illuminated by a feeble nightlight to her and Isobel's old room. Just being in this space again was enough to cause her heart to be gripped by a thudding dread.

She found their bedstead gone, a bare mattress on the floor. All of their old clothes and the few dolls and puzzles the girls had ever owned had been crammed in a heavy duty polythene sack, the kind usually used to dispose of construction debris.

She crossed into the kitchen, where there was a door leading to the basement. It was a long shot, but it worth checking for James down below, for due diligence if nothing else.

Papa had not hesitated to confine her and Isobel there for disciplinary reasons and there were spaces down there that matched James' description. It had two casement windows in front, but none in the twin storerooms to the rear. It was not unusual for Papa to host services and rituals in his little chapel area. There were times that the house might sound like a church to someone locked in the dark.

Luckily, Papa had neglected to pack the torch they had always kept on the top step. She flicked it on and started down the stairs.

"For God's sake, don't go down there by yourself lass," said Renfrew. "Let me go with you."

But this basement could not frighten her. She knew it too well, having lived down there for days on end at Papa's discretion, whenever he sensed anything unholy in her demeanor that required immediate expulsion.

She knew exactly where the spiders liked to spin their webs, and where the millipedes gathered under a rotting timber beneath the sill. She had never identified the mystery creatures that scratched through the spaces in the walls. She liked to imagine they were pixies, only because it made for a more pleasant image than rodents with naked tails and yellow teeth.

Once, she had found the skeleton of a rat tucked behind a bin in the corner, the forgotten victim of some grain baited with warfarin. At the time, the only thought that came to her was: how lucky, this beast.

She went straight for the storeroom, which was locked by key, as usual, and rapped on the door.

"James? Are you in there? James?"

"Do you think he's actually here?" said Renfrew, still wielding his pistol.

"No," said Karla. "I am just being thorough."

Renfrew grabbed the knob and jiggled it. "I don't suppose you have the key?"

"No."

There was a work bench along the wall, covered with ancient tools gathering dust. Renfrew found an antique slater's roofing hammer, the kind with one long straight claw—like the fang of a saber-toothed tiger—and slammed it between the door and the jamb. Two massive tugs and the center of the jamb splayed outward, popping the door open.

And there it was, just as she remembered, the dusty room with the long wooden crate that had served as chair and bed and pretend coffin. During her confinements, Papa would send down a motley array of men to reprogram her, ranging from young seminary rebels to elderly secular mystics, some kindly, some lecherous, all empowered to berate the devil out of her and cast the demons that had made her such insolent and ungodly daughter.

Jars of preserves predating her family's occupation of the townhouse still filled the shelves. Pickled crabapples and quince, overgrown with globs of fungus, floated in the cloudy, viscous medium like the mutant fetuses in a pathology museum. Lids were rusted through and erupting with ooze. Some jars had cracked, their contents leaking and drying into a sticky and adherent mass.

This place was where she had first met Root. The visitations began when she started to contemplate how much more pleasant her existence would be if she took advantage of the glass at her disposal and take a shard to her wrist. Those thoughts provided the summons the Liminality had been waiting for.

When the sheer stone walls had transformed into a rounded fibrous tunnel, she thought for sure that she must have been hallucinating, delirious from lack of food or something. She convinced herself that the pod was actually her own undersized sleeping bag that somehow she had become entangled with, and hooked on a nail, suspended from the ceiling. Somehow. However unlikely.

But the Reaper made it for real for her when it had come snorting up from the depths on only her second visitation. That could have been the end right there if it Bern and Lille hadn't been patrolling the tunnels. Only their timely appearance and swift unraveling of her pod had spared her soul from the Reaper's gullet.

"Guys? Is everything okay?" said Jessica, calling down the stairs, her voice quavering.

"They're not here," said Karla.

"Where to now?" said Renfrew, returning from the far end of the basement. "We can't stay in this house."

"Why not?" said Karla. "It's probably the last place they expect us. Rest up. Make yourself at home. We can go to the church the first thing in the morning."

"The church? You think that's where they took her?"

"Almost certainly. Joshua's wife never cared for our family. She would never stand for having us. We frighten her. She probably thinks we might contaminate her home or rub off on her perfect children.

"Why wait? Why not go now?" said Renfrew.

"Because I bet it's sealed up tight," said Karla. "That place is like a fortress at night. But it will open at dawn, as it always does. For morning vespers."

"Alright then," said Renfrew. "We'll have ourselves a nap. Get up maybe, what say, four?" He started back up the stairs, but Karla stepped back into the storeroom. "Uh... where are you going, love? Don't you want to come upstairs?"

"No. I'm sleeping here," said Karla, reclining atop the crate.

Chapter 34: The Procession

As Renfrew retired upstairs, respecting her wish for solitude, Karla reclined atop the long, dusty crate. Splinters caught in her cardigan. Sprung nails poked her hip. She flicked off the torch so she wouldn't have to stare at the filthy, old beams and their cargoes of lint ready to fall on her face.

It was just like old times.

She sorted the lobes of her mind, situating them comfortably into the neutral nooks and crannies she had learned to carve and cultivate through trial and error, lopping off or tucking away any wish or longing that resembled hope or desire in favor of the null and void.

She was there, on the box and then she wasn't. She found herself on the floor of the rickety hovel between the walls of Frelsi, the place that Lille now called home. The shack was empty, but there was a commotion outside—multiple strains of singing and chanting almost clashing at counter purposes.

She rolled off a mat, annoyed to find herself naked yet again, but at least here in Lille's little hut, there was no shortage of pre-made wraps and shifts and dresses. Lille was obsessive and excessive when it came to her wardrobe, even at these heights, where Weaving could be a challenge.

She threw on something simple and shapeless that Lille had left draped over a stool and wandered outside. Lille had probably used it as a night gown, but Karla didn't care about fashion, only that she had something to cover herself with.

She stepped out the broken-hinged door and was taken aback to find a huge Reaper sprawled across the parade ground, it's decking painted with gaudy flowers and curlicues, its posts adorned with brightly colored flags and streamers.

A handful of men and women dressed in billowy pastel clothing stood at the railing and waved to the surrounding crowd as if they were about to embark on a pleasure cruise.

Karla spotted Lille standing with Bern on the backmost segment of the decking. She pushed through the spectators and ran alongside the Reaper.

Bern, wearing his usual frumpy attire, spotted her first, his eyes popping wide as he tugged on Lille's sleeve. Lille, rapt in conversation, ignored him at first, but when she finally turned and saw Karla, she screamed.

"That's my girl down there! Someone, please get her on board."

One of the crew hopped the rail and extended his hand to Karla. She took it and was helped up onto the decking. Lille, swathed in a gown of light blue silk and tulle, swept her up in her arms, sprinkling joyful tears. "Oh, I'm so glad you made it back for this! And you're just in time. We're just about to set out for the glaciers."

And before Lille could even take a breath, the Reaper lurched forward, rising up on a hundred appendages that advanced and rippled in waves. A few of the bystanders cheered and waved, while most just stood around and stared.

"These buggers hope it will be them making this ride next time around," said Bern.

"Bern, why aren't you dressed up?" said Karla.

"Oh, that's because I'm a guest like you. Only candidates get to wear their Sunday best."

"So it's actually happening? Lille's getting murdered?"

Lille puckered her lips. "Oh dear. It sounds so harsh when you put it like that. How about we say my soul is about to be liberated?"

The Reaper picked up speed, dashing up the lane like a runaway bus, as Hemis struggled under their loads to dodge out of its way. It hugged the inner wall bounding the Sanctuary, making a wide circuit around the core of the city.

Encouraged by their Mentors, Lille and her fellow candidates leaned over the rail and waved at every Hemi they passed. Few waved back, but their apathy did not dampen the spirits of the candidates in the least. They acted like a gang of rowdy high school seniors out for a joy ride before graduation day. They could almost pass for high schoolers after having their bodies re-engineered in the clinics of master Weavers.

Clusters of shanties periodically gave way to areas kept open, apparently by decree. At one such lot, they passed an enormous assembly of soldiers standing in formation. Their numbers startled Karla. This was not some mere mustering of security guards, this was an army, all clad in heavy armor and maintaining tight discipline in their ranks as they passed.

Bern stepped back from the rail and took a seat on a bench. He was looking a bit forlorn and wistful, so Karla joined him, leaving Lille to frolic with her clique of would-be murder victims.

"So when are you up for this, Bern? Have they made any arrangements?"

"Nah. And it's not going to happen," said Bern, his voice low so Lille wouldn't overhear. He stared straight ahead, a faint smile implanted on his lips.

"What do you mean? Lille is expecting you... isn't she?"

"I don't know what she's expecting, anymore," said Bern. "I suspect she tolerates my presence, keeps me around out of habit, but once the change occurs, all bets are off."

"Nonsense. She loves you. I know she does. She wants you to have the best as well."

"Best. Well, I'm not so sure getting knocked off in the back passages of a maximum security prison is necessarily the 'best' option. I've kind of grown accustomed to my catatonia. The guards leave me alone in my little cell. It's a nice, little routine. I maintain my vital functions in the occasional brief visit back and spend most of my time here in the Liminality."

"But you can't do that forever," said Karla. "It's unsustainable. Everyone has to die."

"Yes, well. Maybe I'm not ready for that yet."

"So you're going to let her go on without you? Does Lille know about this?"

Bern's smile flattened into a grimace. "She'll be fine. I mean look at her. She has no problem making friends... in any existence. I suspect she'd be on good terms with the devil if he was lucky enough to make her acquaintance. And who knows what wonders await her in the Sanctuary. Yes, she'll be fine. With any luck, she'll forget all about me. Maybe I'll go on a walkabout like James, return to my little cabin in the sinkhole. Apart from wondering what had happened to Lille, I was quite comfortable there. It was quite cozy and secure."

"My God, Bern. I can't imagine the two of you apart. And I can't imagine you being happy on your own."

"Happy? What does happy have to do with it? Happiness is such a temporary condition, anyhow. It strikes like a virus, but then the fever breaks and it's gone. I'm sure I'll be happy again... someday... for a while. It's inevitable, just like the flu."

"You need to talk to Lille, before she goes through with this. She needs to know how you feel."

"Yes, well. This isn't the time or place, on this party boat of a Reaper, for God Sakes. But let's not talk anymore about me. It will only spoil the festivities. What about you? How are things on your end? Any word from James? I would guess not... considering here you are... back with us again so soon."

Karla slumped and sighed. "My father... his people now have Isobel. They took her."

"What? How did that happen?"

"It was all my fault. I was careless. I should have never left her side. I'm in Inverness now. I brought my friends to the old house. Seems that Papa is in the process of moving out. I'm in the storeroom where he used to punish me. The Liminality comes to me easily there."

"But dear, your sister needs you. This is not the time to despair."

"I'm not despairing. I'm just... surfing. I wanted to see you guys. I have a knack for summoning the roots, whether I am despondent or not. I feel no despair, just... frustration."

"I wish I could help you, dear. Wish I knew someone I could call. But I never did get along well with folks in the general population. Don't ask me why not. I'm not the most unpleasant fellow you've ever met, am I?"

"You're lovely, Bern. You've always been good to me and Lille. But I do have friends to help me on the other side. The problem is, they don't understand the mania of Papa's congregation, the level of fanaticism. These people will do anything to get their way. They can justify any crime as the will of the Lord."

They glided up a gentle incline, the deck heaving and swaying as if it were a skiff bobbing in some restless harbor. The shanties were less densely packed here on the backside of the city, but it was quite apparent from their unfinished state that an expansion was underway, as the population of Frelsi incremented with each band of Hemisouls that the recruiters and night patrols retrieved from the tunnels.

They swung close to the outer wall, which was swarming with Hemis up on scaffolds, straining to raise boulders with a block and tackle in order to repair a very large breach. Karla spotted a familiar face, a young man in a group lined up and heaving on a hawser.

"Hey, that's Jeffrey! The boy we rescued from that pod." She surged over to the rail.

"Ah, so it is!" said Bern, joining her.

Jeffrey was filthy and drenched in sweat. A nasty abrasion angled across one shoulder where the friction of the heavy rope had burned him. Together they waved and called to him, but Jeffrey gave no indication that he had heard them, his gaze rigid and focused on the task at hand.

The Reaper maneuvered through a wide-open space beyond the uppermost reaches of the Sanctuary, whose towers and platforms seemed somehow more slender and elegant than the blocky green cylinders that dominated the lower parts of the city.

They headed for a part in the outer wall, flanked by a pair of gates made of planking clad with metal that were still under construction. The Hemis installing them scattered out of the way of the approaching Reaper.

A grassy glade, thick with chartreuse seed heads swirling in the wind, greeted them on the other side. They started up a steep lane, cobbled meticulously with pale brick, its surface scads smoother than the crude tracks the Reapers plied between Frelsi and the lowlands. Seeing it, made Karla think of the Yellow Brick Road.

Their destination was visible farther up the slopes—broad ribbon of dirty white snaking between a pair of purplish-brown moraines and the sheer and silvery facets of the peaks that had spawned it.

Lille broke away from the other candidates and came over to give Bern a peck on the forehead, her eyes wild with excitement.

"Will you look at that, guys? Grand, isn't it? Isn't it grand?"

"Yes," said Karla. "It is grand."

Chapter 35: The Tarn

A many-throated wind scoured the landscape. Howls and moans near and far congealed into a dissonant chorus, like a network of grieving wolves. The gale tousled my hair and flapped my clothes as I stood atop a boulder, watching Urszula depart on her dragonfly.

They shuttled off down the slope, their heading at angles to their actual line of flight. Lalibela descended in a series of swooping stalls, her wing beats sluggish and intermittent. I worried that she ventured too close to the treetops, her course too straight and predictable. I girded myself against the sight of a tethered harpoon ripping them out of the sky.

When they dipped into the vale and out of sight, I kept staring at the point where they had vanished. I counted off the seconds, and two minutes later they reappeared against the opposite slope. Lalibela, warmed, was back to her herky-jerky, evasive self. I sagged in relief as they popped over the ridge to safety, dwindling to a tiny speck high over the plains.

A chill began to penetrate my bones. I had to get moving to stay warm, so I started up the mountain. I had no specific destination. I just needed to get high enough above the Core.

I had only gone a few paces when I heard a rustling below the tree line. I dove into a patch of knee-high firs flattened by wind and frost, burrowing under the topmost layer of branches.

Through a thin screen of short-needled boughs, I watched four Frelsian soldiers emerge from the last stretch of hip-high trees, all out of breath and disheveled from their bushwhacking. They paused to rest, scanning the bare slopes I had been intending to climb.

They carried the oddest array of weapons: a crossbow with four short arms, a blunderbuss-like wide-bored, short barreled gun, a spear thrower, and a sling mounted on a short stick with a release trigger. Apparently, their military had no standard issue apart from armor and helmets. Just like my sword, weapons were tailored to suit their wielders.

They seemed to be deliberating about something, but the wind carried their voices from me, and I could only make out a murmur. One man went to the spot where Lalibela had touched down and crouched to examine the scraped and crumbled lichens.

His eyes tracked back up the slope, staring directly at the patch of firs where I was hiding, the only real cover between the tree line and the top of the ridge.

I tried to squirm deeper into the branches without wiggling them too much. My sword clinked against the granite. At least one of the soldiers heard it, his voice ringing out in excitement. I whipped out the cloth that Urszula had given me and draped it over my head and face.

It felt ridiculous, putting that hanky on my head, but the edges expanded immediately and rapidly, creeping and flowing under the branches, around my torso and down my legs, covering me completely. It blocked all the light, rendering me blind.

I had my hand on the sword, as they crunched through the firs inches from my head. A heavy, booted foot pinned my wrist against a sharp stone. I gritted my teeth and held my breath.

"There's no one here," said a man. "You're imagining things."

"There were two on that saddle. Only one flew off."

"Look at this! A snapped stalk. Someone's gone this way." They rushed off up the slope.

I didn't budge or dare sneak a peek even after I could no longer hear the soldiers. Urszula's blanket kept growing and thickening until I had enough to tuck under me and insulate me against the cold stone. It had become a tent and sleeping bag and mattress all in one. It got so toasty under there, I had no desire to move. I just closed my eyes.

***

I napped, as cozy as a squirrel in its nest. I had no intention or desire to fade, but it happened anyhow. I wouldn't even have known I had switched worlds if it hadn't been for the sudden surge of pain.

I could have had a vise clamped over my skull. The slightest movement tore at my insides. My belly felt about to split open and spill its contents on the floor.

The days-old remnants of food remained on the tray as they had been, the apple a little more shriveled, the hunk of bread, reduced and surrounded by crumbs and little brown spindles that must have been mouse droppings. No one had come to bring me water or food since my last return. It was pretty clear they had no intention of letting me go and were simply waiting for me to die.

My inside was my mouth was all cottony and hot. My stomach felt hard and tight, like I was pregnant with a small boulder. The pain was incredible. I wondered if there was some kind of infection going on. I didn't seem to have a fever.

I badly needed a drink, and there was water in that mug. I slid my legs off the bed and rolled over, cantilevering my upper body into a seated position.

I sat there, trying to summon the will to go for that mug, when a little mouse popped out of a chink in the baseboard. It was a battered little creature with a torn ear and a truncated tail, signs of a challenging life.

I kept still, and watched the little creature preen itself. It went up on its hind legs, fully extended and started lapping water from the mug. I didn't mind sharing. I even let it have a few nibbles at the bread crust before an involuntary twitch of my leg sent it scurrying back to its hole.

My turn. I rose slowly off the bed. It amazed me that I was even able to stand. But before I could even take a step, the world started to spin. I let my legs fold in a controlled collapse before I toppled over unconscious.

Somehow, I kept my wits and crawled over to the tray on my hands and knees. I drained half of that mug, mouse spittle be damned.

The floor boards creaked overhead. Footsteps. A door slammed.

I wondered if my captors could be shamed into bringing me more water if I made my presence known to them by banging on the door or yelling. Though, it could just as well attract another beating as much as another plate of food.

Voices emanated from the room above me, one of them young and female and shrill, in extreme distress, the other booming and righteous and indignant. I realized that was Edmund's baritone I was hearing, and the girl sounded an awful lot like Izzie.

I hoped to hell that wasn't Izzie up there. Not that I would wish any girl would ever have to deal face to face with Edmund Raeth, but if that was Izzie I was hearing, the implications were grim. He might have Karla as well, and both girls would be in for some nasty retribution.

That thought horrified me. Getting Edmund's attention was my only chance at survival, and maybe it would distract him from whatever he was doing to poor Izzie. I reared back and tried to holler, but my throat seized up before I get out as much as a squawk and I doubled over in pain from the effort, disgusted with how feeble and useless I had become.

I crawled back onto the bed, sitting and rocking to cope with the waves of pain pulsing through my mid-section. My heart started doing that funny thing with the skips and lurches. I wondered how long it would take for me to die. Maybe I had only extended my suffering by drinking that water. If I could only find the strength to remain patient, nature would take its course, and I would be free.

***

Again, no transition. One minute I was sitting in a church basement, the next high on a mountainside snug in my cocoon. It felt so nice to have all that pain fall away like it was never even there, but my anguish over what had happened to Izzie and Karla remained a bitter ache in my heart.

It was completely dark now, even after I pulled down Urszula's blanket to expose my face. Minutes on Earth translated to hours here. A biting chill seeped into my nest and assaulted me. It felt like I was high in the Cairn Gorms again, only this time my covered parts remained toasty and dry.

Something knobby dug into my left butt cheek so I shifted to a more comfortable position. I felt around under the blanket and found a thick root snaking across a shelf of stone.

I touched my fingertips to it, thinking of fireflies and glow sticks, assigning my will to the task of creating some light. In the tunnels, that little trick would have summoned a glow, but the root remained just an ordinary, drab root.

Did the lack of response mean I was now far enough away from the Core to go free? But even down below my skills had sometimes failed me, so maybe my inability to Weave was not much of an indicator. I had to get higher on the mountain, just to be sure. Better to be safe than sorry.

I stood up with the now voluminous and bulky blanket draped over my shoulders like an extra large poncho. I worried that it would catch and drag, but as soon as I started walking, it shrank up to knee level, swinging free of the ground. Color me impressed.

The stars shed enough just light to distinguish rock from shrub. I passed to the left of the little cliff, rising through a series of grassy swales that curved along the edge of a boulder field. It got a little swampy in some stretches, but it looked a lot easier than trying to hop boulder to boulder.

Lights flickered down the mountainside, probably from settlements that had spread outside the walls of Frelsi. The city itself was obscured by the shoulder of the mountain.

When the swales petered out, I had no choice but to pick my way through the boulders. I moved in time to the beat of my pulse, glorying in my body's mobility, unlike the ruined shell I had left behind in that basement.

As I approached the top of the ridge, the wind became a gale. My magic poncho instantly responded, closing its weave, clinging tight to my flesh to minimize drag. I had no doubt it would turn itself into a slicker if it had started to rain. Man, I sure could have used this on the Lairig Ghru.

Once on top, I found myself looking down on Frelsi proper. The place was lit up like a forest of Christmas trees, its towers and branches all flickering and glittering with a thousand points of light.

Smooth bedrock slanted down to a long, gravelly mound and a small tarn that gleamed like a black mirror. The glow from a bonfire splashed the valley walls with a diffuse and flickering light. There were people down there, huddled around a fire in an encampment of white tents.

This had to be the place where souls came to break free of the Core. I climbed down a little ways to get out of the wind. With the blanket draped around my shoulders, I settled in among the rocks to wait for the dawn.

***

When the light gave shape to the land I peeled back the corner of my shroud to watch the sun rise. It seemed even more bluish than usual from these heights, making me wonder if its odd hue came from the star or the atmosphere.

I now had a clear view now of the ghostly hulk of a shattered glacier lurking farther up the valley. A torrent poured from it, bypassing the tarn through a dark slash of a ravine, its water like skim milk, cloudy from the pulverized stone

Folks were up and about at the camp, so I shifted a little farther down the hill where I could do some people watching. It would sure beat staring at the clouds and boulders all day. There was a path around the tarn, and a few ambitious souls had headed out for a hike.

I pulled the cloth up over my head like a hood and made my way down slowly and deliberately. I might be perfectly camouflaged, but I didn't want anyone to notice any funny business, like a boulder out for a stroll.

A freshet rushed down a wrinkle in the slope. I paused for a drink, lowering my lips directly to the dashing stream. It was so frigid and pure. Man, I wished I could have sent some of this water back to that mug in my cell.

And then this cannonball of a bee came hurtling over the ridge, buzzing like a weed whacker. It did one loop around me and landed on a rock pile.

"Get the fuck away! You're gonna blow my cover."

But the bee persisted, moving closer, climbing onto a boulder right in front of me.

"What the heck are you doing? Get out of here! Scram!"

A globe of amber fluid appeared on its palps. It was offering me food—nectar, straight from its crop—as if I were some larva from its hive.

I touched my cupped hands to the glob. It stuck to my skin and filled my palms. I drank up and was glad I did. It was delicious, more concentrated and sweeter than the stuff that came out of Urszula's aphids.

Once I accepted its offering, the bee gave its butt a pleased little waggle. Without thinking, I reached over and patted it on its head as if it were some lap dog. I don't know what got into me. It buzzed off and flew back over the ridge behind me.

I eased my way a little farther down the slope a few steps at a time, taking pains not to dislodge any stones. I wanted to be closer to people. I wanted to see faces, hear gossip.

I peeked from under the cloth to find a woman staring directly up at me. I froze. She was less than fifty feet away, standing on the edge of the path encircling the tarn.

I narrowed the peep hole of my blanket and kept absolutely still. A guy came running up to her, long blonde ponytail slapping at the small of his back. He was apparently a guard. He carried a weapon I couldn't even identify, with multiple bores and spikes sticking out the end.

Was my camouflage failing? Did Duster spell craft not work this far from the Core? What did they see? A guy with a blanket draped over his head? Humoring that damned bee probably hadn't helped my stealth.

"I just saw the strangest bird," said the woman. "It had such a thick body and transparent wings."

"It was a spybee," said the guard. "I saw it, too." He stepped off the path, squinting directly at me.

I made sure I had a good grip on my sword.

He stared at me a while and then just shrugged and turned around.

I sighed and relaxed. Apparently, the camouflage still worked.

"Why are they bothering us here? Is no place sacred to them? It's not fair. Aren't their souls already free?"

"No worries," said the guard. "You're safe here. Their bugs are cold-blooded. They wouldn't dare raid us at this altitude."

A cheer went up from the encampment. People ran over to congratulate a woman wearing what looked almost like a wedding gown. This could only mean that her soul had been freed of its earthly connection, that she was officially dead.

I wondered what she felt when the change happened. Lille had said that something shifts in your eyes when your soul disconnects from the world of its birth, and that the change is visible to others.

I kind of knew what she meant. Urszula had that look in her eyes—a gaze that could swallow one's soul. Bottomless.

But still, I wondered how it felt to be free.

A man came walking past the tarn, alone. He had a familiar slouch, minus the familiar limp and a cane tucked over his shoulder.

Chapter 36: Ghost

I stood and gathered my shroud, and as I lifted it, it helped me gather itself, furling and bunching, sensing and responding to my intentions. When I thought no one was watching, I scrambled down the side of the moraine to the edge of the path, dropped back down and let the shroud reconfigure to the terrain.

Folding the cloth into a snorkel-like peephole, I watched Bern come up the path. He seemed in no hurry to get anywhere. He was just ambling along, lost in thought, his cane an afterthought, his stride smooth and confident.

"Bern!" I whispered.

His head swiveled about. He scanned the side of the moraine.

"I'm here, next to the path."

"Why can't I see you? This is like talking to a ghost. You... you're not—"

"Look at the rocks. I'm camouflaged."

He groped and patted the boulders bordering the trail, swatting me on the side of the head.

"Lordie! That's uncanny. You look exactly like all the other boulders, right down to the flecks of mica."

"Pretty nifty, huh? It's Duster technology ... er... magic, or whatever."

"You do realize you're officially a persona non grata here? Someone saw you abscond with their prisoner. How did you even manage get back up here, unmolested?"

"I flew."

Bern shook his head. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Not on my own. I caught a ride... with Urszula."

"The demon girl?"

"She's no demon. Urszula's just a girl. She needed help. They were gonna kill her."

Bern sighed and shook his head. "Kill. What does that even mean?"

"Where's Lille?"

"I left her back at the camp. She's been up all night praying and chanting with the other candidates. Drove me batty. It was like a bloody revival meeting. They treat this place like it's Heaven's doorstep. I had to get away for a bit."

"I notice you're not limping."

"Yes, well... Lille had me pay a little visit to their chop shop. It was quite impressive, really. No blood, of course... and their level of skill is scads beyond what Luther could ever do. They're more like sculptors than surgeons. But they worked wonders on my leg. Feels better than it ever did. They wanted to mess around with my other parts as well, but I wouldn't have any of it. Lille was particularly upset that I wouldn't let them touch my face. I had to promise her a return visit."

"Yeah, well it wouldn't kill you to smooth out some of those creases."

"Now, you're sounding just like Lille," said Bern. "I'm just afraid they might take it a little too far as some of these folks are wont to do. A little too much artistic license, if you know what I mean. I've always prided myself on my rugged looks. Wouldn't want them to make me look like one of those pretty boy male models... like er... that Alec fellow."

"Alec?"

"Her so-called Mentor. The way she fawns all over him... it's bloody awful." Bern sighed. "To top it all, he's apparently made some arrangements at my prison—without my consent, I might add. Apparently, they've got someone inside who's agreed to off me. Don't quite know how I feel about this. Don't know why everyone feels like they have carte blanche to meddle in my affairs. It's a pain in my.... Hang on. Someone's coming!"

I pulled my peephole shut and kept still. Boots scuffed gravel. The voices of a man and a woman drifted closer.

Bern hummed a ditty that sounded like some kind of bossa nova elevator music. "Good day to you both," he said, as they passed.

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"Alright. They've moved on," Bern whispered. "That woman was giving me the oddest look. But what should I expect? She saw me speaking to a rock. What was I saying? Oh yes, Lille and her Mentor. You know, I hate to say it, but I suspect there might be some hanky-panky going on between the two of them."

"Really, Bern? I have a hard time believing that. I think you're imagining things. That doesn't sound like Lille, at all."

"Yes, well if it wasn't for all this assassination business, I might make things easy for her. I was thinking of returning to my cabin in the pit. But not if they're about to off me in my prison cell. That would commit to the... uh... the uh...."

"The Deeps?"

"The Deeps. Hades. Avernus. Tiamet. Whatever you want to call it. In any case, what it means is for now I'm forced to stick around these heights. I have my doubts they would actually be able to pull it off a snuff job. Winson Green prison is quite secure. But if they do manage to somehow murder me, I suppose I should be grateful. For three years they've had me on suicide watch, after making multiple attempts on my own life, I have to say, some of them quite ingenious. The most elegant involved some strategic placement of the whites of an undercooked egg. You see, they didn't account for my allergies."

"It's not as if I would ever miss the place. How could anyone possibly miss a life spent in Winson Green? Though, the food is not as terrible as it could be, when I'm not being force fed by stomach tube, anyhow. And they do let us watch English Premier League from time to time. But the rub is... I'm cursed. I'm an Arsenal follower."

"Could be worse," I said. "Renfrew, my boss, follows Blackburn."

"Ah, yes... my condolences to the poor fellow. At least they're to be relegated. There's mercy in that."

He went silent.

"Is something wrong?"

"On the contrary, my boy. I have just spotted something wondrous coming up the path, a truly mythical creature of charm and grace. You just sit tight and—"

"What the heck are you talking about? What's going on?"

"It's Karla, James. She's left the camp, coming to look for me, I suppose. I've been moping about, feeling sorry for myself and she refuses to leave me be. Seems no one can allow an old man some time alone with his thoughts."

***

It was torture, fighting the urge to toss off that shroud and run to her, to not even allow myself a peek. But I was an outlaw now and from my rambles in the Sanctuary, I had a pretty good idea what they would do to me if they caught me.

"How far away?"

"She's coming lad, just be patient."

I bit my hand and practically gnawed through it, waiting. And then I could hear Bern whispering, almost inaudibly.

"No!" she said, applying that unmistakable bend to her vowel, betraying her Italian roots. "Where is he?" The urgency and thrill distilled in her tone made me shiver.

"Stay calm, missy. We have to keep very discreet. He's a wanted man, you know."

"Bern! Show me! Where is he?"

"Actually... I'm not so sure. Turn around and all these boulders look the same. Oh, wait a minute. There! That one. I'm pretty sure."

Feet scrabbled across stones. Quick and nimble fingers found the edge of the shroud and lifted. Karla dove beneath, bowling me over, smothering me in a tangle of arms and legs and tears, immersing me in the lanolin scent of her hair.

"I'll... uh... keep a watch a little ways down the path," said Bern, "Let me know... you're... eh... done."

***

We kissed like near-drowning victims accepting bubbles of air from their rescuers, filling lungs they thought might never know oxygen again.

I wished there could have been light beneath that blanket. I wanted to bask in the gleam of her eyes, her pixyish grin.

"Are you free?" she said. "Is that why you are up here? Please tell me that you are still alive."

"I'm hanging in," I said. "But I don't know for how much longer."

"You must hang on a little longer. We are getting closer. We are in Inverness now. All of us. Renfrew, Jessica. Sturgie, too."

"Really? You have all those guys up there looking for me?"

"Not only that. Renfrew's brought his gun," said Karla. "But... they got Isobel."

"Ugh. I was afraid of that. I thought I heard her voice. Upstairs."

"Upstairs? At the church? That's excellent news! To have you both in one place. We are at the house now, resting. But as soon as the sun comes up, we will be going to the church... as soon as they open the doors for morning vespers."

"Listen. You guys concentrate on saving Izzie. Don't worry about me. I got a feeling it's gonna too late by the time you get there. My number's up. I've got internal bleeding. My heart's not working right."

"Do not talk like that! We are almost there. In a matter of hours we will break you out, take you to a clinic. They can fix you up, make you all better."

"Karla, it's not worth coming after me. Get Izzie and go away someplace safe. I'm a lost cause. And these people, they're dangerous."

"You don't understand. Things have changed with me. I want nothing to do with Root anymore. I want to live. And I want you in the world with me. These goat farmers, James. Your friends. They are fabulous! So kind to me and Izzie. I want to take you back to Brynmawr. To stay there and work and live. I mean, if they would have us. And I think they would. I really do. I think they like us, James."

"Karla. It's no use. I'm a wreck. I'm beyond saving. The pain, it's unbelievable. And my heart's all fluttery. I get dizzy any time I as much as lift my head."

She ran her fingers over my face, tracing the outline of my lips. Her breaths came fast and hard.

"This... Duster girl. Might she have anything to do with your change of heart? Is she why you are giving up?"

"What? That's crazy? I was just helping her."

"Even after she tried to kill me?"

"No, she didn't. She was just gonna relocate you. They were gonna feed her to the Reapers!"

"It was not your business. You should not have intervened."

"I had to. I couldn't just let her get eaten by those things. Could I?"

Bern coughed. "You two, shush! Someone's coming. It's... uh... it's Lille... and Alec."

***

Karla and I huddled in each other's arms, motionless and silent.

"Bern? Have you seen Karla?" said Lille. "She just sort of wandered off. I assumed she had gone out looking for you."

"Oh, she's probably just out for a jaunt, enjoying the fresh air. I'm sure she'll be right back."

"Why are you so fidgety?" said Lille. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing. Just... enjoying the scenery."

"I know you better, Bern. You're up to something. Are you trying to force a fade, to fade away on us?"

"Not at all. It's just... such a lovely lake. Wish I had my fishing pole. This path makes a loop, doesn't it? Maybe Karla's just across the way. You two go have a look see. I'll wait here, just in case she gets past you."

"Why do I have the distinct impression that you're trying to hurry us along. What's up with you?"

"Come. Join us," said Alec. "We can talk about your candidacy."

And then there came that weed whacker sound again, even under the thick, muffling shroud, I could hear the bee circle overhead. I sighed with disgust.

Lille screamed.

"What's going on?" Karla whispered in my ear.

"It's Urszula's bee," I whispered back. "I wish that thing had some semblance of a brain."

"Odd," said Alec. "Before today, I've never seen a spybee up this high. That's the second one this morning."

An explosive crack sent echoes bouncing off the moraines.

"Missed it!"

The bee touched down briefly atop the shroud, buzzing away just as a staff crashed down between our heads, glancing off my shoulder. The shroud pulled up at the edges, briefly revealing my leg before cascading down to seal the gap.

"That stone. You dented it!" said Lille. "How—?"

"This is how!" Alec reached down and grabbed a fistful of fabric. He yanked and tossed the blanket aside. The sudden wash of light stung my eyes.

"Oh my!" said Lille.

Alec hauled me out by my collar and shoved me down onto the path.

"Leave him be!" Karla latched on to him and tried to pull him off. The Mentor elbowed her in the face and knocked her on her bottom. He batted away my sword with his staff before I could retrieve it.

Frantic footfalls thundered our way. A squad of Frelsian guards appeared down the path. The tip of Alec's staff exploded and disgorged a heavy, gelatinous mass that struck my middle and knocked my breath away. It divided into a tangle of snake-like loops that swarmed all over me like manic pythons, wrenching my limbs together and cinching them tight.

"Get the girl!" said Alec. "And the old man as well."

"Please, not Bern," said Lille. "He's not involved in this."

"He deceived us. Gave them cover. He's an accessory," said Alec.

"Preposterous! I'm sure he didn't mean to—"

"Lille, let them sort it all out," said Bern, calmly. "I did what I did and I'll pay the price. It's not like I've never broken rules before."

"Oh dear," said Lille. "This day's not going well at all. And it started out so promising."

Chapter 37: Custody

Curls of fog peeled off the glacier, descending and alighting on the tarn, twirling across the surface like spectral figure skaters. I lay on the path with Bern and Karla, my cheek pressed into the grit. A soldier came by and touched a rod to the strips of living, elastic goo binding my limbs, tightening them until my fingers and toes fell numb.

Candidates and their guests collected in twos and threes to witness the spectacle of our arrest. Lille was apoplectic with disbelief. We had spoiled what was to have been her coming out party. Her face had gone all puffy, revealing the seams its engineers had worked so hard to conceal. Alec stroked her arm, consoling, while Bern peppered him with caustic glares.

Something scratched at my ankles. I tried kicking it away, but it persisted. My restraints prevented me from dealing with it properly, but I managed to contort myself sufficiently to spot a flap of what looked like my own skin, annealing itself to my shin. It was Urszula's shroud, shrunken down and thinned out, disguised as me, down to the pores and leg hair. It contracted, snug as a stocking, edges blending.

"This is all a travesty," said Lille, regaining her voice. "None of my friends have done anything criminal, here. James was just acting out of kindness, trying to be nice to that girl-creature-thing. He is new to Frelsi. He doesn't understand the ramifications."

"Who am I to judge?" said Alec. "But I am obligated to respond to the appearance of what I see. How about we let the tribunal decide their fate?"

"Tribunal? Surely, it shouldn't come to that. I can see how James might have a little explaining to do, but what on earth did Bern and Karla do that was so wrong?"

"No worries, love," said Bern. "Let them do their thing. I'm prepared to take my lumps."

One of the smaller, bipedal Reapers came bounding up the path, riderless. This one had a beak and scaly three-toed feet that make it look like some kind of dodo bird.

The soldiers strapped me and Bern to either side of a harness and made Karla sit in the saddle with her arms lashed behind her back. Once we were loaded up, a soldier slapped the beast's hindquarters. It hissed and snapped at him before trotting off towards the encampment.

The camp was arranged in concentric circles of small, white tents, its structure mirroring the layout of Frelsi itself, with candidates in the inner circle, their guests surrounding. People came out to gawk at us as if we were freaks in a circus parade.

At the far end, a soldier jogged ahead to open a gate of woven saplings. From there, an expertly cobbled road descended through a series of swales and knobs to Frelsi, whose taller spires protruded above the swell of mountainside.

"Sorry Lille, but this is as far as you can go," said Alec. "I'll take them down for processing. The other Mentors will attend to your needs."

"Nonsense. This is my man. These people are my family. I'm coming along."

"I'm afraid not. You need to stay up here, outside the zone of influence. Your facilitation is imminent."

"I don't care. I'm going with Bern. Wherever he goes, I go," she said, setting her chin defiantly. She went alongside the Reaper and took hold of Bern's arm.

"No," said Alec. "I cannot allow you to waste your soul. There is too much invested in you." He turned to the soldiers. "Detain her!" Two men seized her and wrestled her back towards the camp.

"Bern! I'll look in on you, I promise. As soon as I get free, I'll speak to someone with some influence."

***

The Reaper's muscles rippled under its pebbled skin. It smelled like chicken parts that had sat too long on a counter. Swinging from the harness, none of us had much to say. Bern hummed a little ditty in time with its lurching strides. Karla sobbed softly up on the saddle.

"Don't worry. They can't possibly charge you with anything," I said. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"It is not me I am worried for, you fool! We are going back into the zone. If what you say is true... that you are dying on the other side... we will lose you to the Deeps."

"Dying, is he?" said Alec, walking beside us. "Such a shame. Makes our job easier, though."

We passed under an archway formed of two white posts and an up curved beam that made it look like a sculpture of the symbol for pi, or one of those Japanese torii gates. The word 'HOPE,' was carved into the cross beam.

We turned up a more rugged side path that led to a fenced compound of structures carved from giant fungi. The soldiers unstrapped us from the Reaper and stashed us in a pen.

We huddled in the dirt, while Alec briefed the men who ran the installation. One man ran up a tower with a set of flags and transmitted a message in semaphore code to the next tower down the lane.

More soldiers emerged from a hut and trained their weapons on us, even though we posed not the slightest threat to resist or run. It was the usual motley array: an elegant, little blow gun with a basket of feathered flechettes that fed into a spinning chamber, a basic old double-barreled shotgun and some evil-looking, bulbous contraption that constantly emitted a curl of black smoke.

"What now, may I ask?" said Bern as Alec came walking past.

"You're to be held here until a tribunal can be assembled. When they're ready, you'll be transported back to Frelsi for trial."

"How long do you expect that to take?"

"Depends how busy they are. There's been a rash of lawlessness of late. Ever since we started mobilizing for war, we've been plagued by incidents of sloth and petty thievery and desertion. The detention pens are brimming with miscreants. Hard times reveal character, it seems. But all in all, it's for the better. Accomplishes the kind of distillation that our vetting process is left wanting."

"We did nothing wrong," said Karla.

"Perhaps. Maybe for you, my love, they will see it as a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But for your friends Bernard and James, here, I think there are cases to be made for treason."

"Nonsense. The boy's not even marked. He's taken no vow. He's not committed to you people."

"He facilitated the escape of a prisoner and compromised our intelligence gathering."

"No one was ever going to interrogate her," I said. "She was in a heap, ready to be fed to the Reapers."

"But how was that any of your business?"

"She's human. And so are those... Old Ones... that you dig up. They don't deserve to be treated like meat."

"Human!" said Alec, in a mocking tone.

"What will they do to us?" said Karla.

"For you? No worries, my dear. Fraternizing with a known offender will usually cost you a working probation. A few extra duties. A larger production quota."

"In other words, indentured servitude," said Bern.

"Now Bernard, your offense is a bit more serious. You knew full well that the authorities had a warrant out for James and yet you willfully deceived me. That might not suffice to brand you defective, but I would be prepared to face some combination of detention and re-indoctrination. Of course, that's just pure speculation on my part. It will be up to the tribunal to decide."

"And what about James?" said Karla. "What will happen to him?"

Alec scrunched his lips. "Well, I think we have a fairly clear cut case of treason here, don't you think? Consorting with the enemy. Interference with operations. Perhaps even spying. Grave offenses all, comparatively. He's obviously a defective."

Karla seemed puzzled by the term, but I had seen those pens full of broken souls with D's embossed on their arms, and knew exactly what it meant. It was no coincidence that they were kept close to the Reaper's trenches. But Karla didn't need to be told that part.

I tried convincing myself that being gobbled down by a Reaper wasn't as bad as it seemed. I thought back to those PBS nature shows, and how calm a peccary became while it was being eaten alive by an anaconda, or the peaceful surrender of a gazelle in the jaws of a leopard.

Plenty of Dusters had probably gone that route and come out okay, including Urszula. But the truth was, reprocessing my soul through the maw of a Reaper terrified the wits out of me.

"I have to say, I am so very disappointed in you all," said Alec. "After all of your striving, to piss away such a golden opportunity."

"Well now, even you have to admit," said Bern. "This place turned out to be a bit less idyllic than we all imagined."

"On the contrary. It has the potential to become whatever we dream—our own little corner of Heaven. But you realize, there's a war going on. Compromises are necessary to keep us all secure. Rest assured, we're all working to make something special out of this place."

Bern sighed. "I don't know. I almost think we were better off in the tunnels."

Karla was being awful quiet. She lay on her side, staring into space. Our gazes locked, and I saw the doom in her eyes. I tried to reach out and comfort her, forgetting that my arms were glued to my sides.

"If something happens," I whispered. "I'll find a way back. I promise. Go back to that pond in the hollow. Remember, from that other night? Under the weeping willow? That'll be our meeting place."

She nodded and tried to smile but couldn't hide the emptiness.

A bee buzzed over the stockade wall and hovered. One of the soldiers raised his shotgun and let loose a blast, but the bee had already ducked below the fence line.

Alec stood with his hands on his hips, looking annoyed. "That makes three today. Why are they so interested in tracking you? Because you took pity and helped one of their own? Doubtful. I'm sure the tribunal will find this all very fascinating."

Shouts and screams carried down from the glacier. The soldiers looked at each other nervously

"What in bloody hell?" said Alec.

A dragonfly hovered high overhead, etching a wispy trail through the sky.

"Contrails? From a bug?" said Bern.

The wisp wafted down and expanded into a billowing cloud of dust.

Rattles and buzzes filled the air. A mantis appeared through the mist and landed high on the moraine wall.

Guards rushed into the compound and slammed the gate.

"How did they get here unobserved?" said Alec. His staff transformed in his grasp, lengthening, strengthening, extruding a curved, saw-toothed blade of the sort one might use to trim tree branches.

"Up the ravine," said one of the breathless guards.

Another mantis flew into view and then hovered back into the dust cloud. A whirling bolus of energy came winging down and blew the corner of the stockade into powder.

I took advantage of the distraction to roll closer to Karla. She nestled her face against mine.

"Did you arrange for this?" she said, panting. "Did you know this was coming?"

"What? No! How could I?"

Her eyes flicked back and forth, studying my face. A shallow smile crept over her lips. "Roll back to back," she said. "Let's see if we can undo each other's lashings."

Our fingers touched behind our backs. Karla's binds were too intelligent to allow themselves to be tampered with. They eluded me, rolling up and down her wrists. When I got my finger jammed underneath one, they forced it back out.

"Yours are way too tough for me," said Karla. "I can't even scratch them."

I rolled back around to face her. "I just wish I could hold you."

She just ducked her brow and rested it against my chest. "I love you, James. I'm so sorry about this."

"Sorry for what? None of this is your fault."

"For being so stubborn. For making you go to Brynmawr... alone."

The soldiers slid a curved panel that fronted one of the huts and wheeled out a pair of harpoon launchers, anchoring the coiled, translucent tethers with trapezoidal wedges tucked into cracks in the stone. They pulled on helmets and fitted shields to the launchers' frames.

"Harpoons ready," called one of the soldiers.

The dust cloud settled over the compound, obscuring our view of the sky.

An officer—and from the broken circle on his armor, a free soul—went up into the tower.

"Two mantids, down slope at six o'clock! They're coming into range. Fire when you see them!"

The dust cloud condensed, blotting out the view, particles behaving like a swarm of gnats, resisting and compensating for the wind, arranging themselves into a dome, twenty feet over our heads.

The blurred outline of a mantis flashed into view. A harpoon rocketed away from one of the launchers as another whirling bolus of plasma came hurtling down and struck its shield, shattering it, before deflecting to the ground. A fount of grit and clay scattered over everything as the residual plasma gouged a crater into the ground.

The harpoon bent it's trajectory to chase after to chase after the mantid, but was ultimately yanked back at the limits of its tether. The crew manning the launcher was already reeling it back in and refilling a chamber alongside the barrel from a calabash of steaming liquid.

Taking advantage of the commotion, I worked on unwinding the strands strangling Karla's wrists, and they were responding bit by bit, the ends curling. But every time I cringed at a sudden movement or was startled by a loud noise, they rallied and regained their grip.

"James! Don't bother. I'm about to fade. I can feel it coming."

"Really? Are you sure? I don't see any signs of it."

"Believe me. I know how a fade feels by now." Her eyes were glued to mine and gaping. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. This is good. Perfect timing, actually. You'll avoid the tribunal."

"But I don't want to go. I don't want to leave you. What if I never see you again?"

"Of course you will. You'll be back. And I'll be here. I'll find you. Preferably not in Frelsi. If you do reappear here. Don't hesitate. Run away! And remember... that pond."

"James. We will be at the church by morning. You need to do your best to hang on."

"It's out of my control," I said. "I can't promise you anything."

"We will find you. Bring you to a hospital."

Reinforcements arrived on a dead run from the camp. With a sound like a cork popping out of a Brobdingnagian champagne bottle, the second harpoon shot out into the billowing dust, quickly followed by two more bursts from shoulder held weapons fired from outside the compound.

An unlucky mantid came swooping down at exactly the wrong moment and one of the smaller harpoons ripped into its abdomen with the sound of a hatchet striking a hollow tree. The recoil of the flexible tether jerked the rider off his saddle and he crashed into the heather. The mantid managed a controlled but rough landing on the stony slope and defended its rider as he lay crumpled, continuing to do battle with its spiked forelegs, deflecting projectiles and lances.

The other mantid hovered into view. Its rider disgorged a diffuse spray of energy that fractured into shreds. One stray lump of plasmic shrapnel slid against Alec's back, eroding the armor he was in the midst of pulling on and blistering the exposed skin on the back of his neck. His staff crumbled as another bit of energy spiraled down its shaft, slicing into his hand. He howled and fell to the ground, writhing.

Another harpoon crunched into the thorax of the fallen mantid. Two lines pulled tight. The beast teetered to one side, scraping its wing tips against the rocks. Unfazed, it gathered its rider in its forelegs and spread its wings. With a massive flap it lifted off the ground.

One harpoon ripped out of its side and came springing back at the soldier who had fired it, forcing him to the ground. The second harpoon remained affixed to a small boulder, but the mantid was able to conjure enough lift to pull the boulder off the ground. It came swinging like a wrecking ball, smashing one of the puffball huts to bits and knocking one of the larger harpoon launchers onto its side.

Something bulky beyond the dome of dust blotted out the sun. A leathery rattle of wing beats grew and a dragonfly burst through the dust cloud. It swooped low over the stockade and plucked me off the ground in one smooth motion, its six clawed legs forming a basket beneath my torso.

Karla gasped as I was snatched away. She had stretched for my hand, but the binds preventing her from reaching me. We shared one final glimpse, her face now pocked and pitted with voids as she faded, the moment too brief to shape a single word of goodbye.

We soared off through the dust cloud, pursued by harpoons and other, stranger projectiles. The dragonfly twitched one way and another to avoid their trajectories, but one small harpoon managed to slash through a wingtip.

The barbs failed to grip, tearing through fragile membrane. The harpoon fell to the ground. The sounds of battle receded and the dome of dust dwindled as we glided off over the foothills.

Chapter 38: The First City

The dragonfly circled back to wait for the other raiders. Pulses emanating from the compound struck the dust dome, clotting together large patches that fell as granules, opening gaps. The motes spread to fill them, but in the process, thinned the remaining screen.

The mantid pinned to the boulder by the many-barbed harpoon pitched and teetered, struggling to stay in the air. The swinging stone threw it off balance, but kept the Frelsians at bay as they attempted to bring it down.

The second mantid emerged from the dust, cradling a body in its forelegs. Passing close to harpooned beast, the rider leapt onto its back. He clambered down onto the creature's abdomen, axe in hand, and hacked away at the harpoon impaling it. The shaft splintered and fell away. The boulder struck a ledge and shattered like a bomb. Freed, the mantid surged away from the dust cloud, but its wings were in tatters. It settled onto the slope a short distance away, exhausted.

The other mantid landed next to the injured one, ready to defend. But before the Frelsians could organize their attack, both took to the air. This cued the dragonfly to turn and zoom across the slopes, leading the way away from the spires and towers of Frelsi.

Thick straps secured the saddle where they crossed beneath the dragonfly's thorax. Heavy boots with knobby spurs were visible through the transparent shimmer of wings. "Urszula? Is that you up there?" The rush of wind muffled my words.

Every time the dragonfly zigged or zagged or shifted altitude, I bounced in the loose basket formed by the curl of its legs. I thought for sure it would drop me, but every time it sensed a wiggle, it pulled me closer.

The beast was having a little trouble maintaining its level. One of its wing veins was severed and the membrane attached to it had shredded. It kept rolling to the left due to the loss of lift.

We veered towards a severe gash in the landscape, a steep-walled gorge whose walls were lush and green. A milky creek funneled through its depths, a tinted a pastel blue from the stony flour it carried from the melting glacier.

We dipped below the precipices, descending to a wide, flat gravel bed beside the rushing creek. The dragonfly dropped me gently onto the stones and skittered around to face me, its huge eyes glittering like a jeweled mosaic, palps and labrum gnashing noisily. Why did every giant bug have to act like it wanted to eat me?

Its rider hopped down off the saddle. I glimpsed slender but wiry calves and thighs clad in scales and webbing. Urszula ducked beneath the wings of her mount and came forward. She tossed me an unsmiling glance. Her worried eyes scanned the rim of the gorge.

"Thank you," I said.

She gave no indication that she even heard me. She came over, studied my bindings and touched her scepter to them. They shriveled a bit, but quickly re-plumped and grew thicker.

"They used the very best quality on you. They must think you are a very important or dangerous criminal." She bit her lip and tried again. This time the strands smoked and quivered before collapsing into hollow sheaths that I kicked apart as if they were wet cardboard.

She repeated the process for binds that welded my arms together. Pins and needles shot through my hands and feet as I stretched, finally relieved of the awkward contortions I had been forced to maintain.

A mantid appeared on the lip of the gorge. Urszula whistled and waved her arms. It hopped off the brink and glided down, skidding on the gravel as it landed. It scuttled over and deposited its cargo next to me—the broken and bloody body of a Duster woman. She still breathed, but her condition seemed grave.

Urszula rushed to her side, cradling her head gently in her palms. She checked the woman's eyes and felt for a pulse on her neck. Her face was swollen. Her skull looked lopsided, cracked and depressed in several places. A mixture of clear fluid and blood seeped out of her nose and ears. Both forearms were bent as if she had extra elbows. She was completely unresponsive. I thought for sure she was a goner.

Urszula got up and fetched a pair of leathery flasks from a saddle bag on dragonfly. I assume this was Lalibela, not that I could tell these bugs apart. She poured some of the contents onto her hand and it foamed up on contact. She slathered the stuff all over the woman's head, forming a sort of shampoo helmet. From a second flask, with a pointy nozzle like a wine skin, she squirted something pinkish into the woman's mouth and nostrils.

"Help me straighten her arms," said Urszula, as I hovered behind her.

"Um. How?"

"Hold her upper arm still. I need leverage."

I did as she said, but could hardly watch as she took the woman's broken limb firmly both hands and crunched the bones back into place, before slathering it with more of the foamy stuff. I grimaced and gritted my teeth. I couldn't stand to watch.

"You are squeamish," she said, smirking at me. "Come, you do the next."

"What?"

"Bodies break. You need to learn how to fix them."

"Nah. I can't—"

"Do it!"

We switched places. I got down on my knees, hands trembling and touched the Duster woman's unset arm. She was quite a bit beefier than Urszula, but not much taller. Her skin had broken where the sharp end of a broken bone had gouged it. Blood as red as mine crusted red-brown on her powdery gray skin.

"What do I do?"

"You stretch the broken ends apart and then twist them back the way they should be. Just get them close. The salve will do the rest."

"That is gonna hurt like a—"

"Believe me, she does not feel anything right now. Do it! Before she wakes."

I took a deep breath and grabbed her arm, which was thick with pure muscle. She could have been an Olympic shot-putter.

"Pull!" said Urszula.

I yanked and twisted, producing a crackle that made my own bones cry in sympathy. The woman writhed and groaned, but remained unconscious.

"Very good! Now put some of this." She handed me the flask of salve.

Man, that stuff was freaky! I poured some out on my hand and it came alive, particles digging into my skin, crawling across my knuckle bones. A tingling kicked up that tickled every nerve. I slathered a thick layer of it on the woman's arm and wiped the rest off on my pants, which I realized was a mistake when it crept through the fibers and invaded my knees.

The woman's breathing had strengthened and become more regular, but her head and face remained swollen and misshapen. And yet she retained an earthy prettiness not even her grave injuries could spoil.

"What's her name?" I said.

"Octavia," said Urszula. "My good friend."

"There was a guy, too. On the other, injured mantid."

"Trisk," said Urszula, sighing. "And the mantis is Gabr. But I think they are both lost."

"Oh, I don't know about that," I said. "I saw them get away."

"For true?" said Urszula. "I did not see, but I hope you are right. My friends took a great risk to save you." She studied the wedge of sky above the ravine.

"You guys shouldn't have, really. I'm just some Hemi. Totally expendable."

"No. You are not just some Hemi. You are special."

"Oh, stop," I said. There was that word again. What was it with people here? No one ever told me I was special back home. Except mom, maybe. And now she doesn't even know who I am.

Urszula slid a square of cloth from a pocket in her jerkin and draped it over the woman's stomach. The edges grew to cover her and the surface altered to match the color and texture of the gravel beneath their feet. I still had my own piece of Urszula's shroud, surrounding my shin like a leg warmer.

"Is she gonna be okay?" I said.

Urszula shrugged. "We will see."

She went over to the mantid. Thick yellow fluid dribbled out and puddled onto the stones from a gaping and shredded hole in the creature's side. Urszula stuffed the hole with some bits of fuzz she pulled out of a pouch and daubed on some of the same foamy salve she had used on Octavia.

Rocks tumbled down a chute. Urszula wheeled around and crouched, studying the heights, scepter at the ready. The crippled mantid appeared atop the gully, ridden by the man who had rescued it. They corkscrewed down like a maple seeds, its forewings so shredded it was barely able to fly. They missed the gravel bed, splashing into the creek and skittering ashore before they could be swept away.

Urszula laughed. "You were right! It's Gabr and Trisk! I thought for sure we had lost them." She grabbed me, hugged me and kissed both my cheeks.

***

Trisk was by far the friendliest Duster I had ever met. He was short but sturdy, with a shock of dark hair that rose up like the fur on the back of a frightened cat.

He didn't know much English, but he had a good natured twinkle to his eye and he laughed at almost everything I did, amused by the spectacle of a Hemi hanging with Dusters. I suppose he found it as absurd as a jackrabbit running with wolves.

He and Urszula spent a good hour tending to Gabr's wounds. The mantid had tucked its legs beneath itself and lay drooping in a bed of reeds at the edge of the gravel bank. Seraf stood closeby, alert to the skies, forelegs raised in a protective stance.

A bee came and brought Urszula some nectar. And soon after, flight after flight came winging in. The sky over the gorge came to resemble the landing pattern over Orlando on school vacation week.

The bees fed Gabr and Seraf something solid and pasty that they regurgitated, while Urszula and Trisk partook of the nectar, I declined. My stomach was too hyped up from the day's turmoil.

Once they had done what they could do for Gabr, they came over and patched Lalibela's wing, sewing it together with a transparent thread that flattened and diffused, disappearing into the mend.

"Lalibela came out that fight in fine shape, didn't you, my lovely?" She stroked the bristly, muzzle-like bulge between the dragonfly's eyes. A darkly pigmented juncture between two front plates made it seem like the creature had a permanent smile painted on, although its actual, ugly mouthparts dangled below.

"You guys really shouldn't have come after me. I mean, look... you almost got your friends killed... and that poor bug."

"We came, not just for you," said Urszula. "Raids are important. They keep the Frelsians off-balance, makes them less adventurous."

"We frighten them," said Trisk, grinning.

"For good reason."

"Oh?" She came up to me. "Do we frighten you?"

"A little bit. Yeah."

She laughed. "So how did they manage to catch you? Did a patrol find you? Why did you not use my shroud?"

"I did. But that damned bee gave me away."

"Don't blame it on the poor bee. You should have stayed higher on the mountain. No one would have bothered you up there."

I must have looked surprised or something.

"Yes, the bees told me you went down to the lake. And that 'damned bee' told us you were getting into trouble. That 'damned bee' saved you."

"Appreciate it. But I could have handled this on my own."

"So tell me, I brought you to the mountains so you could free your soul. Is your soul now free?"

"Don't I look free to you?" I stood tall and folded my arms.

She pulled me around and stared into my eyes.

"Pfft! Nothing. Your gaze is still shallow. No change." She shoved me away and made me stumble.

"Dang, is it that obvious?"

Trisk snickered weirdly.

"Yes."

"So I suppose I should get back up that mountain."

"You can't go right now. The Frelsians are alarmed and mobilized. They will have patrols everywhere."

"But I need to get back up there. I don't know how much time I have left... on the other side."

"If you go now they will simply drag you back down to their pens and you will perish. Give them one day to settle down, and I will take you up myself. Only this time you need to stay where I put you. Agreed?"

"Deal," I said.

She scanned the heights of the gorge. "But here is not a safe place to stay. We must leave."

"Safe? Is there such a thing in this world?"

"Yes, there is," said Urszula. "But Yaqob does not want you on our mesa. But no worries. I know another place. Come!" She took my hand and led me to Lalibela's side.

***

We straddled the arched saddle on Lalibela's back, and she immediately began to thrum, getting her flight muscles warmed up. I could feel the power in that hum. I could easily imagine myself on the seat of some large bore Harley.

I looped my arms loosely around Urszula's waist and rested my chin on her shoulder. She smelled pretty much like a biker chick must smell like, all leather and dirty blue jeans.

The thrumming shifted into Lalibela's wings and we lifted off as if suddenly weightless. She spiraled up out of the gorge, passing a steady train of bees still coming down. How much nectar and vomit did those Dusters and their mantids need?

We curved away from Frelsi and the glaciered reaches hanging above it, heading further up the main river valley, away from the pitted plains.

"Was that your woman you were lying with, in the compound?"

"My woman? You mean Karla?"

"She is your woman, yes?"

"I don't own any woman. Karla belongs to Karla."

I could feel Urszula's cheek muscles stiffen as she grinned.

Frelsi was just a speck behind us now on the massif, and we flew right past Yaqob's mesa and the tablelands across the valley. Clearly, Urszula was taking me someplace new.

We flew over an utterly flat and barren void in the landscape. Billowing thermals buffeted us as we crossed this mini-desert, heading towards a range of spiky peaks fronted and flanked by a series of slanting terraces and plateaus that shed the light like the facets on the face of a gem stone. Banks of puffy clouds with gilded tops wafted against the base of the peaks.

Beyond a gap in the mountains, the landscape seemed to stop dead just before the horizon, as if the deity drawing the creation map had run out of ink. But then I realized I was looking at a shoreline. Beyond it stretched a deep, calm ocean; devoid of whitecaps.

Lalibela dove like a kamikaze at the seamless, thousand foot cliff that reared up from the heap of splintered rubble that marked the end of the barrens. I gritted my teeth, dug my heels into the saddle and clasped Urszula's waist a little tighter. These bugs should really come with seatbelts.

It looked we were going to dash straight into the cliffs. Once again, I thought this was gonna be it. But a rise of air bumped us up over the lip of the precipice. We skimmed across a slant of grassland studded with fleshy-leafed trees—succulents, just like the ones that grew on the other mesa, supersized versions of those rubbery houseplants my grandmother used to keep.

As we flew, we flushed these dazzling bugs from the branches of the trees, their wings bearing zebra-like bands of turquoise and magenta. They were leaf hoppers as big as condors.

Lalibela swerved to catch one on the fly, and I nearly fell off the saddle. Urszula threw her arm back in time to steady me.

"Sorry. She must be hungry."

Lalibela wasted no time getting her nourishment from all the crunching and sucking sounds and bits of leaf hopper that came flying back.

We headed for a second, narrower terrace below the talus fields that skirted the sharp peaks. There were more trees here, many choked with vines, and the ruins of a city many times the size of the complex on Urszula's mesa, but with the same architecture. Polyhedral stones, fitted without mortar, formed an elaborate network of arches and bridges and ramps, mostly crumbled but many intact. Some of the houses looked ready to occupy. All they needed was a good sweeping out and new roofs.

Lalibela pulled up and landed softly on a green shaft bearing a flower bud larger than my head. Below us, orchids wafted in the breeze, their blooms as broad as sunflowers.

Lalibela's weight bent the stalk completely over, providing a narrow, bristly gangplank down to the ground. I climbed off the saddle and made my way down. It was like walking a tightrope, but I did myself proud by slipping and making a fool of myself in front of Urszula, who had hopped off straight off the saddle, landing nimbly as a cat.

"Where the heck did you bring me?"

Urszula leaned back against a leaf as wide a cot and tucked her arms behind her head.

"This is Neueden. The first. When this colony died out, the abandoned city near Frelsi where they are clearing the ruins became the second center before it too perished. A city on the site of Frelsi was the third, until the souls from the tunnels displaced us and renamed it. Our sad, little mesa is now the fourth and probably the last. It was intended only an outpost, a watch station for the larger cities."

"So there was a war over Frelsi?"

"Not much of one. Most of my brothers and sisters were scattered across the lands. Just as now, the Frelsians had the advantage in numbers. But war is nothing new to us. There has always been war. Wars against the insects. Wars against each other. One cannot be human without war, no?"

"I used to like to think we could, but... I'm not so sure anymore."

Lalibela buzzed her thorax and clacked her mouthparts raucously.

"Ah, my baby is hungry," said Urszula. She spoke sharply to her in that bizarre tongue of the Dusters and clapped her hands.

The dragonfly fluttered off to the lower plateau.

"Happy hunting, my love!"

I moseyed over to a ruined staircase and started to sit. Something blinked at me from under a cluster of leaves.

"Gah!" I shot to my feet.

Urszula chuckled. "Calm down! It is only one of my fore-brothers." She loped over and stripped away a veil of leaves from the Old One's face. The rest of his body was layered deep with humus and strangled with woody vines.

"There. This will give him a better view. Not that he cared. He had plenty to meditate and contemplate on the underside of those leaves."

"He can see us?"

"Who knows?" said Urszula. "But in case he does, we do him a kindness."

Now that I had noticed him, I saw bodies everywhere, embedded in the landscape. Legs protruding from beneath trees. Faces gazing straight up at the sky. One root-encased couple was seated on a stone bench holding hands, their skin weathered and bleached and scaled with lichens.

They would have freaked me out a lot less had they been mere skeletons. There was something grotesque in their level of preservation and in that little bit of life that they retained. Maybe I had seen too many B movies in my time, but I couldn't help thinking of them as flesh-eating zombies.

"These are the oldest of the Old Ones," said Urszula. "Our founders. The original rebels of the Deeps. They are to be revered."

"Yeah, just like you revere Yaqob."

Urszula took a deep breath. "That is different. That is personal. When he takes the long sleep, I will then respect him."

"So what does this to them? Is this some kind of disease?"

"Nothing at all like that. It is just the long sleep. It happens to us all."

Lalibela swooped and darted across the lower terrace, flushing flocks of those day glow zebra leafhoppers. Clouds wafted slowly through the meadows like enormous sheep.

"Oh? Is that gonna happen to you?"

"Eventually," said Urszula. "Souls are finite receptacles. They fill. One can only hold so much experience of a place. When they fill, souls move on."

I wasn't sure whether to feel happy or sorry for her. "So where do they go? Heaven?"

"Only the Old Ones know. And they aren't talking."

"So maybe it is Heaven?"

Urszula shook her head. "I don't think so. The powers that be would not be so charitable. Not to those they intended to spend eternity in the Deeps."

"Well, here's to hoping you stick around... at least a little while longer."

She arched an eyebrow. "No worries. I am a relative newcomer. Less than a hundred years have passed since my arrival. Sixty in the Deeps. Thirty-seven here."

"And you said you died when you were thirteen. Dang! That makes you a hundred and ten years old!"

"Nineteen aught two. May twenty-three. That was my birthday."

A bee popped out of the sky and landed on Urszula's outstretched forearm. It crawled up her arm and she accepted its gift of nectar.

"Man, that didn't take long."

"They go everywhere, these bees. They are our eyes, our ears. See all. Know all. It may look like they serve us, but sometimes I am not so sure. Sometimes I think we are here to serve them."

The bee flitted over to me. I wouldn't let it land, but I accepted its offering in my hands. I refused to be fed mouth to mouth by a bug, especially after seeing the gunk they coughed up for the mantids.

"I have to go," said Urszula. "I need to check on Octavia and Gabr. They are vulnerable in that gorge with only Trisk to defend them. And Yaqob will not pleased with our action. This will require some careful explaining."

"Wait. You're not gonna leave me here all alone with all these... things?"

"They are not 'things.' They are my brothers and sisters. You will be perfectly safe. No Frelsians ever come here. They have neither the means nor the inclination."

"Yeah, but... you don't understand. These... people... really, really creep me out. I don't want to be stuck here alone with them, especially after it gets dark. They scare me, Urszula. And I'm... surrounded!"

Indignance flashed into her face. She took a stance, legs apart, hands on her hips, elbows akimbo that had me prepare for a barrage of derision and ridicule. But as she studied me, her posture softened. Her aggression dissipated.

"Give me one night," she said. "And then I will fetch you. I promise you will find it peaceful. I come here myself when I need to get away from Yaqob."

"Night?" I began to hyperventilate at the prospect of spending a night here alone. It would be like being in that hollow again, only worse.

Out of the blue, my heart started thumping at maximum velocity. What was going on with me?

"I will send Seraf to fetch you tomorrow. Climb into her saddle and she will carry you to me."

"Yeah, if she doesn't eat me first."

"Seraf will not eat you. Seraf is a good mantid. Seraf obeys me."

My head swam and swooned. I had to sit down or I would pass out. I collapsed onto a stone.

She cocked her head at me and scrunched her eyes, quizzically. "What is wrong with you?"

"I don't know. I think... I think I must be having a panic attack."

She came over and took me into her arms. She pulled my head against her boyish bosom and stroked my hair.

"Oh, James, James, James. How does such a frail soul end up in a place like this? You really are just a boy. A little boy. Unfit for this world. Even I was tougher and I was much younger than you when I went straight to the Deeps."

"Were you... scared?" I said, already soothed by her touch.

"Of course. Who wouldn't be? The Deeps are not a nice place. Vast nothingness. Souls tormented and driven insane by the unending dust and light. The monstrous Horus, traveling the skies, devouring all." She sighed, impatiently. "Though, unlike me, you asked to leave your life behind. You summoned the Liminality. You should think twice about opening doors when you do not know what horror lies beyond."

"Yeah, well. It wasn't like I thought the grass would be greener over here. I didn't even expect there would be anything more. I just wanted my life to stop. I wanted off the train."

"You can't leave existence," she said. "A soul, once created, never ends. But I can tell you from experience, this existence is better than some."

Lalibela came fluttering back, a plant hopper in her grasp. She crash landed on the base of a ruined tower, knocking over a stack of loose stone.

Urszula pulled away from me and climbed the rubble up to her mount. "I will send Seraf to fetch you tomorrow. Don't worry. There is plenty of prey here for a mantis. She will not be tempted to eat you."

"I will see you again, won't I?" I didn't know why I felt so compelled to ask right then.

"Of course," she said, squinting with puzzlement.

If only I could be as certain. But I could sense the Deeps lurking like an ant lion in its trap, and me an ant perched on its crumbling brink.
Chapter 39: Thwarted

The instant Karla's chin struck the cold, hard concrete the last vestiges of her spirit snapped out of the Liminality. She had rolled off the long crate onto the floor. The horror of that giant insect plucking James from her side remained fresh in her retinas.

A steadier rain now pelted the casement window, the droplets refracting the glow of a lone street lamp. She got up, legs all shaky, and wobbled over to the staircase, feeling her way along the walls.

Upstairs, the rumble of Renfrew's baritone alternated with Jessica's liquid laughter. Their voices fell silent when she made the first tread creak. Feet thudded against the hardwood. A door flew open, blasting her with light. She squinted against it, her eyes tearing up.

Jessica stood wielding a mop like a halberd. Renfrew peered over her shoulder, pistol in hand, his face contorted in puzzlement.

"Don't tell me you spent the whole night down there, love."

"It's still night," said Karla.

"You did that thing you do, didn't you?" said Jessica. "You went to that place you go. So did you see him? How is he?"

"Not good," said Karla, topping the stairs and entering the kitchen.

"See who?" said Sturgie, from atop a stack of moving boxes in the parlor. "Who's down there?"

"James," said Jessica.

"He's here?"

"Karla gets these visions," said Jessica. "It's a sort of telepathy."

"Not quite," said Karla, horrified by the sight of herself in the mirror across the hall, hair all askew, cobwebs dangling from one ear. She raked her fingers through her hair to at least get the strands all flowing in the same direction. "But we need to reach him as soon as possible. His condition is worsening. But the good news is, he thinks Izzie is in the same church as him, one floor above. So they must be in Inverness. Mr. Joshua could not have gotten her to Edinburgh or Aberdeen so quickly."

"We're ready whenever you are, darlin,'" said Renfrew. "I've been raring to go all night."

Karla saw that he had changed into another set of what he considered his Sunday best, complete with a tie the color of spoiled mackerel over a brown shirt and natty woolen trousers a bit frayed at the cuffs.

Jessica wore a flowery print skirt of a weight and cut inappropriate for the weather. She pulled a white cotton sweater over her shoulders. They were clearly eager to begin the rescue.

Both looked far more presentable than Sturgie with his un-tucked flannel shirt and shredded jeans. He kept to the shadows, avoiding all eye contact with his Uncle.

"Do you all manage to get some rest?" said Karla.

"I had a catnap here and there," said Jessica. "Would have gotten more if Renfrew hadn't stormed to the window every time a car door slammed."

Karla rinsed her face in the bathroom sink and wet down her fly-aways. What she needed was a nice, hot shower, but the bathroom was devoid of soap or towels. Papa had even packed up the toilet paper. She wondered where he intended to move.

She shook her hands dry and went box to box in the front hall searching for some clean clothes. They contained nothing but books and kitchen utensils.

"Mind if I check the ones you're sitting on?" she said to Sturgie, who popped to his feet and went off to lurk in another corner.

The topmost box was stuffed with Papa's winter coats. She closed the flaps as soon as she realized it, almost expecting something mangy and toothed to leap at her throat. Too many bad memories were attached to those coats.

She struck gold with the one underneath. Half the contents of her bedroom drawers were crammed into it. She pulled out one of her old Oxford cloth blouses and a long, jean dress to go with some clean underwear and socks. In lieu of a shower, some clean clothes would go a long way toward making her feel human again.

"You're awfully mopey," she said to Sturgie. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," said Sturgie.

"It's because Renfrew's in the room," said Jessica. "They're not speaking to each other."

"Why not?" said Karla.

"Don't ask," said Jessica. "Just leave them be."

"Oh come on. We have bigger things to worry about. You two should let bygones be bygones."

"We'll sooner be a hail storm in hell," said Jessica, smirking.

"What could Sturgie have possibly done that was so horrible?"

"Me?" said Sturgie, his pitch rising to a whine. "It was his doing."

"Oh?"

Renfrew gazed at his shoes.

"Sturgie received top notch grades in his A levels," said Jessica. "He was a cinch to get into Leeds. But then Ren sabotaged his application."

"How?"

"That's enough!" said Renfrew.

"He forged a scathing letter from Sturgie's headmaster," said Jessica. "The same one who had already written Sturgie a glowing letter of referral. But by the time the admissions committee sorted things out, they had already made their selections."

"Renfrew! How could you do such a thing?"

Renfrew shrugged, his eyes wandering, lost. "I didn't want him to leave the farm."

"A lot of good that did," said Sturgie. "You forced me twice as far from Brynmawr."

"There were plenty of fine colleges in Wales."

"Not for the kind of business degree I want."

"Music," sneered Renfrew. "Now what kind of career is that? You'll end up like Linval, booking bands at pubs and living off the scrapings."

"There are bigger opportunities as well," said Sturgie.

"What a bunch of bollocks! We had an agreement. You were to take over the farm when I retire."

"I was twelve for Chrissakes. You can't expect a binding commitment from a child. You know how important music is to me."

"I promised my dying brother I'd take care of you."

"By keeping me out of college?" Sturgie's face was slowly turning a shade of red just south of purple.

"Alright you two, break it off!" said Jessica. "We don't need this to devolve into fisticuffs. Keep your attention on the task at hand. We have friends who need saving."

Karla sighed and gathered up her fresh clothes. "Let me change and I'll take us all for coffee. Near the train station, there's a shop that opens at five for travelers. We need our heads calm and clear."

***

The car idled curbside, facing the train station where Karla had last laid eyes on James on this side of existence. What a fool she had been to force him away. How she wished she could have a do-over.

None of these current troubles had to happen. They could all be in Rome right now, eking out a meager but sane life together. The Liminality need only be a disturbance in their wake, ripples smoothing in their memories.

Jessica returned to the car with a tray of coffees all steaming in their Styrofoam cups. The rain drummed a grim tattoo on the roof.

Sturgie, at the wheel, looked to her for instructions.

"Hang a left on Friar's Lane and then left again onto Bank Street. We'll drive along the river and catch a glimpse of the church. Left again just past the Salvation Army store and we can catch another peek from the side. Do not slow down. We don't want to make it too obvious that we're casing the place."

Sturgie nodded and pulled out of the space, heading for the road along the estuary that drained Loch Ness. Every sopping surface glistened in their headlights. There was no hint yet of dawn.

As they made the turn onto Bank, Karla sank her nails into her cup and inhaled deeply. This was closer than she had ever desired to come to the place that had been the center of her torments.

The squat, gothic redoubt of St. Aynsley's sat directly across the estuary from St. Mary's, the more elegant gathering place of Inverness' mainstream Catholics. It hunkered on a tiny lane, one layer back from the water's edge, just past the footbridge that in theory might have connected the two parishes. But there may as well have been a universe between them and their Papist brethren.

St. Aynsley's had had a long, sorry history. Named after one of Scotland's first evangelists, it had been gutted and burned to a shell by a mob after the defeat of the Jacobite rebellion. Rebuilt, it was quickly superseded by St. Mary's but was retained to serve the poorer, immigrant half of Inverness, limping along until the archdiocese shut it down as part of a consolidation.

It was built like a fortress, with wings arranged in a stout cross. Its thick, stone-block walls and beveled faces could probably withstand an artillery barrage. It was too small to sustain a viable congregation without extreme tithing, which was exactly how the Sedevacantists managed in lieu of Vatican support.

"Guys, it's coming up on the left," said Karla. And there it was, awash in light from a row of streetlamps and gone again in a flash. That mere glimpse sufficed to quicken her heartbeat and set her palms perspiring. She had never expected to see the place again. Ever.

"Left! Here!"

Sturgie yanked the wheel and the car shimmied into the turn, but the wheels managed to catch on the slick stone before they fishtailed into a lamp post.

"Stop right here!" said Karla as they came to the alley that offered a side view of St. Aynsley's front entry.

Sturgie stomped on the brakes.

"Jesus, Karla! You need to give me a little more warning with these maneuvers."

Karla was too absorbed in the scene to comment. The pavements surrounding the church were abandoned, not unusual for such a dreary Wednesday morning, though; she had expected at least some of Papa's minions to be lurking about. Apparently, they were not expecting any rescue attempts, which was a very good development if true.

An old man with an unruly comb-over rounded the corner and made his way up the stone steps with the assistance of a multi-footed cane. Struggling against the wind to keep control of his tattered umbrella, he moved with the deliberation of a mountaineer ascending K2's final pitch. When he finally reached the top, he paused, all out of breath and studied a notice posted on the door. He made the sign of a cross and re-gathered himself with a sober determination. Step by step, he descended back to street level and hobbled off from whence he had come.

"We need to go see what that says," said Sturgie.

"I'll go," said Renfrew, clicking open his door. "You all stay in the car."

"Let me come with," said Jessica. "It'll look less threatening, more... domestic. You swagger like a bleeding commando when you're by yourself."

The two of them bustled over to the church arm in arm, their eyes wandering like shoplifters in a swanky boutique. They returned at an even brisker pace and rejoined them, dripping, in the car.

"What did it say?" said Sturgie.

"There will be no vespers this morning due to circumstances within our control," said Jessica.

"Within? Don't you mean beyond?" said Sturgie.

"Freudian slip," said Renfrew.

"So what do we do now?" said Jessica.

"How about we bust our way in?" said Renfrew.

"Impossible," said Karla. "This place is as solid as a bunker."

"There's got to be a weak point," said Renfrew, tapping on the stained glass.

"The point is, we can't break in without causing a scene," said Karla. "We need to be discreet."

Renfrew sighed. "Listen, I know you have your reservations about getting the law involved, but maybe it's time we called the constabulary."

"We've been over this," said Karla, rolling her eyes.

"Sometimes you need to trust the system to do its job."

"The system is rigged. It failed us before and it will fail us again."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" said Renfrew. "I'm all ears."

"They have got to open their doors some time," said Karla. "This is the only Sedevacantist chapel within a hundred miles. You need to understand, these people need to have their Latin mass. They're like junkies."

"Doesn't sound like you've thought this out very well," said Renfrew, sighing.

No one said a word. They all sat and stared as the rain pattered on the roof of the car.

"How about we go get some breakfast, then?" said Sturgie. "That way, we can talk... and think about this some more."

"Aye," said Renfrew. "Let's eat."

***

Karla directed them to an old stevedore and seaman's club on the waterfront that also served the general public. This minimized their chances of running into Papa's friends, who preferred their eateries devoid of immigrant laborers.

Renfrew ordered full Scottish breakfasts all around, though Karla could barely touch her plate, her stomach knotted with worry over Isobel, James and Linval.

Renfrew tried again to convince her to contact the constabulary, but backed off when Jessica and Sturgie took her side on the matter. Karla could tell from the look in his eye that he was one crisis short of dialing 999.

She knew exactly what would happen if he called. Isobel would remain under Papa's custody, while she would be detained and charged with contributing to the delinquency of a minor, perhaps even kidnapping.

Karla was forced to concede that freeing Izzie would be a heck of a lot simpler than going after James. Having suffered through deprogramming sessions of her own at St. Aynsley's, she was fairly certain they were keeping her in a basement room reserved for exorcisms and other arcane ceremonies. While the basement had direct access to the street, the sub-basement was a dead-end, with no exits or windows.

She couldn't bear the thought of abandoning James in his cell, but maybe once Izzie was free and secure with the others, she had decided to go after James on her own. She knew Renfrew wouldn't approve, but he didn't have to know just yet.

After breakfast, they filed back to the car. The rain was letting up, but a fog settled in over the water and began to creep ashore. Jessica took the wheel and they drove up the estuary for another pass by the church. As before, they found it locked up tight.

"Pull up here and let me out," said Sturgie. "I want to case this place on foot. Get a better feel for what we're up against."

"Too risky, Sturg," said Karla. "They'll take you if they realize what you're up to. These people don't fool around. They certainly didn't with James or Linval."

"Don't worry. I'll be cool," said Sturgie. "These guys have no idea what I look like. To them, I'm just a name in Linval's address book. I'll act like I'm waiting for a ride or something."

"Make one pass," said Karla. "Don't linger."

They dropped Sturgie off beside a wide puddle among the cobbles. As they drove away, the pit of Karla's stomach collapsed. The last thing they needed was for Sturgie to be taken as well.

Jessica orbited the church in crude circuits, varying her course with each pass without drifting too far away. Though they passed many a familiar landmark, Karla felt none of the warmth she supposed most people felt when they came home after a long absence.

But Inverness had not ever been a home to her. Negative experience had a way of tainting even the quaintest locale for eternity.

As they waited for a light to turn, Karla's gaze lingered on a woman standing on the corner, her hair ginger and gray under a floppy rain hat, her long, purple dress splattered with drops. The woman's head turned. Karla gasped.

It was Ida Mackie, one of Papa's staunchest supporters. The miserable woman had never hesitated to report any lapse she perceived in her and Isobel's every lapse in behavior directly to Papa. And yet, there was this distinct lack of recognition in Ida's eyes. How could the woman not know who she was looking at?

The light turned green.

"Go!" said Karla. "That lady, she's one of them!"

Jessica slammed her foot on the accelerator a little too abruptly and peeled away, zooming past the red sandstone walls of Inverness Castle.

Her phone buzzed. Renfrew snatched it up off the seat. "Hullo?" said Renfrew. "Yeah. We'll be right there. Meet you at the corner." Renfrew's eyes popped wide and wild. "It's Sturgie. He says the church doors... they're open for mass. But there's coppers out front. They've brought in security."

Chapter 40: Mr. O

The cells of Lalibela's wings glittered like mirror shards. Urszula rode tall in her saddle, silhouetted against the sun, wild hair whipping in the turbulence.

My chest clamped tight as I watched them dwindle in the sky. Here I was again, watching her leave, acutely aware that every glimpse might be my last. Why it stung so much to see her go, baffled me. Was I that scared of being alone?

I turned and clambered up into the ruins, looking for a place where the Old Ones didn't lay quite as thickly. But those damned mummies were everywhere.

A human femur, bleached white, protruded from a slough. Knuckle bones lay strewn in the dry groove of a drainage channel. Apparently not all bodies were preserved.

Most of the mummies were tucked away in pleasant little nooks with pretty views, as if these people knew what was happening to them and had time to seek out cozy places to settle into for eternity. The bones, in contrast, were dispersed more randomly, pinned under blocks, often with skulls crushed and limbs shattered. These were obviously victims of violence.

Other signs of calamity riddled these ruins. Slabs upended or torn out of walls. Fractured and toppled columns. Spherical pocks and pits gouged into massive flagstones, their bottoms retaining bits of pulverized stone.

The damage looked far from recent. Thick-stemmed, bonsai-like shrubs grew from some of the cracks. Ferns took advantage of the moisture that collected in the deeper pits.

War must have stricken this place sometime after many of the Old Ones had already begun to enter their long sleep. Given the newness of Frelsi, it had to have involved Dusters fighting Dusters. This wasn't totally unexpected, given what Urszula had told me, but it sure was disappointing.

I sat down on a sun-warmed block of stone overlooking the lower terraces. A spring trickled nearby, its musical gurgle calming to my nerves.

Sleepily, I admired an ivied wall that supported the next terrace. In its diversity, it reminded me of one of those living billboards that were gaining popularity in cities around the world—vertical landscapes planted with grasses and shrubs whose diverse colors and textures created an artistic effect.

An eye blinked at me from behind the greenery.

"Gah!" I lurched back, sliding off the stone, landing hard on my elbow.

A mummy sat upright on a bench-like ledge at the base of the wall, peering through the draping foliage.

I got up and moved away but something about this one made me do a double-take. And then it hit me. Those heavy-lidded eyes and that rotund face made him a dead ringer for Mr. Ortiz, the guy who had tended the gardens of some of our wealthier neighbors back in Ft. Pierce.

Mr. O had always been kind to me. I had known him since I was a little thing. He would see me playing in the backyard and bring over toads and interesting beetles for me to see. Every baseball, Frisbee or water rocket that went astray, he would retrieve and return, always with a kindly smile and never a sharp word. He even taught me how to make screech whistles out of grass blades.

This mummy's resemblance to Mr. O was uncanny even through that grey blotchiness that all Dusters sported and all the withering and weathering he had suffered from being exposed to the elements for so long.

I knew it couldn't actually be him. Mr. Ortiz had a thin corona of fuzz surrounding his bald spot. This guy had a full head of crusted and matted hair. So maybe he wasn't an exact replica, but if he wasn't so gray, he could have passed as the real Mr. O's brother.

I couldn't help being drawn to him, desperate as I was for any semblance of familiarity in this world. That placid, half-smile, sad but kindly, was so like Mr. O's, it disarmed me.

Not wanting to leave just yet, I settled back onto the stone. It was just like old times when I was bored and I would climb the fence and watch the real Mr. O at work. He would sidle by and tell me stories about growing up in the Dominican.

"It must bug the crap out of you watching all these weeds get so shaggy. I could picture you taking your machete to all this. You'd get it all straightened it out in a jiffy, wouldn't you, Mr. O?"

I imagined for a second that he had nodded a millimeter or so, but it was probably the wind in the ivy. There was so much wisdom behind those eyes. I wished he could speak.

A bee came buzzing, and before I could react, it landed on my back and crawled onto my shoulder extruding a bubble of nectar from its crop. I accepted its hospitality and drank up. The stuff tasted better and was way more energizing than those little five hour energy drinks they sold at the 7-Eleven.

Something long and shiny caught my eye from a pile of rubble and bones by Mr. O's feet. It looked like a sword, its metal pitted but gleaming, without a speck of tarnish or rust.

"Holy crap, Mr. O! I think I found you a machete."

I shooed the bee off my back and went over and tugged at it, but it was wedged in tight. It had a fancy hilt of wood and leather that was all punky and rotten. It crumbled in my hand.

I rolled some stones off the heap, gripped the sword in both hands and pulled with all my might. It came free with a loud zing that sizzled in the air. The blade had more heft than those souvenir grade samurai swords I tended to Weave, but something told me that this weapon was not a product of Weaving. A Woven blade would have reverted back to roots in all the time this thing had been laying under the rubble. On closer inspection, I could see the wavy patterns created by endless folding and hammering.

What a lucky find! I'm not sure I had it in me to Weave even a letter opener at this point. Weaving never worked when I was feeling timid or scared, and I was feeling both right now.

But my confidence grew with this potent mass in my hands, and a little confidence went a long way when it came to Weaving. I picked some long grass and wrapped it around the base of the sword where the hilt had come apart.

I pressed my hands over it, and when they parted, I found a brand new hilt of burl and rawhide. Beaming, I showed off my handiwork to Mr. O.

***

Me and Mr. O sat together and watched the sun go down. But then it came time to find myself a shelter, while there was still a little glow left in the sky. There were plenty of ruins but I chose one of the few spaces that were still partially roofed with flat stone slabs. It was L-shaped, with a hall-like narrowness that kept it cozy. The bend in the layout gave me a hideaway where I wouldn't have to stare straight out into the darkness.

Once I got the floor cleared of rubble, I made myself a bed of ferns and settled in under Urszula's shroud. I was feeling calm and drowsy for a change and looking forward to tuning out of consciousness.

Out of nowhere, this horrible, buzzing screech wound up like a siren. It persisted for a ten count before dying away. It sounded like katydids chirping through amplifiers. Fingernails scraping chalk boards sounded more pleasant. After the briefest of silences, a barrage of screeching kicked up all around the lower terraces, building into a continuous din.

The noise was unrelenting. The noise just went on and on and on. I pulled the shroud over my head, but it didn't help one bit.

And then, just outside my shelter, something bulky scraped through the rubble piles, knocking over stones. I pushed myself into the farthest recesses of my shelter. I didn't care what it was, I just wanted it to go away.

The damned thing climbed right onto the shelter and clattered over the roof slabs, blotting out the stars that had been visible through the gaps. It made a sound like air escaping from an inner tube.

When it finally moved on and I had recovered my breath, I piled up any loose stone I could find to barricade myself in. It was a token gesture. If anything seriously wanted me as prey, there was not much to stop it from digging me out. I could tell this was going to be a long night.

***

Curled up under Urszula's shroud, fingertips touching the flat of the sword, I listened to monsters come and go all night. Their feet clicked against the stones outside. Their antennae slithered, probing the gaps in the walls.

In the midst of all this, my purchase on this existence began to slip. I didn't fade. I oscillated, flitting between the worlds with transitions so rapid, I inhaled from one world and exhaled into the other.

It was dark in both places so sounds and smells were my only cues to what universe I inhabited from moment to moment. The acrid musk of piss and mold alternated with mineral and duff. Echoes of pain lagged and lingered, so the hurting didn't tell me much.

For once, it was that cell in the church basement that provided a sense of escape. There, I found glorious silence. And its monsters were human and predictable.

I knew, any moment my soul could blink out of both existences and end up in a third totally unfamiliar and possibly worse than anything I had yet experienced—the Deeps.

The oscillations slowed and eventually ceased, my presence stabilizing in the din and darkness of those Duster ruins. Exhaustion helped me tune out the noise and transport me through a night that seemed to last a hundred years.

When the first light began to sift between the roofing slabs, the crickets' chirping had wound down to a random and half-hearted scraping here and there. One last, defiant screech came screaming out of the blue, followed by silence. Absolute, dead silence.

I pulled off the shroud and watched it shrink, stuffing it in my pocket when had contracted to the size of a bandanna. I took apart my barrier stone by stone, and waddled out into the soft, dawn light.

There had to be a spring somewhere that some Old One wasn't using as a footbath. I found a cool trickle burbling down a channel carved into a ledge and had my fill.

A fuzzy speck appeared out over the barrens. I shielded my eyes against the glare of the sun, craned at the sky, hoping it was Urszula, returning to fetch me. But this was a riderless mantis, escorted by a flight of bees that rode the mantid's draft like a school of pilot fish. Its saddle was empty.

It landed first on the lower terrace, exhausted after a long flight. I sprinted through the ruins to the edge of the upper cliffs. It perched on one of the larger succulents, watching the occasional leafhopper glide by as a quartet of bees circled overhead.

When the mantid spotted me, its wings burst into action. In two, short hopping flights it landed on the upper terrace across a stone platform from me. I assumed it was Seraf, but I wasn't sure. There were scars on her wing case, but all of these mantids seemed to have them. She stood there staring at me, cocking her head at an angle that sharpened with each step closer.

I stood there, heart pounding like a novice lion tamer, unable to get over the fact that it was a predator and I was a meal. I told myself that this had to be Seraf. She expected me to approach her. After all, Urszula had sent her here to fetch me.

I stepped forward with the sword loose in my grip, thinking I should go up and pat her side, calm her the way one would reassures a horse, let her know that my intentions were friendly.

She lurched back, clacked her mouthparts and threatened me with her forelegs. That gave me pause. I thought maybe I had startled her by moving too quickly, so I kept my motions slow and deliberate this time, like a man walking on the moon.

The mantid hissed and lunged, slapping the sword out of my hand with one swipe of her spiny forelegs, bobbing and weaving as if expecting me to counter. I scurried back and took cover behind a fallen pillar.

So much for my ride. Me and the mantid just stared at each other, neither of us daring to make a move. Gradually, she smoothed her wing cases, lowered her forelegs and flew down to the lower terrace to hunt among the succulents.

Now what was I supposed to do? If she came back up, I guess I could ditch the sword. If... she came back up here.

I just sat there on the edge of the platform and watched her hunt. The bees scattered. Two of them flew back over the barrens the way they had come. One went down to the lower terrace and appeared to harass Seraf. The other landed hard right in front of me and this one had no interest in offering me any nectar. It did this agitated and buzzy little dance.

"Sorry, but I don't speak bee," I said.

It repeated the dance, same exact steps, buzzing louder, stomping its feet against the stone.

"I told you, I don't understand."

If an insect could show exasperation in its body language, I'm pretty sure that's what I saw. It flew off and joined the other one in harassing Seraf, probably figuring it would have an easier time getting its point across to a fellow insect than some dumb ape.

I retrieved the sword and wandered off, hungry and confused. Not knowing where else to go, what else to do, I moseyed over to Mr. O's terrace corner of the terrace.

"Hey, Mr. O," I said, with the familiar ease with which I might greet the real Mr. Ortiz. "Rough night, eh? Well, for me anyway. I guess those things that go bump in the night don't bother you, do they? Good thing. I guess there's not much you could do about it if they... ate... Old Ones."

He wore the same placid smile.

"And those crickets! Man! I hope you can't hear them."

I wedged the point of the sword between some paving stones and twanged it. Maybe it was no way to treat a sword, but this metal was tough enough to take it.

"Looks like another sunny day, eh? When was the last time it rained around here? I suppose that's good for you. I mean, with you being exposed to the elements and all. I'd hate to be in your spot when a real toad strangler of a rainstorm comes around. The way your head's tilted back like that, the water must get up into your nose. Do you... even breathe? I wonder."

I held my palm up to his face and felt not a hint of breath coming from his nostrils. I snapped my fingers an inch from his eyes. He didn't flinch or blink. I sighed.

"I sure wish you could talk. It sure would be nice to have someone to talk to." I scanned the tiered ruins. "I bet you could tell me all about this place. I'm sure a guy like you has stories to tell. It must suck to have to keep them all to yourself."

I looked at him and he just stared back with that same blank smile, like some guy kicking back with a beer and a sitcom on a Friday night. Every once in a while he blinked, but his expression never changed.

I yanked the sword out of the crevice and pointed it at his face.

"I command you to speak your mind, sir!" I snickered. I was just goofing around. I tucked the sword over my shoulder and started to walk away.

Mr. O sputtered and hacked. His arms and legs began to flail.

I lurched away, nearly crapping my pants. "Oh my God!"

He rolled on the ground, coughing and gasping for breath, his eyes bulging in shock. Air rattled through his lungs. He slammed his eyes shut and screamed.

I didn't know what to do. He acted like he was suffocating, but he was breathing. It wasn't like I was going to give him mouth to mouth.

He rolled over onto his hands and knees and looked up at me. He muttered in a low and scratchy voice, speaking that guttural language that the Dusters used with each other.

He stared, eyes pleading, repeating the same thing over and over.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

He crawled towards me, one hand reaching out to me, tears running down his face. I backed away slowly.

You would think a guy would be pleased to be woken from years of paralysis, but he sure didn't act like I had done him any favors.

"I didn't mean to do this. It was an accident. I'm so sorry."

He collapsed and cried, writhing in utter anguish, narrow chest heaving with dry sobs. I felt so guilty for doing this to him. I wished I could take that sword and send him back to his previous condition, but I was afraid I might only make things worse. I just stood, helpless, and watched him suffer.

The quakes shaking his body eventually eased, and apart from an unpredictable aftershock or two, his breathing quieted and he became calm.

I brought him some water that I scooped from a spring in a big, floppy leaf. Most of it ran right through his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He was sitting up now but he was having trouble coordinating his movements.

Face damp with viscous tears, he sat and picked at the bits of vine that clung to the deep creases in his withered skin. A pair of bees landed on the ledge beside us, butting heads, wagging their abdomens. They took turns feeding Mr. O nectar and some of that pasty stuff before flying off, one to the lower terrace, the other towards the barrens beyond.

I felt responsible for what I had done to Mr. O. He looked so weak and vulnerable. I couldn't just leave him lying there. I thought it would be good to get him under some shelter.

So I slipped my arms under his back and legs and picked him up. He didn't object. He seemed totally dejected and resigned to whatever fate had in mind for him.

He was even lighter than Urszula—bird light—as if his bones were hollow. He smelled like truffles and turpentine. His eyes were closed, his chin tucked against his chest. He sobbed quietly.

As I carried him, another bee came out of nowhere and landed on his chest even as I carried him, ejecting another dollop of nectar and paste into his mouth. A whole train of bees followed, force-feeding him until his face was sticky with nectar.

His flesh was filling out, his skin swelled before my eyes, creases filling, wrinkles smoothing, like those instant grow pills that expanded into spongy alligators when you tossed one in a glass of water.

He was getting heavier and stronger every second. Before we even reached my shelter, he wriggled out of my arms and insisted on walking.

I led him over to my makeshift bed. He seemed grateful, lying back against the heap of ferns as the bees undaunted, continued to service him.

I went back out and sat on the wall to fret and berate myself. I couldn't be messing around with this Weaving stuff, especially when other souls were involved. I had disappointed Mr. O, and even though he was not the Mr. O I knew in Florida, it bothered me just the same.

I considered using that sword to awaken another mummy. Maybe that would at least give him someone to talk to and keep him company. But it would be just my luck to choose someone he didn't like and then I would have two miserable zombies on my hands instead of just one. I held off playing matchmaker for now.

***

About an hour later, Seraf came back to the upper terrace accompanied by another pair of those ubiquitous bees. She stood and posed on a pedestal like a statue, shreds of leafhopper entrails smeared on her palps.

Both bees came and danced for me, oblivious to my ignorance of bee speak, but I gathered that they wanted me to have another go at getting into Seraf's saddle.

I kept the sword tucked behind a strap against my back so as not to antagonize her this time, and took an oblique approach, not walking directly at her. But it didn't work. She wheeled around to face me. I was just orbiting the pedestal, moving at tangents.

Mr. O was standing at the entrance to my shelter, his tears gone dry, his frozen smile shifted into a sober frown. He shook his head slightly and walked straight up to Seraf, palms lifted, chattering softly as if he were cooing nonsense to a baby.

Seraf lowered her forelegs and dipped down submissively. He reached over and scratched the back of her leathery neck. She waggled her mouthparts, and ejected the husk of a bug she had been sucking on.

The bees came over and did their little dance for him. He watched them intently and seemed astonished by what they had to tell him. He took a deep, rattling breath and reached out his hand to me. I hesitated at first, but reassured by his kindly expression, I let him take me hand, and he led me to Seraf, the bees flanking us to either side.

Mr. O looked at me, and motioned for me to help him up into the saddle. So I gave him a boost and pulled myself up after him.

As soon as I had swung my leg over her back, her wing cases rose up and she exploded into flight, swooping over the lower terrace and over the brink. The bees joined us over the barrens, flanking us like fighter planes escorting Air Force One.

I glanced back at Mr. O and caught him in a brighter than usual smile, that instantly collapsed into the bittersweet melancholy that seemed to be its natural resting state.

***

Controlling Seraf was a joy, at least when she was feeling receptive to my control. A double kick with my heels told her to descend. A single kick to either side was a sideways dive. A double slap of her reins meant climb.

She was smart enough to know when I had screwed up and would ignore a dive command that would have us slamming into the side of a cliff. She also knew her limits and would to rest whenever she found her energy giving out.

Our bee escort landed beside us wherever and whenever we stopped. New bees kept showing up, sharing dances with each other before buzzing off again. The bees found us no matter where we stopped. I supposed that they kept in constant communication with their hive. Someone had to be tracking us.

When we got within sight of the mesas, I noticed that Seraf was drifting in their direction. I don't know if the bees or Urszula had told her to take me there or if it was just instinct driving her home. I wanted nothing to do with that place and if that was where she was headed, I wanted off.

I banged my heel and slapped the reins, trying to get her to turn away, or at least have her drop to the riverbed where I could get off. It was a constant battle. She would obey me initially only to drift towards the mesas again.

Mr. O didn't help with all his chattering and patting. He was probably overriding my instructions, egging her on to take him back to his fellow Dusters on the mesa.

I twisted around in the saddle and tried pantomiming that I didn't want to go there. I kept pointing at the ground. From the blankness in his eyes, it was clear my message was not getting through.

And then he got all excited and he pointed up into the sky at about 10 o'clock. A dragonfly was hurtling on a course to intercept our path. A long, rippling mane trailed behind its lithe, gray rider.

Other specks patrolled the sky, about a dozen mantids and a half dozen dragonflies—more than I had ever seen in the air at one time. I wondered what was going on.

Without me having to do anything, Seraf slowed to a hover and descended to the graveled flats of the dry riverbed in wide, looping spirals. Urszula came screaming in on Lalibela's back and pulled up abruptly and landed softly just when I thought they would crash. A maneuver like that would have sent my stomach spewing and all the blood surging out of my brain.

Urszula gave me one of her more potent, eviscerating glares. "What the fuck took you so long? "

And then she noticed Mr. O. Her eyebrows slanted in puzzlement. "Who the fuck is he?"

Chapter 41: Assault

Rain, the first real precipitation I had felt in this world, spattered my face and beaded on Seraf's waxy shell, but the skies overhead were clear. I noticed a cloudburst over the mesas. A stiff wind had flung some of its moisture over the valley. When the wind shifted, the rain ceased abruptly, as if someone had turned a valve.

"Who is this man?" said Urszula, all anxious and agitated. "Why is he riding with you?"

"He's... uh... from that place you left me. I don't know his real name. I've been calling him Mr. O."

Mr. O broke into Duster speak and the two of them argued. For the next two minutes I don't think I heard a single vowel spoken. Mr. O held out his arm and showed her the moss that clung to his elbows, the mineral stains crusting his side. He continued to explain to a disbelieving Urszula. Flabbergasted, she cut him off and turned to me.

"Is he for real?" said Urszula. "Am I to believe him?"

"Why? What did he say?"

"He says you woke him from the long sleep."

"Um, yeah. I guess I did. But I didn't mean to. It was an accident."

"But how? Our best shamans have tried for years to revive the Old Ones. Yaqob himself has tried many times and failed."

"I don't know. I was just messing around. I was lonely. After you left, I needed someone to talk to. And he reminded me of this guy I used to know. And so, I took this new sword and...." I reached back and pulled it out of the crude back harness.

Seraf hissed and raised her forelegs defensively.

"Where did you get that?" said Urszula, astonished.

"Found it... in the ruins."

She came and took it from me, examining the blade carefully.

"This comes from the Deeps," she said. "Crafted by the first rebels."

"Rebels?"

"Neueden's founders," she said. "Metalwork is a challenge there. Nothing binds together. All crumbles into dust. Making weapons of this quality requires potent spell craft."

"Can you please tell him I'm sorry? I didn't mean to bring him back here. He was pretty upset."

"What do you expect? You uprooted him. Tore him from his world without warning. Maybe he left loved ones behind, if such a thing is possible for his kind."

"His kind? Isn't he your kind?"

"Not anymore," said Urszula. "Existence evolves. He comes from a different plane. You would find it very strange."

A Reaper howled across the river. At least a dozen other bellowed in response. That got my heart thumping like a flat tire.

"What the heck's going on over there?" I said.

Her eyes went beady and hard. "Frelsians. They are coming for us."

"What do you mean?"

"They are staging for an attack on Neueden, the fourth. Maybe the timing is coincidence, but maybe it is retribution for our little raid. They aim to clear the mesas...to exterminate us."

"You mean I caused this? It's all because you rescued me? Dang it, Urszula, you never should have—"

Her flat gaze did not waver.

"It was inevitable. They have been preparing for a long time. They would have come for us eventually. We just forced their hand. Better we face them now. They will only get stronger with time."

Mantids and their riders had taken up positions along the riverbank, each separated from the next by the length of a football field or more. Dragonflies soared overhead in a long ellipse down the length of the valley.

"There's so few of you," I said. "Where is everybody?"

"You see all who were willing to defend," said Urszula. "Our insect allies will assist. The bees will help however they can, but their priority lies in protecting the hive. The ants will fight till the death because they have no choice. Their queen is too large to leave her chamber. Their alates are taking take flight to start new colonies deeper within the table lands... just in case."

"But... where's Yaqob?"

"Leading the relocation," said Urszula. "He is too close to the long sleep to risk a return to the Deeps."

The growing herd of Reapers squabbled across the river. The wind peeled billows of dust off the valley walls.

"Maybe you should have gone with him."

"Someone needs to cover the retreat," said Urszula. "Don't worry. We'll be fine. Remember, our spell craft is superior." She clapped her hands and clicked her tongue at Lalibela. The dragonfly took to the air and descended beside her.

"Come," she said. "I have a promise to keep."

***

I was too frazzled and distracted to even question where she intended to bring me. As if I didn't have enough problems already, here I was in the middle of a war.

We flew in a wide arc along the mesa where most of the other mantids had been gathered for the evacuation. Refugees outnumbered fighters by at least ten to one.

At the mesa's base, winged ants—alates—emerged onto their mounds from deep within their colonies, mingling with the workers that had emerged to assist them and to perhaps be part of this momentous occasion, if ants did that such a thing. Other than the odd sentry here and there, the soldier caste was strangely absent. I wondered if Yaqob had commandeered the rest for his own security.

"That girl... er... woman... the one who got hurt in the rescue... is she okay?"

"Octavia?" said Urszula. "She is here. Among those who chose to fight."

"Really?"

"Not completely healed, but strong enough to ride and wield her scepter. She will recover, if she survives the battle to come."

As we crossed the river and swung around the left flank of the defense, the scale of the force arrayed against the Dusters became apparent. Along the far channel, at the base of the foothills, a log row of armored Reapers were lined up, screened by thickets of dense scrub. Frelsian soldiers scrambled onto the decks and manned their harpoon launchers as we passed.

More Reapers careened down the slopes, kicking up clouds of dust, not bothering with any existing trails. Columns of Hemi infantry shuffled down the furrows the Reapers had etched into the hillside. There were hundreds if not thousands of Hemis preparing an assault against a thin line of maybe thirty Dusters at most.

Writhing swarms of a Reaper variant I had not yet seen were tethered together on the flanks and tended by nervous handlers. They had long, quadrupedal bodies and glossy, translucent hides the color of pus. In place of jaws they had long, hard mosquito-like snouts that extended straight out from their heads. They raised their snouts to us in unison, tracking us as we passed overhead, like iron filings responding to a magnet.

"My God, what the hell are those things?"

"Spikers," said Urszula, as if that explanation sufficed.

Spell craft or not, I saw the makings of a rout. This wasn't a defense, it was suicide. All to allow Yaqob time to make good his escape. I didn't understand what he had done to incur such loyalty, besides becoming old.

"You all should have gone off with Yaqob," I said. "There's no way you can hold off that army."

"We know our limits," said Urszula. "We only need to slow them. We will inflict as much damage as possible, and then withdraw."

"To where?"

"Wherever my brothers and sisters choose to settle next. The table lands are vast. The bees tell of many with good forage, untouched by any human soul. I'm sure Yaqob is already planning Neueden the fifth." She sighed deeply. "But that will not stop the Frelsians. They will not be satisfied until we are all exterminated. We have no part in their vision of... Heaven. In their eyes, we are vermin."

Not vermin. Demons," I said.

She jerked and slapped Lalibela's reins. The dragonfly diverted from the battle lines and darted towards the high peaks.

"Um... where exactly are you taking me?"

"I promised to return you to the heights. It is safe there now. Patrols will be sparse at the glaciers. The Frelsians have concentrated their forces here."

"Wait! You don't need to take me now. I mean... not with all this going down."

"I made a promise."

"I know, but... now there's this war. You're needed here... aren't you?"

"Didn't you tell me you were at death's door... at imminent risk of the Deeps? Didn't you tell me you were at death's door?"

"I... uh... I don't care anymore. I think it's too late for me. I'm too damaged."

"So what are you saying? You wish to return and fight with us?"

"Fight? Uh... I'm not much of a fighter. Don't think I'd be much help to your cause." I took a long, deep breath. "But... uh... sure. What the hell. Maybe I can do something with this sword."

Ursula's cheeks tightened and retracted. I couldn't see her face, but I could picture her beaming that wicked, fanged smile of hers. She didn't share it often and never for long. But it was obvious my decision pleased her.

Why? I don't know. I could be yanked to the Deeps before anytime now, before the fighting began. I would have thought I'd be more of a burden to her than an asset.

She twisted and slapped the reins again and Lalibela curled back around the lines and headed back across the river.

"The Deeps," I said. "Is it really as bad as it sounds?"

"Worse," she said. "But don't worry. You might have company."

***

Urszula and I took turns scouting the battle lines with the other dragonfly riders, keeping an eye on the enemy's movements. These forays inevitably drew harpoons, some of which seemed to have minds of their own, chasing us as we maneuvered to evade them.

Thankfully, Lalibela had a sixth sense for knowing when she was being followed. No harpoon, no matter how clever, had a chance against her quick and nimble reflexes. I couldn't afford to relax my grip on Urszula for a second or risk being hurled off the saddle. I wished I had the time to Weave myself a seatbelt.

Below us, the mantid riders waited with their mounts on the ground, conserving their energy. As we swooped low, I spotted Mr. O beside Seraf, rummaging through a heap of driftwood.

"What the heck is he doing?"

"Searching for a suitable scepter, I would imagine," said Urszula. "That is far from the ideal place, but what choice does he have? We have no time to take him to the high forests."

"What's his real name, anyway? I've been calling him Mr. O."

"He may not have a name. Not anymore. Or, at least he does not remember it. He told me, that in the place his soul resided, names are useless. Souls there have no sense of self."

"Where... exactly... did he come from?"

"The place... also has no name. I didn't understand entirely, but there is no there, there. This place occupies no space. It is a singularity. Souls have no boundaries. There is one entity. Each is blended with the whole. By bringing him back, you created a wound."

"As if I didn't feel bad enough already."

"No worries," said Urszula. "What you did was a tiny pin prick compared to the Frelsians and their harvesting. And he... Mr. O... understands he is needed here. But he is unhappy with us. He blames us for the Frelsians... for letting them grow too strong. By coming here, maybe he has a chance to help his brethren."

We coasted along the foothills, catching a thermal updraft along a line of cliffs, drawing the ire of a rank of winged Reapers that had to be restrained from leaping after us.

They were wiry, muscular creatures with snake-like heads. Their wings, shaped like double diamonds, were unlike any earthly creature I had ever seen. Narrow, surfboard-like fighting platforms were affixed to their backs.

One cocky and snarling beast broke loose from its tether and dove off the cliff without a rider. It was ungainly in flight, entirely dependent on updrafts to stay aloft, like a pterodactyl. One flutter of Lalibela's wings lifted us out of its reach and it dropped like a leaf, gliding into the valley bottom.

As we made our way back to the security of our skirmish line, the next dragonfly in line for patrol broke formation and came winging out over the Frelsian lines. We passed directly across from the hollow with the pond where I had transformed that bush into a weeping willow.

With my eyes, I retraced my path around the buttress up into the vale where Urszula had found me. Farther up the slopes were the ruins of Frelsi's sister city—the second Neueden. A large section of plazas and terraces had now been stripped of vegetation and were dotted with the Frelsians mushroom huts.

I looked down the long line of Reapers. Seeing so many assembled together disturbed me. So many hungry Reapers. How many Old Ones and Defectives did each one need to eat every day to sustain themselves? And what would they consume once the Old Ones had all been harvested?

Culled Hemis, perhaps? Would they simply expand their definition of Defectives? Thinking of Bern as Reaper food made me burn inside.

As the utter magnitude of this atrocity struck me, my ire boiled over. Whatever were they thinking, taming these disgusting beasts? They should have been left behind in the tunnels. I don't care how noble they considered their aims. Heaven, even a pseudo-Heaven, should have no place for a Reaper.

I felt that sword pressing flat against my back, and felt an urge to use it. I looked back down at Mr. O fishing through heaps of silt-encrusted driftwood and the most outrageous idea came to me.

"Hey Urszula, when we finish this loop, don't go back on patrol. I want to go there." I swept out my arm and pointed to the second Neueden."

"Have you changed your mind? Are you... you are giving up?"

"No way. On the contrary."

***

Urszula took a lot of convincing. She was understandably skeptical about my plan. I made her land among the mantids so we could hash things out face to face.

"Are you sure you could make it happen again?" she said.

"I did it once," I said, shrugging.

"How many do you think you can revive?"

"Dunno. How many do you think we need?"

"That depends on your strategy and their strength—how well they can fight. They will have to find and create scepters, which are likely to be substandard. They are so desiccated. They are probably weak when their souls first return."

"Yeah, but not for long. I mean, look at Mr. O. He look weak to you?"

Mr. O, calm as ever, brushed silt off a club-like length of driftwood he had pulled from the riverbank.

"How long did it take for him to reach this state?" said Urszula.

"Once the bees found him, I don't know, maybe half an hour."

"That quickly?"

"Would have been quicker if the bees had reached him right away."

"Oh, I don't know about this," said Urszula. "I smell a fiasco."

Mr. O pointed his crude scepter at a dead tree. A shock wave exploded from the shaft and struck the tree, snapping its limbs and peeling off its bark. Maybe it wasn't as potent as Urszula's or maybe he was just rusty, but it seemed to channel his will just fine.

Urszula shared our discussion with him. He nodded his head plenty, he but betrayed no emotions. I could see a solemn determination in his eyes. I took that as an endorsement.

"For a diversion, we may not need many souls," said Urszula. "A handful may suffice. For a raid on Frelsi, we will need more. How many do you think you can manage to revive?"

"Not sure. But you get those bees lined up and we'll see."

Trisk left his mantid and made his way over to us.

"You all are plotting something, I can tell."

"Never mind, Trisk," said Urszula. "This doesn't concern you."

"If it's a raid, I want in."

"There's no raid... we're just ... speculating."

"It involves this Old One, doesn't it?" said Trisk. "He must command some nasty spell craft."

"Oh yes," said Urszula. "He can peel the bark off a tree from ten paces. It's terrifying."

A shout rang up and Urszula flinched. I thought an attack was underway but the mantid riders were staring towards the mesa. Six mantids came gliding down, landing on the broad flat behind a berm the defenders had raised up behind the riverbank.

"Is it Yaqob?" I said.

"No," said Urszula. "But some of my sisters and brothers have had a change of heart, it seems."

"So, are you raiding or not?" said Trisk, impatiently.

Urszula grinned and this time, I got a full-on view of it. It stunned to see her face transformed from its normal grimace.

"Yes," said Urszula "And you're welcome to join us." She clicked her tongue and called Lalibela over.

***

Trisk and Mr. O followed our lead on the backs of their mantids. Urszula had Lalibela loop back repeatedly to allow them to keep up with us. A mantid could only fly a mile or two at a time before having to land.

As we split from the already sparse gathering of aerial defenders, the first of the alates—ant princesses and princes—took flight from their mounds, dispersing with the wind away from the central massif and out over the tablelands. They were like living lifeboats, really. The future of the colony depended on their success. Their queen mother was likely doomed if the Frelsians won the day.

A wave of spikers came bounding across the flood plain, arching their hairless backs like naked weasels. As they crossed the first channel, a platoon of soldier ants and beetles burst out of concealment from the riverbank to greet them.

The beetles were the same burly creatures I had seen rolling boulders down the vale. Their clubbed antennae sampled the air expectantly. They stood shoulder to shoulder, shielding the ants, as a pack of spikers slammed into them, some of them shattering their lance-like snouts. The thick, slanting armor on these beetles could probably deflect bullets.

While the beetles held the spikers at bay, the swift and agile soldier ants went to work clipping spikers in two with their massive, scissors-like mandibles. For a time they wreaked havoc until enough spikers squeezed past the beetles and could attack the insects from the rear, going after their less armored abdomens.

It took three impaling to take down a soldier ant, maybe ten to fell a beetle. But one by one, the insects collapsed.

Having slaughtered the entire pack of spikers, the survivors retreated in the face of a second onslaught galloping into the river channel. But another contingent of beetles and ants was waiting to spring their surprise a little farther up the river bank.

These spikers served as shock troops, softening up the opposition for the main attack. Pack after eager pack was being released for battle, some turning on their handlers with ghastly results.

I don't know how many ambushes the insects could mount, but it seemed the spikers alone could wear them down by attrition. Once defeated, there would be nothing to slow the waiting army of Reapers and Hemis.

We crossed back over the foothills, again swinging wide of the attack force. The columns of foot soldiers we had seen before had now taken up positions behind the armored Reapers. Those in front carried long poleaxes and pikes, but they were followed by groups carrying miscellaneous guns, crossbows as well as some bizarre and un-nameable projectile launchers.

Behind the main force, a band of reserves had gathered, and behind them a large group of gaudily-attired Freesouls crowded the top a small butte to watch the battle, many carrying opera glasses. Their fashions included helms and ornate halberds and intricate chain mail.

It seemed like half of Frelsi's Hemis was involved in the attack and half of the Sanctuary was down here watching. I wondered if my mom was down there among them. The old Darlene would never have stood for this crap. But something told me, the old Darlene was no more.

The sight of a dragonfly and two mantids coming at them fast made the crowd scatter in confusion. One man fell and tumbled down the face of the butte to the rocks below. A group of reservists rushed to his aid.

From their midst, another untethered harpoon missile came hurling up at us.

"Urszula!"

"I see it," she said, sending Lalibela into a dive.

The missile twisted its path to follow us around until its momentum petered out and it fell harmlessly into the scrub forest below.

Lalibela swooped low to the ground, spooking a detachment of foot soldiers that seemed to have gone astray. She soared away before they could even react, but Urszula let loose a blast of plasma that set the forest on fire and gave them something to remember us by.

We let the mantids catch up, stopping for a brief rest on an unoccupied slope before continuing on up the mountain. When the spires of Frelsi came into view, Lalibela veered rightward towards the ruins that shared the other end of the plateau—the second Neueden, only a few kilometers away from Frelsi's eastern wall.

Carts stacked neatly with mummies destined for the Reaper pens lined the road. The Frelsians had probably pre-staged them in anticipation of having to feed a herd of hungry Reapers after the battle. I wondered if they allowed their Reapers to prey on their own fallen soldiers.

Neueden Two was much more denuded of vegetation than it had been in the few short days since I had last visited. The Hemi crews had been busy with their clearing.

We landed on the road that joined the old city with the new. A gang of workers dropped their tools and fled the instant they saw us. Their guards, shocked into momentary inaction, followed not far behind them.

But their tall-booted overseer—a Freesoul, if her feathered hat and natty attire were any indication—stood her ground. She spouted curses and raised her staff, swirling it as if she were stirring a cauldron. The brush piles rose, brambles, branches and stumps arranging themselves into towers that consolidated into a vaguely human form about twenty feet tall, with a humped posture and dangly arms that made it first look like a monster chimpanzee and, as it lengthened, a shaggy, green Sasquatch.

The brush monster gave a dry, crackly roar like a hurricane blowing through a forest and came after us. It swung its burly fist at Seraf, who dodged aside nimbly and took to the air, slashing at the creature's face with her claws.

"Seraf! Back!" shouted Urszula, scepter raised. The creature lunged towards me. I scrambled to unstrap my sword, but tripped on a rock and stumbled into a ditch.

Three nearly simultaneous blasts issued from the scepters of Urszula, Trisk and Mr. O, blowing the creature's torso into fiery splinters. Its parts lost their connection and animation and collapsed to the ground back into the brush piles that had spawned it.

Floundering on the ground, I had my sword out and was doing my own bit of stirring and swirling, though with no idea what I expected to happen. These actions did nothing but make me look foolish.

The overseer went after Urszula, extending her staff full out until it shuddered in her arms and a purplish plasma gathered around its tip. Before she could release it, a batch of sizzling green plasma surged from Urszula's scepter.

The purple blob expanded into an umbrella-like shield that blew Urszula's volley apart. This shimmering parasol sustained long enough to neutralize follow-up shots from Trisk and Mr. O. And as soon as it collapsed, more purple plasma accumulated around the overseer's staff.

I needed a focus. Something to disturb me, make me angry. It was no use trying to work myself into an artificial tizzy; I needed something real, something righteous, something that would overwhelm my fear. This overseer lady had skills on the order of Victoria. There was no telling what would come out of that staff next.

My gaze flitted about and homed in on those tall, glossy boots. They were like jackboots, the kind motorcycle cops wore... and Nazi Storm Troopers... and shaved head, gay bashing skinheads. I remembered an incident in the park back in Ft. Pierce. A gang of skinheads were running from a kid about my age, crying in the dirt, nose broken, face bloody, F-A-G-O-T scrawled with a sharpie across the rainbow on the front of his T-shirt.

One of the skinheads guffawed like a donkey as he ran, chains jingling at his hip, knee length boots clomping against the walk.

That little bit of remembrance gave me the edge I needed to grip my rage. I focused my will through the point of my sword, homing in on the top cuffs of her shiny boots. They responded, growing upward and outward. She tried to kick them off as they crept up her thighs and intruded on her crotch. Eyes bugging, she slipped a blade from a sheath strapped to her waist and tried slicing them off.

The slit fused together and kept growing, the two boots merging into a single sheath that pried the staff from her grip and pinned her arms to her sides. The blade poked through the leather and squirted away like a watermelon seed.

The leather continued up and over her head. She stumbled around, tripping on the brush underfoot. Trisk ran over and gave her a shove. She toppled into an old foundation hole. Urszula sent a sticky bolo whirling her way to bind her more thoroughly. Mr. O hopped into the foundation and retrieved her staff, but he kept his club as well. His smile had grown a shade less vague.

"You have an interesting method of fighting," said Urszula.

"Believe me; I had no idea that was gonna happen."

"Whatever works," she said, with a shrug.

The Hemis had retreated halfway to Frelsi by now and continued at a dead run. They were probably newbies or else they would have been conscripted for the battle. I doubt any of them had ever seen a Duster up close before.

The guards had paused to watch the outcome of our little tussle, but they too resumed their flight.

Urszula strode up to a cart stacked high with mummies and lowered the back gate. That action alone brought back a bittersweet memory of my dad's old F150. I wondered how that old truck was doing. Was it still in Pittsburgh or was it in the service of that Cleveland cartel.

"Do it," said Urszula. "Raise them."

"Are we sure we want to do this?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, we're sure. Do it! Now!"

I looked over at Mr. O, half expecting him to object, but he had his arms folded around his knobby scepter. Trisk paced back and forth in nervous anticipation.

"Well, do it already!" Urszula shouted.

"Okay... uh... now I don't quite remember how I got it to work last time."

Urszula started swearing—I'm pretty sure that's what she was doing—in that Duster tongue.

I poked the sword at the cart and gave it a swirl, the way I usually do, like a kid playing Harry Potter with a pretend wand. Only, the five pound sword made it a little more awkward.

Nothing happened the first time, so I tried again, freeing my thoughts, letting them narrow and focus along the path of least resistance. The timbers of the cart began to creak. The smooth planks lining the sides became all warped and knobby. The bumps differentiated into buds. The buds in turn elongated into stems. Green twigs slithered out from each node and developed their own side shoots and leaves.

"Very clever," said Urszula. "But not exactly what we are looking for. You were thinking of the cart for some reason. Focus on the souls within."

Thinking of my Dad's old pickup had funneled all my mental energy on the cart rather than its contents. The fix was simple. I thought of Dad and how I wished I could raise him up from wherever his soul had ended up.

And that was a powerful feeling. It poured forth from my very bones, from every cell in my body that shared his DNA. I could see him standing in our back yard and me as a toddler, running up to him, and him swooping me up into his arms with the giddy glee of a proud, new parent.

And then, with my sword quivering from the strain, the whole cartload of those carcasses started to squirm. Urszula hopped up and pulled several up off the top of the heap and eased them down off the cart. They were three or four bodies thick, and all of them commenced to cough and grumble and scream at once.

"Help me!" said Urszula.

I went over and pulled writhing bodies off the cart and set them down in the grass that grew between the cart tracks. We lined up twenty of them. Some argued violently with Urszula in their cryptic tongue. And like Mr. O, many of them cried, but quickly pulled it together as Urszula explained the situation to them, pointing her scepter across the valley where flashes and crackles like lightning and thunder emanated from the base of the tablelands.

One at a time, they rose like nursing home patients who had been bedridden for weeks. And as soon as they did, a swarm of bees descended out of nowhere, knocking Old Ones down, scrambling over their chests, disgorging their sticky cargoes.

"We need to help them find scepters," said Urszula, rummaging through the brush piles for lengths of wood, stout and potent enough to channel the force of a soul.

A sapling crackled and gave me a shock when I tried picking it up. I tossed it away like a hot potato.

"No! Keep that one. It has some residual craft left in it, from the woman."

Trisk retrieved it and tossed to a man who staggered under the weight of three bees vying to perch on his shoulders.

Urszula's eyes went wide with excitement. "Here is another cart, and this one, I see, has warriors."

Many of these mummies had a leathery armor sheathing their skin, bony plates protruding from a top layer worn away by the elements.

"Do it again!" said Urszula. "Quickly!"

I pointed my sword and thought of Dad... and Mom.

Chapter 42: Breakout

They wound up and down the narrow streets behind the church, but there was no sign of Sturgie.

"Where the heck did that boy run off to?" said Renfrew.

A kernel of dread germinated in Karla. "I hope... they didn't take him."

They turned a corner to find a sweaty and flustered-looking security guard waddling down the lane, night stick and canister dangling from his harness. He paused to examine an alley.

"Don't stare. Eyes straight ahead," said Karla, as they rolled past.

Jessica's phone went off. Karla snatched it up to find a breathless Sturgie on the other end.

"Morrison's supermarket. Eastgate," he said, and hung up.

Karla knew the location well. It was only two blocks from her house, the same grocery store she had visited the day James confronted her on the sidewalk. What a strange and potent mixture of excitement and despair he had evoked. Seeing him in this world and in the flesh seemed less real than seeing him in the Liminality.

"Take a right here and then the second left," she barked.

They found Sturgie slinking in the door well of a dry cleaner's shop. He rushed to the car huffing and puffing and flopped into the backseat beside Karla.

"What are you doing all the way down here, boy?" said Renfrew.

"Some rent-a-cop started following me," said Sturgie. "Persistent bugger. Chased me all the way from the church. There were two of them, but I think one stayed behind."

"So what do we do now?" said Jessica.

"We continue as planned," said Karla. "You and Ren attend mass. Once you're situated, Jess will get up and go to the vestibule. If anyone stops you, just tell them you're going to the loo down in the basement. Once you're there, you will find an exit leading directly up to the street. Open it. Hopefully, by then, Sturgie and I will be lurking somewhere in the vicinity."

Sturgie's phone chirped, heralding a message that had just come in.

"Alright! The cavalry is on its way, guys."

"Cavalry?" said Renfrew, cocking a bushy eyebrow.

"My friends just texted me back. They're on their way... to help."

Jessica scrunched her eyes. "Who—?"

"Anonymous Rex. They're the remnants of Linnie's old band. I've been managing them. They'd do anything for Linnie. They were devastated when he moved to Glasgow. Not easy, replacing a voice like his."

"The more the merrier I suppose," said Karla. "So? Are we ready?"

"Wait a second," said Renfrew. "There's still a piece missing from your little plan. Once Jess gets into the basement, I'm still stuck upstairs on some fucking pew. Remember, I'm the one packing all the persuasion." He patted the bulge in his coat pocket that was his Browning semi-automatic pistol.

"Just find a way to get your bloody arse downstairs," said Jessica. "Just don't make a big scene about it."

Karla sighed. "So... shall we?"

"Hang on," said Jessica. "Looks like Morrison's just opened. Let me run in and get some snacks for the road," said Jessica.

"Now?"

"Well, it's a long ride back to Brynmawr, and I don't suppose we'll want to be stopping for supper with a posse of Sedevacantists on our tail."

"Sounds good, love," said Renfrew. "Linnie and James might like a beer to celebrate their freedom."

***

Jessica returned to the car with a bulging sack of groceries. "I've got cheese, buns, strawberries and a pint of bitters for everyone."

"Lovely," said Karla, who had been hyperventilating the entire time Jessica had been in the store. "Now, can we please go?"

They glanced at each other nervously. Sturgie nodded first. Jess and Ren followed suit.

"I should take the wheel," said Renfrew.

Jessica snickered. "Of course, daddykins. After all, driving is a man's job." She strode around to the passenger side.

Renfrew hopped in and started the car. They wound their way back to the river and made the turn onto Bank Street.

"Drop us there, behind the Salvation Army," said Karla. "Then you two go on. Park as close to the church as you can."

"Any last words of advice?" said Renfrew as he pulled into the lot.

"No worries," said Karla, stepping out. "Just smile a lot and you'll be fine. I'm sure they'll be welcoming. Papa's always looking to expand his flock. Just tell them you're from Wales and searching for a new parish and you liked the look of this church. That rings true. It's a pretty church, on the outside. And you don't have to pretend you're a Sedevacantist, just say that like the idea of something more traditional. That's how most people get involved."

Jessica's face was flushed. It looked like she had put on a little too much blush. "When's your cavalry coming, Sturg?"

"Any minute now," he said. "Just got another text. I told 'em to hang tight in their van until we need them."

"Cavalry, my arse," huffed Renfrew. "Bunch of poofters. We'll be lucky if they can keep out of our way."

"Don't knock 'em till you know them, Unc. Tough lot, these blokes. They've been through a lot together. It's not easy being gay and colored in the Highlands."

Renfrew shook his head. "Whatever made you think we needed a rock band? What are they going to do? Sing in the choir?"

Sturgie shrugged. "Backup. In case things go wrong."

Renfrew scowled and straightened his tie. "Alrighty, then. Off we go. Wish us luck."

Karla slammed the door. She and Sturgie stood in the lot and watched the little blue Ford pull away and turn the corner. Sturgie started after them, but Karla tugged his sleeve.

"Let's give them a minute to park," she said.

She tucked her hair up under a knit cap and took his hand. This seemed to unsettle Sturgie a bit. He tossed her a puzzled and maybe even slightly hopeful glance.

"Pretend we're a couple," she said. "We will look less suspicious."

"Oh. Right," he said, enveloping her slender, bony fingers in his fleshy and clammy mitts.

Karla marveled at the lack of conceit and ambition behind his eyes. Such an earnest and innocent soul he was, compared to most. He almost reminded her of a cherub.

"Let's go," she said.

Backs to the estuary and the stiff breeze that whipped it into whitecaps, they sauntered casually down the lane, acting as if they had no place to go and all day to get there.

As they came around the corner and turned towards St. Aynsley's they spotted Renfrew and Jessica already on foot ahead of them. Renfrew's distinctive, syncopated and mechanical stride mesmerized her, a quick step with his good leg and then a wide swing of his prosthetic. She wondered how he managed not to kick anyone in tight quarters.

In front of the church steps, a security guard looked on as a girl in a flowery ankle-length skirt escorted an old woman slowly down the pavement. Ren and Jess were about half a block behind them.

"There goes Ondine with her grandmum," said Karla. "I've always liked her. She's one of the few girls who would even talk to me at the socials."

Sturgie hesitated.

"That rent-a-cop who chased me. He's back. That's him, at the top of the steps."

A large, black car pulled up and discharged a group of men in dark suits. Karla gasped and swung Sturgie around, using his bulky frame to screen her. She dug her bony chin into his chest and peered over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he said, holding her awkwardly, afraid to touch, as if she were a hot potato.

"Those men... they're the elders. The tall one. He's my Papa."

She watched Edmund lead the group up the steps, his long, lumbering strides taking two at a time. Joshua Crampton and his son Mark followed on his heels with Father Tomaso, the rogue Sicilian priest they had imported from the island of Lipari, after his excommunication for dabbling in arcane rituals banned by the Vatican.

From afar, Papa had the look of a time traveler from an earlier century. With a top hat, he could have passed for a Victorian undertaker, or Abraham Lincoln's evil brother. His beard had grown longer, the white stripe thicker in the few months she had been away.

As they entered the church, Renfrew and Jessica reached the steps, Jessica taking Ren's arm to brace him as he climbed.

"They're going up," said Karla. "They're in!"

An engine sputtered behind them and a dirty white van with a slanting nose and a dented fender pulled up to the curb. Three of the scruffiest young men Karla had ever seen outside of a homeless shelter leered out of the cab. They were an amalgam of freckles, dreadlocks, piercings and flannel that somehow seemed to go together. They could have been extras in a low budget pirate movie.

If they thought their style made them look rugged, but Karla saw behind the veneer. These were just boys playing dress-up. They seemed a different species entirely from Sturgie's nerdy hacker/slacker vibe, but she could see Linval fitting right in with them.

"Sturgie's got a girlfriend!" sang the freckled one from the passenger window.

"You guys! I told you not to come till I messaged you."

"Well we saw you snogging, and things looked cool so...."

"We were not snogging, you idiot. We were trying to stay incognito. Now get a move on."

Down the block, both rent-a-cops had now stationed themselves just outside the doors at the top of the stairs.

"Hang on," said Karla, as the van started to pull away. "I think I know how you gentlemen can make yourselves useful."

She bustled over and leaned into the window of the van.

***

She had them park around the corner. They emerged, vests and waist coats bristling with pry bars, homemade nunchuks and lengths of chromed metal tubing of the sort that supported cymbals and microphones.

They marched towards the church full of bluster and swagger. Karla had told them to pretend they were hooligans, stoned or drunk. If the red rims and soft focus of their eyes was any indication, she wasn't sure they had to pretend.

The ruse made an immediate impression on the security guards. Night sticks out, they charged down the steps like vicious lap dogs, and barked at the boys to move along.

Meanwhile, she and Sturgie strolled calmly towards the church, pausing now and then to feign fascination with the odd hydrangea or geranium growing in someone's front garden patch.

The band faced off against the guards, hooting and taunting as they continued in a wide arc into the street that fronted St. Aynsley's. The guards shooed them along. Something clanged against the pavement. One of the boys had dropped his pry bar, setting off a chase when one of the guards pulled a canister of pepper spray from his belt.

Karla and Sturgie took advantage of the distraction to slip into a stairwell leading down to the church basement. The rough brick of the walls blended with the red stone blocks of the original pre-Jacobite foundation.

She tried the door and found it firmly locked.

"Jess should be here by now," said Sturgie, shuffling his feet. "Something's wrong."

"Hush!" said Karla. "Maybe she's just taking her time, playing it cool like I coached her."

A window shattered and glass tinkled to the ground. Someone screamed in pain.

"What the heck is going on up there?" said Sturgie, craning for a look. "What do you suppose we do?"

"We wait. And pray."

The chords of the opening hymn thundered forth from the old organ, much restored and in better tune from the wheezy squeeze box tones she remembered from her early days here. Mass was underway.

Sturgie pried at the security bars protecting a casement window above the exit. Some of them wiggled in the loose mortar.

"Hey. Maybe we can just—"

The exit pushed open and smacked him in the belly. Jessica peered out; her cheeks flushed bright red, beads of sweat dotting her forehead like moonstone appliqués.

"You should have seen the stink eyes I drew, leaving the pew."

"Where's Ren?" said Sturgie.

"He should be down in a minute," said Jessica. "I told him to pretend to be looking after his wayward daughter—me."

"They should be used to that here," said Karla. She propped the exit open with a book she grabbed from a shelf. "Quick. Follow me."

She went straight for the board room, the place where she had spent many an hour before inquisitions of a committee of elders aiming to correct her spiritual deficiencies.

Its windowless entry was made of sound-proofed steel with tolerances so snug, a sheet of paper could not be slid beneath it. She knew, because she had tried sending SOS's during some of her longer confinements. She was pretty sure as well, that no scream of hers had ever made it out of that room either.

Not unexpectedly, she found the door locked. She looked about for something to attack the hinges with. Perhaps if they pried off the wood trim, they would have better access to the hardware. She kicked herself for not borrowing one of the band member's wrecking bar. It would have been perfect for the job.

The opening hymn ended and the mass went into Father Tomaso's monotonous recitation of the Latin psalms. Karla had to suppress to urge to chant 'Kyrie, eleison' in response.

The door atop the staircase squealed open. Everyone froze in place.

"It's probably Unc," whispered Sturgie. "Maybe we can use his gun on the lock."

"Are you crazy? We can't shoot a gun off in here," said Karla.

"Hullo? Who's down there?" It was a young voice, the deep, but squeaky croak of a boy trapped in the midst of adolescence.

Treads squeaked. Scuffed brown shoes. Khakis frayed at the cuffs. The contoured blade of a cricket bat.

A pimply, crew-cut kid in a tweed jacket and bow tie appeared at the base of the stairs. Karla stepped out of the shadows.

"You!"

"You don't say."

"Who are these people?" he said, whirling around, trying impossibly to face everyone at once.

"Friends."

Mark raised the bat over his shoulder. "Out! All of you! No one's allowed to be down here." He lunged and grabbed onto Karla's arm. "But you stay put."

Sturgie stepped up and slapped his arm away. "Don't you fucking touch her!"

A door creaked open above, and the sound of the mass grew louder for an instant.

"Dad? That you?" said Mark.

Sturgie seized his bat by the blade. Mark kept his grip and wrestled it away. He slapped the sharper edge against Sturgie's brow. Sturgie crumpled to his knees. Blood ran down his cheek.

Renfrew came thudding down the stairs and clubbed over the head with his pistol. But the glancing blow had less than the intended effect. The boy grunted and swore as he clapped a hand over his ear.

"You bastard!"

He crouched and raked his bat in a wide arc at knee height, toppling Renfrew and dislodging his prosthesis. He tumbled forward into Mark, bowling him over against the stairs. The pistol clattered free against the stone floor.

Jessica scrambled to recover the gun and trained it on Mark.

"One word out of you and—"

Mark screamed, voice cracking: "Daaaaaad!" Renfrew grabbed his fake leg and whacked him square in the temple. The boy's eyes lost their focus. He toppled over, unconscious.

Karla sneered down at him and had to restrain herself from giving him a kick for good measure. He had always been a cruel git, never passing up a chance to torment someone weaker, and to harass younger girls with vulgar insults and opportunistic feels. Though often admonished, he was never punished and thus never felt the need to correct his behavior.

"We have to move quick people. They sense something's up. A couple of blokes up there were giving me the evil eye. Had to tell the lady beside me on the pew that I had bladder issues."

Jessica dropped beside Mark and examined the bump on his head. "Boy, Ren. You got him good. I'm surprised you didn't crack his skull."

"That's oak and titanium for you. Helen wanted me trade this leg in for a lighter model. A lot of good that carbon fiber shite would have done.

"Check his pockets," said Karla, kicking aside the cricket bat. "I bet he's got keys."

"Hoho!" said Jessica, "He sure does. Lots of them," said Jessica, tossing the ring to Karla.

She caught it in mid-air and went straight for the long skeleton key she knew too well. How many times had she looked on in horror as this same key into the slot, opening the venue of her humiliation and punishment.

She pushed in the key. The cylinder turned freely. She pushed open the door the room was dark and empty. A single, vacant wooden chair with handcuffs dangling from each armrest occupied the center of the room. An imposing desk on a riser, much like a judge's bench, occupied the far corner of the room.

In the opposite corner was a dark shrine unlike any that would be allowed in the public spaces of a church. On a table formed of a slab of burled maple is heaped with candles black on one side, white on the other floating in a glacier of wax inches thick.

Sturgie peered over Karla's shoulder.

"She's not here."

Karla strode over to the small window that looked out onto the ventilation shaft that separated the old church from the newer rectory. She pulled open a heavy drape.

She was horrified to find Isobel, dressed in an off-white gown, strapped to a slanting railroad tie, head clamped back to force her eyes heavenward at a small, rectangular patch of sky atop the ventilation shaft. A gag pressed into her mouth.

Her long, pearly dress of beads and sequins trailing down was sodden with rain and stained with blood from a trickle curling down her face and neck.

"Help me get her down!"

Sturgie climbed through the window and rushed over with his switchblade. He sliced through the nylon cords bindings her and untied the gag. She gasped, trembling as he lifted her off the tie.

Karla smothered her sister in her arms and kissed her forehead.

"You alright, Iz? Did they hurt you?"

"I got slapped around a bit. But I got a good lick or two in myself."

"Did you pass into Root? Did you see James?"

"Nah. I haven't gone anywhere."

"Funny, I would have thought—"

"I guess I wasn't desperate enough," said Isobel, beaming through her chattering teeth. "I knew you guys would come for me. I just knew it."

Karla held her close. "My goodness. You feel like an icicle."

Renfrew hobbled into the room, hopping on one leg, his prosthesis tucked under his arm. "Oh thank goodness. You found her."

"Take her and go!" said Karla. "I'll see after James and Linval."

"Nonsense," said Jessica. "Let us help you."

"But... Izzie."

"I'm fine, La," said Izzie. "Let's go save them!"

As Karla bustled out of the board room, the door to the street opened and one of Sturgie's friends stumbled down the stone steps, breathless.

"Alfie! Where are the others?" said Sturgie. "And what about the rent-a-cops?"

"They took Roger and Robbie down. Zipcuffed 'em. I managed to slip away. I don't think they saw me circle back."

The door atop the wooden stairs creaked open. Latin mutterings spilled into the basement. Everyone froze but the semi-conscious Mark, who had started to fidget and moan.

"You stay put," hissed Jessica. "And don't even squeak or I'll put a bullet in your ear."

"Mark? Everything alright down there?" The stilted cadence and boom of the voice chilled Karla. It was Papa.

Karla motioned everyone back into the shadows, leaving Mark propped against the wall at the base of the stairs.

"Let me go see," said Joshua, clomping down the staircase. "Oh my goodness! I think he's taken a fall." He rushed over to his son and knelt beside him, lifting his head. "Markie? Are you alright, boy? What happened?"

A light flicked on. Joshua noticed they were not alone. "Edmund! They're here."

The stair case thundered as Edmund charged down into the basement. He pumped his shotgun and leveled it at Sturgie, who stood frozen against a stack of folding chairs.

"Watch out!" said Jessica.

Alfie swung his pry bar and caught Edmund square in the face, jolting his head back. At the same time Renfrew flung his fake leg, knocking the gun loose from his grip, sending it skittering across the floor.

Edmund collapsed, a mass of blood pouring from his broken nose, staining the white stripe in his beard.

Joshua dove for the shotgun. Sturgie tackled him and put him in a headlock. Edmund scrambled for the gun but Jessica snatched it up and handed it to Karla, who immediately trained it on her father.

Edmund gazed at her with coldly calculating eyes, assessing her spiritually, physically, emotionally; searching for a vulnerability he could exploit.

"Don't you dare come at me, Papa. You know I won't hesitate to pull this trigger."

The fear in his eyes told her that he believed her capable.

"Threatening your own father. You are asking for eternal damnation, my dear."

"It's not as bad as you think," said Karla. "It's actually quite nice on the other side. Better than a life with you."

"Joshua was right. You have no hope of salvation. I should have just let you go. But Isobel, she is young... she is still... impressionable."

"Forget Isobel. She is lost to you.

Joshua looked up from his son. "Markie needs help. His eyes are wandering. He's not making any sense. I think he has a concussion."

"Lock him in the boardroom," said Karla.

"But he's badly hurt! He needs medical attention."

"A few less brain cells might improve his disposition. Now get up! Both of you."

Sturgie dragged Mark into the boardroom and locked the door, while Jessica rifled through Edmund's pockets and extracted a pair of shotgun shells, which she tossed to Karla.

Renfrew had finally managed to strap his leg back on over his trousers.

"Here's your pistol back, Ren," said Jessica. "Try and hang onto it this time."

A new hymn had started up overhead. The door opened yet again. "Edmund?" A female voice this time. "What's going on down there?"

"Speak to her!" hissed Karla, prodding her father with the barrel of the shotgun. "Tell her everything is good."

"Um, yes, Angeline, Everything is fine. Mark took a tumble going down the stairs. But we have everything under control."

"Oh my. Do I need to call an ambulance?"

Edmund studied Karla's eyes. She shook her head vigorously.

"No," he said. "There's no need. Everything is under control."

The door shut and muffled the burgeoning hymn.

"Now walk ahead. Both of you. Into the sub-basement. Show us where you're keeping Linval and James."

Renfrew hobbled across the room. His leg was still not strapped on quite right. He leaned against a stack of folding chairs. "You all go on," he whispered. "I need to fiddle with this damned thing some more. I broke a strap. I... uh... I'll cover for you."

Edmund flicked on a light, He started down the steps with Joshua at his side. "Slowly, you two. You don't want to startle me with this shotgun in my hands. It would be a shame if it were to accidentally go off."

Edmund shot his daughter a glare.

The slanting walls down below were just as rough and unfinished, the ceiling arched. Massive stone blocks underlay them, a slight film of moisture covered every stone. To Karla it had always felt more a wild cavern than something a human would construct. Isobel stayed close to her, hanging onto the hem of her coat.

"God, what is this place?" said Sturgie, reacting to the crude and angular stonework. "A gateway to hell?"

"Pretty much," said Karla.

They passed down the narrow hall. Sturgie had to duck under cross timbers and the bare light bulbs that illuminated the passage. Unfinished crannies were crammed with boxes, their cardboard stained from seepage and fuzzy with mold.

At the end of the hall, they came to a pair of doors, directly across from each other, each triple bolted from ceiling to floor. Karla gagged at the stench. Something smelled like road kill. Her heart beat out of control as another wave of dread and panic washed over her.

She pounded on both doors. "James? Linnie?" There came no answer.

Sturgie undid the bolts on one of the doors and tried the knob. It was still locked.

Karla handed the key ring to Joshua. "Open them."

Joshua's face blanched, and his lip trembled. He slipped the key into the slot and pushed open the door, revealing an overturned cot, a smashed dinner plate and a withered corpse curled up on the floor in a fetal position—Linval.

"Noooo!" shouted Sturgie, dropping to his knees.

Izzie shrieked and burst into tears.

Alfie spat on Edmund. "You bastards! You murdered him!"

Joshua made several signs of the cross in quick succession. Eyes down, he pulled a rosary from his shirt pocket. Edmund stared straight ahead, avoiding Karla's gaze.

"The other one!" she said, her voice gone shrill. "Open it!" She prodded Joshua with the barrel of the gun.

Latches undone, the door clicked open. A wash of light from the bare bulb angled into the interior.

James lay wrapped in a grimy, moth-eaten blanket. His cheeks were sunken and pale, his eyes pitted and shadowed. He looked like a concentration camp victim. He looked fifty years older than he was.

Karla swooped down and pressed her ear gently against his chest.

His heart still beat. He breathed.

"He's... alive?" said Jessica, her eyes bright with hope.

"He is," said Karla, pulling the blanket away. His shirt rode up, revealing an abdomen that was swollen and stiff, ribs covered with bruises. "Help me get him up."

Isobel hung back in the hall, crying, one hand covering her nose, the other holding onto Jessica.

James gasped as Sturgie lifted him off the cot. His eyes popped open. An expression of horror came over him, puzzling and confusing Karla.

"No!" he said, hoarsely. "I can't be here right now. I need to go back. They need me."

"To hell with them, whoever they are," said Karla. "We need you more. Walk, James. You're going to have to help us get you out of here."

"No. You don't understand. "We're raiding Frelsi. I'm needed."

"Forget that horrid place. You're here with me now. We need to get you out of here."

"Karla. You don't understand. I... can't."

James gritted his jaw, fixed his face into a permanent wince and pushed with his knees.

"That's it! You're doing great. We're going to get you out of here."

"It hurts... so much," said James, wincing and panting.

Joshua and Edmund started to follow them down the passage.

Karla brandished the shotgun. "Back!" she said.

"Sorry?" said Edmund.

"Get inside that cell. You two will be keeping Linval company. It will give you a chance to contemplate your deeds."

"Karla, please. Don't lock us in there," said Edmund. "I had no idea these boys were still here. Honestly. We just invited them here to ask a few questions. I thought they had been released." He gave Joshua a glance of mock disapproval.

"Get in there. Both of you," growled Karla. "It's time you had a taste of your own medicine."

As they backed into the cell, pleading, she slammed the door and latched it.

There was a shout and a grunt from the upper basement. Something large and heavy clunked down the stairs. Karla feared it would be Renfrew, but it was one of the rent-a-cops.

Hat crushed, hair disheveled, the man clutched his arm and groaned, the bone now bent at an unnatural angle. Alfie reached down and relieved him of his night stick and pepper spray.

"You stay put!" said Alfie, holding the canister an inch from his nose.

Jessica rushed over and called up the stairs. "You okay, Ren?"

Renfrew sat on the top step, still struggling to fasten his prosthesis over his trousers.

"I'm fine. But you'd better get your arses up here quick. I expect the law to be coming down on us soon. Some bitch in a bonnet witnessed our tussle. Unfortunately, she got away."

The communal hymn approached its climax. The celebrants strained towards a full-throated crescendo.

Karla and Sturgie helped James up the stairs. "I'm sorry Karla. I have to go. "I'm... needed... elsewhere."

"No James, wait! Don't you want to stay? Don't you want to be here... with me? With your friends?"

But already he was slumping unconscious in her grasp.
Chapter 43: Breached

What the hell was I thinking? There I was, flat on my stomach in the dirt, pebbles digging into my cheek, stuck in the middle of a gaggle of sobbing zombies.

Yet, only moments before I had been back in Scotland, free of that damned cell, with Karla at my side. I could still feel the press of her palm on my back, her fingers squeezing my upper arm, supporting me as we limped towards freedom. And I had tossed it all away. For what?

Some weird, irrational sense of panic had come over me, an irrepressible sense of unfinished business. It had driven me back to the Liminality, but the anxiety was totally gone now, having vanished the instant I crossed over. I was left with the lingering ghosts of pain and regret.

Urszula huddled with Trisk and Mr. O, dismounted alongside their mantids. The Old Ones were forming up in two columns along the road. From the looks of it, they were getting ready to go after Frelsi.

What a sorry lot they were, all slumped and hunched and coughing and sputtering. Swarms of bees tended to them, struggling to reconstitute them to their full vigor. But I knew from Mr. O's experience that it wouldn't take much of that bee juice to make them formidable.

So why was I even here? They seemed to have enough mummies to stage a decent raid. What use did they have for a guy with a sword he could barely lift, whose spells fizzled out as often as not?

I writhed on the ground, wallowing in my stupidity. I should have stayed back with Karla. What an idiot I was.

At least there was a bright side. I was out of that cell. My body was in good hands. My friends would see that I got medical attention and soon.

Urszula spotted me and came bustling over, her eyes wide.

"You are back? So soon?"

I rose up on my knees and shrugged.

She extended her hand. "Come. We are about to move on Frelsi."

"Nah. You guys go ahead. I'm not much use to you all."

"Don't be ridiculous. You know you have special skills. You are special."

"Oh Jeez." I looked away.

She helped me to my feet. A real smile, unmistakable as such, now graced her lips.

"You have awakened more than fifty souls. I count thirty-six willing and able to fight. Those too weak, we will leave to protect our rear, if they feel inclined."

We walked down a gauntlet of trembling, hacking, wobbling Old Ones. They carried a pathetic array of weaponry: gnarled branches, shovel handles, stiff reeds plucked from the roadside ditch. Of course they were just conduits for their spell craft, though it seemed a bit much to call them scepters.

The roadside looked like the aftermath of a fire drill in a nursing home. To be fair, these folks looked more weathered than elderly. Some did seem quite frail, despite the steady ministrations of the bees. A strong breeze might have been enough to knock them over.

I scanned the ground where I had lain. "Have you seen my sword?"

With a zing of steel, Urszula slid it free from a harness strapped to her back. "Don't worry. I did not steal it. I was just keeping it safe for you. I didn't expect you back... so soon."

We strolled between Trisk and Mr. O, now astride their mantids, to the head of the column.

I looked around for her dragonfly. "Where's... Lalibela?"

She pointed into the sky over the valley, which was thick with dodging, dog fighting winged creatures. "Patrolling. You and I will go with the Old Ones... on foot."

A knot tightened in my gut as it sank in that we were heading to a fight. Both columns of Old Ones lurched into action, following us like a parade of zombies.

I started to freak out. Conflict had never been my thing. I didn't even like to argue with people. Hanging out at the park, I had blundered into a fistfight on occasion and managed okay. But it was never anything I instigated, and it was a far cry from attacking a double walled city defended by warriors and magic and monsters.

"This is a feint, right? We're just going to threaten them and retreat?"

"Feint?"

"Yeah. I mean, you're not thinking of a full-on attack, are you? We don't exactly have an army behind us."

"They are vulnerable," said Urszula. "They have committed nearly all of their forces to the attack on Neueden. They are not expecting us. They are exposed."

"So what do you plan to do?"

"Destroy... and kill. All that we can."

"But I have friends there!" I thought of Bern and Lille... and Jeffrey... and Mom. And if Karla came back....

"You don't understand," said Urszula. "This is for our survival. You should not have shared your spell craft if you didn't want it wielded against our enemies."

"It's just that... I have friends here."

I skipped forward, trying to get her to look at me, but she kept staring straight ahead.

"Can I ask you to lay off, like, if I see someone I recognize?"

"That will be difficult in the heat of battle. And I can't promise these Old Ones will comply. How many souls have been torn from their Singularity since the harvesting began? Hundreds of thousands, if not millions. One can't expect them to be as discerning or merciful."

"My friends had nothing to do with that!"

Urszula scowled. "It doesn't matter. If they are here, they are Frelsians."

The Old Ones behind us were already looking more vigorous and alert as a steady stream of bees continued to attend them. I shifted my gaze down the columns, making eye contact with each. They all gazed back with the same calm and cool expression, as if they all shared one set of eyes.

I marched on with my head down. That sword was really starting to weigh on me.

A height in the road revealed Frelsi's gateless front portal. Swarms of frantic Hemis were overturning carts and wagons to seal it. Others struggled to haul launchers and erect launchers and erect them atop the broad outer wall. Their actions seemed confused and chaotic. They didn't look or act like warriors. They were probably newly initiated Hemis hastily conscripted into defense.

Urszula veered off the road, up a rugged pitch of scrub and boulders, angling towards the rear of the city. Apparently, we were bypassing the front portal, which came as a bit of a relief.

The Freesouls gathered on balconies on the edge of the Sanctuary rose in alarm from their chairs as we approached. Some scurried into their towers like country club diners rousted by a thunderstorm.

Objects came hurtling over the wall and over our heads – bristly cannon balls that burst apart into springy, pencil thick coils. All landed harmlessly in the scrub.

"Their aim is poor," said Urszula. "They are firing blind."

We moved to within an arm's length of the wall, exploiting it as cover from the projectiles. They would need to fire their launchers practically straight up now to reach us, a trajectory that would risk bringing their own projectiles down on their heads.

Around the curve of the wall, a God-awful chorus of screeching and yipping kicked up. Urszula held up her palm to stop the columns.

"What is it?" I said. "What's that noise?"

Before she could speak, a pack of maggot-skinned weasels came bounding around the wall, their bodies undulating in waves of flesh, scaly, clawed legs pummeling the ground. They squealed at the sight of us, raising their lone tusks like lances.

"Spikers!" said Urszula. The Old Ones rushed up and fanned out around us, raising their motley scepters against the advancing horde.

My initial instinct was to run, but everyone else kept calm, so I held my ground.

I held my sword out straight in both hands. It was way heavier than my old samurai blade, and so unsuited for my physique. I should have ditched the thing and woven a new one when I had the chance.

I didn't expect to add much to the defense. I thought would just go through the motions, thinking I was way too scared to summon the force that made the sword more than a hunk of sharp metal. But wouldn't you know, as the shrieking pack closed in on us, something loosened inside my chest.

I swirled the sword around clumsily and a burst of energy swarmed into my arms, sensing an outlet, following the path of least resistance. A powerful pulse blasted out, knocking me flat on my butt. The shot went wide, slamming into a swath of shrubs that exploded into clouds of fluff.

The Old Ones' scepters snapped and popped like dud firecrackers, their emanations weaker than mine but much more precise, striking spikers more often than not. Damage accumulated, crippling beasts, diminishing the onrushing horde. But the creatures kept coming, their brains too small to know fear or futility.

I narrowed my eyes, mesmerized by this tsunami of spikes and flesh rolling towards us as I waited for the swirling in my chest to rebuild.

One spiker, an alpha beast of sorts, led the others by at least four lengths. It had already absorbed several hits and evaded many others with its deft maneuvering. Urszula stepped in front of me, determined to nail this creature.

Distracted, I lost my mojo. The feeling in my chest dissipated. An aura swarmed the tip of Urszula's scepter and tore loose, the blast grazing the spiker's back and carving a groove into the dirt behind it.

The damned thing altered course, coming straight after her with vengeance in its beady eyes.

"Urszula! Watch out!"

She stood strong, holding her scepter steady, determined to get off another blast, but I was already diving at her knees, tackling her to the ground just as the spiker leapt. It flew right over us, claws scrabbling and flailing. It spun about in mid-air and landed ready to spring again.

A shadow enveloped us. Wing beats raised the dust all around us. Mr. O squinted down from his mantid as a percussive blast spread from the tip of his scepter straight down onto the alpha spiker. The shock wave immobilized it, pressing it flat against the dirt. It shuddered and collapsed into a pile of mush, every plate and bone in its body shattered.

"Owe you one, Mr. O!" I shouted up as he banked away from the wall to evade a flurry of projectiles.

What was left of the main wave of spikers barreled into our formation. A silver-haired Old One beside me fell as the tusk of a spiker drilled into his sternum. He passed with a whimper.

I swung my sword at his attacker only to skewer another spiker that was leaping at me unseen. Urszula was back on her feet, sending pulse after measured pulse, mopping up the stragglers that careened through our ranks.

The spiker I had impaled writhed at the end of my sword, snarling and screeching, struggling to free itself to come at me again, vicious even in its final throes. I stabbed the blade in deeper and twisted, releasing a flood of fatty, yellow froth.

With one spiker left standing, a convergence of pulses dissolved it into a cloud of pink mist and a pile of quivering limbs.

Urszula came over and glared at me. "Never do that again."

"Do what?"

"Do not attempt to protect me. I can take care of myself. Save yourself first or you can save no one."

"You're welcome," I said, with a shrug, extracting my blade from the spiker's carcass and wiping it on a bush.

"Come! We must move quickly now."

Trisk and Mr. O on their hovering mantids provided cover, blasting unseen threats on the other side of the wall. We rounded the back of the city, reaching the manicured lane that led up to the glaciers.

The rear portal of Frelsi's outer wall was only blocked by a single cart. The Old Ones quickly demolished it with their pulses and sent a ragtag band of Hemis fleeing to the Inner Sanctuary.

"Keep close," said Urszula.

We slipped into the breach. The gap between the inner and outer walls here was much narrower than down below. There were no habitations, only open ground. I could have easily thrown a stone and spanned the distance between the walls.

The fleeing Hemis frantically cranked closed the gate of the Sanctuary as we approached. Our Old Ones arrayed themselves in an arc and went after it with spell after spell without much success. It seemed to absorb and deflect their pulses as if protected by its own potent spell craft.

I don't what made me think I could do what several dozen wizened and practiced souls had failed to accomplish, but I added my sword to the effort. After that successful tussle with the spikers, I was feeling uppity, I guess.

I pointed my sword, looked at that gate and thought of the rakes and brooms that always seemed to jam our old garage door open. The gears and cogs of this mechanism were nothing like the motor and chain of a Sears Craftsman automatic opener. I didn't even feel anything leave the sword, but the gate seized up tight, halfway closed, its hinges fused into a solid mass.

The Hemis panicked and scattered. The Sanctuary was open for plunder.

The Old Ones, gathering strength and speed by the minute, plunged through breach. Their scepters belched and splatted into everything and everyone who stood in their way.

Pulses rained down from the towers, unbinding everything they struck into their elemental parts. Some of the Old Ones managed to exude umbrella-like shields from the tips of scepters, not perfectly protective, but sufficient to absorb or deflect most of the force of a spell.

The base of a tower burst apart and the tower collapsed, scraping the platforms off neighboring structures, crushing a row of puffball huts.

I wasn't adding much to the effort. My spells didn't seem to flow as freely as theirs. I felt almost constipated. Mostly, I just got in the way.

The Old Ones seemed to ignore the Hemis for the most part, focusing their rage on the Freesouls, pursuing any brightly clothed individual with almost predatory abandon.

One man, cornered in the wreckage of a tower, tried to flee up a line of cracks in the inner wall. A scepter blast shattered the polished stone cladding it. He slid to the ground in a heap of rubble where a convergence of spells converted his flesh to mist.

The orgy of demolition commenced, barely opposed until a band of Freesouls wielding staffs appeared on our right flank and engaged us in a running skirmish. They harassed us with their erratic shots but did little to impede our progress. We drove them deep into the Sanctuary until they too, lost heart and fled.

A cacophony of bleating preceded a stampede of juvenile Reapers, released in desperation from the breeding pits. They came careening through the forest of towers like a flash flood of blubber.

They were far less deadly than the spikers and far more easily discouraged. The Old Ones dispatched them with disdainful ease, like gardeners picking slugs from their arugula. The confused survivors fled back to their trenches to lick their wounds.

Out of nowhere, a creature came swooping down on me from the top of a puffball, swiping at me with the claws protruding from the leading edge of its bat wings. I dodged aside and slashed at it with my sword as it went by. It screamed and whipped around to have another go at me.

With a whoosh, a scepter pulse beamed down from overhead, carving out a concavity into the creature's hide that made it curl and writhe like a caterpillar under the focused rays of a magnifying glass. A flap of wings swirled clear air into the dust cloud, revealing Mr. O, again my guardian angel.

I had lost track of Urszula in the ruckus and tagged after a group of Old Ones who had splintered off and were heading behind the arena, among the Reaper breeding trenches and pens holding Defectives.

The trenches were empty, save for a few juvenile Reapers huddled in a corner, braying at us. Every mature Reaper, it seems, had been mobilized for the attack on Neueden.

A Freesoul popped out of an alley between the pens and leveled his staff at a group of Old Ones whose backs were turned. My sword flew up instantly. Without having to think, something swirled out of my chest and out the blade tip. A rope of yellow energy enveloped him in a sizzling sheath that slammed him down, jerking and quivering until he became still.

I stood there, shocked. I had never killed a man before. I looked up to find a cage full of Defectives staring at me numbly. One man started clapping.

I went over to the latch and hacked away at it with my sword.

Urszula came around the corner. "Leave them be. They're safer confined."

"Safer? They're Goddang Reaper food if they stay put. How is that safer?"

"I don't want them getting in our way."

"But... they can help us fight."

Urszula turned to the gaggle of eager eyes huddled behind the mesh. "Can they?"

"Bet your ass," said a man with frazzled hair and a crazed expression in his eyes. "Huh boys? These fucking Freesouls, we'll turn them into fodder."

"Hell yeah!" said another.

Urszula touched her scepter to the latch and held it there until the metal cracked and crumbled away. "Don't stay here. Make your way across the plateau, to the ruins."

"Understood," said the frazzled man, as he and his fellow Defectives spilled out of the pen.

I rushed over to the next pen, eager for Urszula to do the same for them. A hand shot through the mesh and seized me.

I wrenched my arm away in revulsion, but looked up to find a friendly but dirty face beaming at me.

Bern looked bruised and disheveled, but otherwise intact. He couldn't stop grinning.

"You know him?" said Urszula, her expression dour and distracted.

"Of course! Don't you remember Bern?"

"Oh yes. Isn't he the one who wanted me terminated?"

"Never," said Bern. "I just wanted him to leave you to your own devices."

"I see." With a touch of reluctance, Urszula held the tip of her scepter against the latch, until it too crumbled away.

"How's Lille?"

"How should I know? They took her away. I can only hope she's somewhere safe."

Trisk came swooping down on his mantid, landing with a thud between two Reaper pens.

"The Frelsians have broken off their attack," he said. "They're falling back. Returning to defend Frelsi."

Urszula looked mortified.

"But the raid... it worked!" I said.

"We need to get out of here. Now!" said Urszula. She slammed the base of her scepter on the ground. A concussive thud reverberated from its shaft like a contrabass church bell. Every Old One in the vicinity looked to her.

She shouted to her fellow warriors in their ancient lingo. The Old Ones barely reacted to the news, but started making their way back towards the gate, clambering over the wreckage, gathering in the open ground beyond. Some, badly injured, were being carried by their comrades.

Another tower collapsed, crushing a row of huts, sending up a thick cloud of dust that wafted over us.

I offered my arm to Bern out of habit, but despite his cane, he didn't need my help. His leg had been fully mended by the Frelsians.

"I'm ready to go back to the tunnels, my boy," he said. "I think I've had my fill of this madness."

"I don't blame you one bit" I said.

A winged pod came gliding down from one of the towers, smashing against the wall and bursting open with a hollow 'plonk!,' scattering its contents across the empty lot—knots of wiry worms that untangled themselves into little, woody corkscrews.

One of the worms tensed its coils and sprang at an Old One who had strayed too close, latching onto her leg. It slithered up and drilled into the small of her back. She dropped her scepter and screamed, clawing at the writhing creature as it dug into her spine, its tail end whipping about as it burrowed deep.

I ran over and tried yanking at it with my free hand. It had latched on firmly and refused to yield. I held the tip of my sword to it, sorting through my mind for a potent and appropriate vision. It came as a memory of the leeches that had covered my leg when I went swimming in the pond behind the house of a fellow homeschooler. Dad had taken his lighter and calmly burned them off one by one.

While I stared, the woody worm slowed its burrowing and began to withdraw. I kept my focus steady, and allowed the feelings within me to loosen and channel through the blade until the worm shriveled and disintegrated into flakes that wafted down onto the dirt, leaving behind a deep and bloody puncture that went down to the bone.

Urszula rushed over and slathered a handful of her sticky healing goo on her wound. "To the gate. Now!"

I helped the Old One to her feet, but her legs had gone limp. Urszula and I carried her in a sort of fireman's sling. Detouring wide around the field of Fellstraw, we rejoined the remnants of our assault force, many of them walking wounded.

Cheers erupted from the high platforms as we ran.

Urszula sneered. "Let them have their victory. We got exactly what we wanted."

The gate was just ahead, still ajar. Like a vision from a dream, a slender figure appeared in the opening. She carried no weapon. She was naked.

"Holy Christ!" said Bern. "Will you look who's here?"

Urszula dropped the Old One she was carrying and raised her scepter at the startled girl.

"Put it down," I said, slapping down her arm. "That's my Karla."
Chapter 44: The Loch

It took all three girls to keep James upright and muscle him out of the church and along the pavements. It helped that he retained some autonomous muscle control and could manage a sort of sleepwalk, thrusting a leg forward now and then to aid their cause.

Renfrew had mobility issues of his own to deal with. Broken straps made his prosthesis wobble with each step, and sometimes it came loose entirely. Lacking crutches, he was forced to employ a stolen umbrella as a cane.

Luckily, the authorities were distracted by the commotion up the street. Two of Sturgie's musical friends were in the process of being arrested. He and Alfie skulked low among the parked cars, trying to make their way back to their van unnoticed.

They piled into the little blue Ford, Karla and Isobel sliding James between them, his head flopping from shoulder to shoulder as he was jostled. His lids lifted slightly to reveal the whites of his eyes rolled back, his body surrendered to the fugue state that meant his soul was absent from this world.

Karla reached over his lap and got him buckled. His clothes smelled like the inside of a decommissioned phone box, but she didn't mind. She nestled her cheek against his chest as a slow but steady drip of tears found their way down her cheek in rivulets.

Renfrew took the wheel while Jessica held his detached prosthesis in her lap.

"You're missing a prong in the buckle," she said.

"I realize that."

"How about we just knot the ends together?"

"How about we worry about that later? One leg's plenty to drive an automatic."

A squeal of tires and a cloud of blue smoke told them that Sturgie and Alfie were fulfilling their promise to create a further diversion. Renfrew waited until a police car went wailing past them after the white van, before pulling out from the curb

He drove as if he were heading to the grocer's on a Sunday morning to pick up a carton of milk.

"You could stand to go a little faster, Ren," said Jessica, anxiously. "We're practically crawling."

"Don't want to draw undue attention."

"Fifteen clicks in a forty zone will draw it quicker than anything."

"Alright. I'll speed up a bit." He glanced up into the rear view. "How's the boy?"

"He's alright," said Karla. "Breathing a little ragged, maybe."

Jessica peered over the back of her seat. "He don't look so good."

"How about we go straight to the hospital, have him checked out?" said Renfrew.

"Not here," said Karla. "Not in Inverness."

"But if the poor boy's suffering...."

"We can't, Ren. Not here."

"We could just drop him off."

"No! Papa knows people at the hospital. Some of the nurses attend our church."

"What would they do? Poison him?"

"I wouldn't put it past them. I'm all for taking him to a clinic, but we need to get him out of Inverness first."

"Bugger," said Renfrew.

Isobel, all smiles, leaned over and took her sister's hand. Karla forced a smile in return, but the tension in her face turned it into a scowl.

How could Izzie be so cheery at a time like this? Linval was dead. James was hurting, perhaps gravely.

The ungrateful manner in which James had reacted to his rescue still puzzled her. Why had he been in such a hurry to return to the Liminality? Was he delirious? What business could be more pressing than a reunion with the one he loved?

Her head swirled with possibilities. Was he spiteful for her taking him for granted all those months apart?

Or maybe those Dusters had done something to his head. Maybe there was something going on with that little demon bitch.

She pressed her ear over his chest and listened to his heartbeat. Initially robust and reassuring, a flurry of skips and stutters alarmed her, before it settled back into a steady rhythm.

She leaned back and studied his face. His cheeks had a rosy glow, which she hoped was a good sign. At least his blood was pumping.

"Alright people," said Renfrew. "Keep your fingers crossed. We're about to leave the city limits."

He turned onto Glenurquhart Road and the A82 up the northern shore of Loch Ness.

***

As they roared through Drumnadrochit, Jessica turned and stared out the rear window. "There's a car following us. A black one."

"That's nice," said Renfrew. "Half the cars in Scotland are black."

"But this one looks just like the one that brought Karla's dad to church."

"Because it's black?"

"And I've been watching it on the straightaways. It's getting closer."

"Will you settle down, Jess? No one's following us. I assure you. I'm not driving that fast. They would have caught us by now if they had any intention—"

"Pull off the road next you can. We should let it pass."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Renfrew turned abruptly down a track that cut between tall hedges of yew and holly lining some paddocks. They descended steeply to a broad, uncut field swaying with alfalfa. He turned onto a cross-track and behind a hedge.

"Happy?" he said. "So what now?"

"Let's give it a few minutes, and if all's well, we can move on."

"How's the boy?"

"His pulse is a little bit jumpy," said Karla. "But... otherwise, he is fine."

"Jumpy?" said Renfrew. "What do you mean, jumpy?"

"It is just... a little bit erratic."

"Oh, that doesn't sound good."

"Looks like... he's shaking," said Jessica.

Renfrew sighed deeply. "We should have taken him straight to the nearest hospital."

"We're almost halfway to Ft. William," said Karla. "I'm pretty sure there's a clinic there."

"He could have already been admitted. You're going to be the death of him with your dilly-dallying."

"Please, Ren!" said Jessica. "There are things happening here beyond our ken."

"I'm sorry. I just can't stop thinking about what happened to Linval."

Beyond the hedge, a police car with sirens on full came screaming up the main road.

"Good thing we pulled off when we did," said Jessica.

"We'd better stay put... for a little while, at least," said Karla.

"I'm not sure that getting caught would be a bad thing, necessarily," said Renfrew. "It would put a stop to all this slinking around. Get the boy some medical attention."

"Come on, Izzie," said Karla. "Give me a hand. Let's make him more comfortable."

They slid James out of the seat and brought him to the pasture's edge where the uncut hay was deep and soft. Below the slope, the late afternoon sun turned the peaty loch water cobalt blue.

Karla leaned over him and kissed his bristly cheek. He hadn't shaved in over a week.

His pulse was getting thready. Every few beats it seemed to stop for a spell before lurching back into action.

Jessica wandered over. "Oh my!" She looked startled. "Why does he look so grey?"

"He's okay," said Karla. "See? His color's already starting to come back."

"I'm thinking, Ren might have a point. This kid needs attention, and soon."

"He'll be fine. He just needs a little rest."

Jessica pursed her lips and went back to the car.

Izzie sidled close. "Maybe we should let Ren and Jess take him," she whispered.

"And then what do we do? Wander the moors? I'm not leaving his side. No way. Not again."

Isobel sighed. "We can't just sit here and watch him die."

Karla took his wrist. For a solid three count, there was no heartbeat at all. It did return and with a vengeance, but clearly his arrhythmia was getting worse.

She couldn't deny it any longer. His heart was failing. Would there even be time to get him to a hospital?

Implications swarmed. If James died right now, with his soul in thrall of the Liminality's core, he would be relegated to the Deeps. The only hope of seeing him again, would be to join him.

Could she abide such a harsh place? Maybe she had no choice if she ever wanted to see James again. Once he passed, the Deeps would be the only world left that their souls could share.

Izzie? I need to ask you a favor. Only, it's not going to sound like a favor. But believe me, it will make me happy."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"James. When... if... he passes... I want to go with him. I want you... to kill me."

"Say what?"

"Renfrew's gun is in my purse. I want you to take it. When the time comes... shoot me... right here." She touched the middle of her chest.

"Stop it La! Don't talk like that."

"I'm serious! Listen! If you do it, I get to be with James. Forever. And you... if you kill me. You'll be out of Papa's control. They'll send you to some sort of prison for juveniles. You'll be locked up, but you'll be safe from Papa. And by the time you get out, you'll be an adult. Emancipated."

"You're insane! How could you ask me... your own sister... to do such a thing?"

"Because I know you love me. I know that you want me to be happy. And this would do it. It really would."

"And you would give up me without a second thought? Put the burden on me, for the rest of my life, to live knowing I killed my own sister?"

"Please, Izzie. You know better. All this we see before us, it's just one facet of existence. Souls persist. There are other lives."

"None as good as this one," said Isobel.

"You don't understand. This is my chance at forever... with James. If you don't do it, I will lose him."

"You're not even twenty years old, La. Why are you chasing forever?" She snatched up Karla's cloth purse, yanked it open, plunged her hand in and pulled out Renfrew's black pistol. Her eyes met Karla's with ferocity. She took two steps towards the loch, heaved the weapon as far as she could, and then went stomping off across the meadow.

Renfrew waddled over, his brow ruffled. "Good God! Don't tell me that was my 9mm Browning that just went kersplash!"

Jessica stood by the car, her face stone sober, a phone pressed to her ear. When she noticed Karla staring, she turned to face the hedges.

"Who is she talking to?" said Karla.

Renfrew looked away, sheepishly.

"Who is she calling, Ren?"

"We'll do our best to protect you from you know who. I promise." He looked up. Isobel was already halfway across the meadow and picking up her pace. It was clear she did not intend to return.

Karla lay down next to James and took his hand in hers. His fingers felt clammy. This time, she didn't bother to check his pulse.

She wished she had the power to summon her own death at will so she could time it to coincide with James. If only their souls could perish from this world in the same moment and reappear together on the other side.

As she lay, pondering the chaos of the clouds overhead she was seized by a moment of inspiration and clarity, and she bolted upright.

James didn't have to go to the Deeps and neither did she! He was in Frelsi, a short walk from the glaciers. If she could tear him away from the Dusters and get his ass up that mountain, his soul could still be freed.

She only had to make him understand that his life on earth was frittering away. She had been denying it until now, out of a hope that they could salvage a life together in this world.

She struggled to dial down her excitement. These rays of hope would keep her out of Liminality if she let them persist. Years of practice had taught her how to whittle them down to the bitter core of doom that lay at their heart, to fog over any windows of optimism. Surfing, she called it, although sometimes it felt more like deepwater diving.

But if she failed to reach James in time and he was sent the Deeps, she wouldn't need Isobel or Renfrew's gun to take the next step. She looked out over the wind-ruffled depths of Loch Ness. She could swim out until she could swim no more and let the depths consume her. Suicide would land her in the tunnels, and from there she would be one Reaper's maw away from eternity.

She laid her head back down on the grass, staring up at a herd of puffy clouds hurrying east, borne by an unfathomable wind.

When the feeling finally settled in, she had been away from it so long; it was like stumbling across an old, almost forgotten friend. She felt it mostly in her mid-section, a heavy, inward pressure, as if a growth were impinging on her organs. It sent its hooks in deep and hauled her down, like an anchor tossed into a bottomless sea.

She closed her eyes and rode the vortex down to the Liminality.

***

No roots came to claim her this time. She was well beyond their reach. She found herself right where she had left off: in sight of the glaciers, outside the destroyed Frelsian security compound where she had been detained with James and Bern. The place was vacant, the stockade still damaged from the tussle with the Dusters.

She got up and made her way out to the road. Huge clouds of brown dust billowed up over the walls of Frelsi below her. A giant, balconied tower toppled and took another down with it as it fell. Dull explosions reverberated off the moraines.

A small crowd of Hemis had gathered on the road looking on in horror. A Freesoul was trying to organize them into an assault party, but the Hemis, greenhorns by the looks of their freshly woven clothing, were too frightened to budge.

Karla below right by them and started down the road.

"Hey you! Hemi!" said the Freesoul. "Where do you think you are going?"

Karla ignored him and picked up her pace until she was sprinting towards the city.

More towers fell. The squeals of injured beasts ripped across the landscape.

It was all downhill and easy running. She found a rhythm and a pace she could sustain. When she reached the open portal of the outer wall, she clambered over the wreckage of a destroyed wagon and into the wide, open lot that curved inside the wall of the Sanctuary.

The jagged stub of a broken tower jutted above the inner wall. The scale of the damage that had been done to the Sanctuary shocked her. Why would James be party to this? What was the point?

She crossed the space between the walls and slipped through a part in the gates.

A bulky missile with stubby wings glided down from one of the intact towers and crashed into the wall, scattering its writhing contents all over the bare dirt—stiff little snakes, coiled like corkscrews.

A scrawny band of withered-looking Dusters emerged from a dust cloud. They took a wide berth around the coiled things, as they made their way to the gate.

And there was James among them, naked but for a sword!

Their eyes met. Karla ran.
Chapter 45: Fellstraw

"James!" A giddy smile bloomed on Karla's face. She had no clothes on, but then, neither did I.

"Your woman," said Urszula, flatly.

Startled, the Old Ones around me paused and leveled their scepters. "Tell them it's okay. She's with me."

Karla took off running towards me, her arms swinging wildly.

"No! Wait! There's Fellstraw!"

Either she didn't hear me or the term meant nothing to her because she kept on running.

A coiled worm leaped at her like a wooden spring un-sprung. She cried out and lurched aside, nimbly, but blundered close to another and set it off as well, forcing her to hop back the other way. The creatures, though blind, could sense her. They bounced and squirmed excitedly, triggering each other in a chain reaction.

"What are these things?" said Karla.

"Stay put, right where you are," I said, charging at a nearby clump of worms which had come together, inching along like caterpillars, and was organizing into a swarm. I swung my blade, aiming to clear a path for her, but slashing the headless creatures only made things worse. The cut ends reshaped themselves into bullet-shaped tips and then there were two worms.

A transparent pulse burst forth from Urszula's scepter, rippling the air like heat waves over blacktop. It slammed broadside into the cluster, knocking them over. Unharmed, they picked themselves up, juiced with an extra smidgeon of agitation and aggression. They reared up and panned their tips around like periscopes, seeking the source of their insult.

Urszula seemed shocked that her pulse had not obliterated them. "These beasts are potent. No ordinary mage created them."

Several clusters of worms joined together into a single swarm and formed an arc between us and Karla. She tried to backtrack towards the gate, but the worms sent two arms rushing out to cut her off before she could escape. Now that they had her trapped, they circled her warily.

They sure acted way too intelligent for a bunch of worms. Together, they had some sort of communal intelligence. Either that or someone was controlling them remotely.

Inexorably, like a camera's diaphragm contracting in slow motion, the worms tightened the ring around Karla, who stood straight and tall in the very center, arms tight against her sides.

"What's happening?"

"Don't let them touch you!" I said. I held out my sword and mustered the bitterest thoughts possible, cultivating a hatred for all things wormy, drawing from sources as varied as my early disgust with a three-year-old neighbor girl who used to eat them, and fishing with Dad, the damned sandworms that used to pinch my fingers when I tried to bait my hook.

I was committed and confident that I could make something happen. I had summoned powerful spells before that had taken out Reapers and spikers. This should be as easy as squishing maggots.

I narrowed my eyes at the thick swath of worms between me and Karla, and conjured that loosening in my core that foretold the imminent unleashing of my bizarre powers. Deep in my torso, energy swirled, building to a critical mass that could no longer be contained. It tore loose and poured out through my arms and out the point of my sword.

A blast screamed out of the blade with the force of a fire hose. It barreled into a batch of worms and pressed them flat to the ground. When the pulse was spent, and my arms were shaking from the strain, those damned worms were still there, entirely intact. They just picked themselves back up and resumed their creeping.

"What the fuck?" I dropped to my knees, exhausted and anguished. How could this be? I cared more for Karla's well-being than any soul in the universe, including my own. How could my powers have failed?

One of the Old Ones had been watching me intently through all this. He was a tall and lanky guy with a scepter made of knotty and burled wood. He came striding up to the edge of the circle, holding his weapon low like the wand of a leaf blower.

A greenish aura spread from the knot at the end of his scepter and flickered like a flame. He touched it to a worm and it blew apart into flakes of ash. The worms recoiled and scrambled to get away from him. He moved into the ring, swinging his scepter in broad arcs, parting their ranks like an old-timey farmer reaping rye with a scythe. He was a powerful dude. He walked right up to Karla and hoisted her up, tucking her under his free arm.

My eyes teared up and I cheered, awed and grateful for his bravery and sacrifice. I tossed a glance to Urszula, but she was staring up at the Sanctuary, looking all anxious about something.

As the Old One turned to come back our way, the worms took advantage of his inattention and counterattacked. A loose column squirmed out of the main body and formed a spearhead aiming straight for his heels.

"Watch out!"

He spotted them just in time to smite the vanguard with his scepter, dividing the attack into two streams that circled back to the main body. I tried again to assist, summoning every ounce of energy I could channel through the tip of my sword but all of my attempts were impotent. The best I could do was knock a worm aside here and there.

By now, the Old One had obliterated scores of worms, but there were so many and they kept on coming. He drew them towards us like a Pied Piper, forcing me and Urszula and the other Old Ones to back away.

A blob of energy flew down from the remains of a tower, smacking into the Old One's side, knocking him to one knee, nearly losing hold of Karla.

I wheeled around and without even having to think or aim, sent a pulse flying up to the broken tower where the sniper, a Freesoul, was slinking back inside from one of the balcony platforms.

My blast expanded into a jagged loop that tore into the side of the tower like an electrified chainsaw, gouging a huge chunk, balcony and all, that went crashing to the ground before the sniper could find refuge.

The Old One, in the meantime, had gotten back to his feet, but a sneaky bunch of worms had taken advantage of his stumble to come springing after him. Before he could swing his scepter, they had latched onto his leg and were drilling into his ankles. My stomach sank.

What was left of the main mass of worms came after him, no holds barred, as if encouraged by the success of their kin. He did his best to fend them off, but his calves became draped with so many worms it looked like he was wearing a pair of shaggy mukluks.

It was so frustrating to just stand there and watch, helpless to do anything. I tried to make another spell pour out of my sword, but I had nothing.

The Old One's strides become labored. He had managed to burn most of the worms off his legs with his scepter, but it was clear that some had gotten into his body. His eyes betrayed enormous pain.

"What's his name?" I asked Urszula.

"Yoric," answered one of the Old Ones standing behind me, in a voice that sounded like wind rustling sagebrush.

Yoric stumbled the last few paces and collapsed to his knees, placing Karla gently down before he crumpled completely and began to convulse.

The remaining worms kept their distance, wary perhaps, that one of us might possess the sort of spell craft that had done in the others.

I ran over and pulled Karla away. She flew into my arms and kissed me. Neither of us was clothed, but I barely noticed.

"Why did you come here?" I said. "I told you, there's a war going on."

"What? You're not glad to see me?" she said, her voice cracking.

"Of course I am. It's just dangerous right now. I told you—"

"Listen, James. We have you out of the church, but you are gravely ill on the other side. I don't think you are going to last much longer. We need to get you up to the glaciers."

A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. A worm was snaking out of Yoric's mouth. It seemed fuller, reconstituted. The woody, wrinkled texture of its skin had become slick and smooth. It had lost the shifty, jerky motion of the other worms, moving with grace and power.

"Watch out!"

Before I could yank Karla away, it slithered across the ground like a living lightning bolt, wrapping around Karla's leg, wriggling up her back. I grabbed at it frantically, but it slipped through my fingers. Before I could seize it again, it was burrowing in, parting her flesh as if it were clay.

"Nooooo!"

Karla screamed. Her legs went limp. She crumpled to the ground. I dragged her away from Yoric and rolled her over onto her side. A small, perfectly round hole had been bored into the small of her back. Fragments of bone littered her skin around the opening. There was no trace of the worm.

Karla gasped, her eyes bulging. She mouthed words, struggling to speak, but unable to shape a coherent phrase.

Urszula stood a few paces back with Bern and a few of the Old Ones, keeping the rest of the worms at bay with their scepters. I looked over at her. "We gotta help her get it out!"

"There is nothing to be done," she said, not even looking at me. "It has her."

Karla cried out again. She squeezed my hand.

"Find me, James. Promise, you'll come and find me."

"Shush. I'm right here. And you're not going anywhere."

Her eyes rolled upward. She started to shiver. "I'm afraid, James. I don't want to be alone. The place I'm going... I see it. I'm going—"

"Going where? Where are you going?"

But Karla had gone still.

"To the Deeps, no doubt," said Urszula.

***

Tears stung my eyes and blurred my vision. Urszula wanted me to get moving, but I refused to budge from Karla's side. Most of the Old Ones had already left. Only a few lingered, watching, but sharing no signs of emotion, as if they had none to share.

When Karla twitched, my hopes rose momentarily, but it wasn't a sign of life. Not hers, anyway. It was that thing moving around inside her.

"You'd better get away from her or it will come after you next," said Urszula.

"Sorry, but I ain't leaving her," I said, my voice oscillating through my sobs.

"Don't be stupid," said Urszula. "She's not coming back. You see only flesh before you. Your woman is gone."

I refused to listen, but I couldn't understand why her body hadn't faded. Wasn't that how this place worked? When I thought about it, though, dead people on Earth don't disappear. Fading only occurs in one direction—back to the previous existence. But Karla had moved on to the next world.

"I am warning you, do not hold her corpse so close or this Fellstraw will take you as its next host."

"We have to... get it out of her," I said, sobbing.

"Why bother?" said Urszula. "It is too late. She cannot be saved."

"No. I can't leave her here. Not with this thing inside her."

"We can't take her with us. That is out of the question. She is infested."

That just spurred another cascade of tears. My whole body shuddered with grief.

"She's alive somewhere, right? On the other side? In Scotland?"

"No." Urszula studied my eyes gravely. "Not in Scotland. Only the Deeps."

"But her body... on the other side... on Earth... it wasn't touched. How could she die there?"

"Her soul has moved on. Same as those taken by Reapers. Same process. Different worm. Those who perish in the Liminality go to the Deeps. That is the path."

"I still don't understand. My soul visits this place. But I'm still alive on Earth. Right?"

"Yes, but her soul is two worlds removed now. That is the difference between you and her."

I stroked Karla's hair, picking out pebbles and bits of leaf.

"What about Heaven? Could she have gone there?"

Urszula shrugged. "I doubt such a place exists. There are rumors, but... even if it were real, I doubt it would be meant for those like us."

"But the Old Ones... isn't that where they go? The Singularity? Isn't that.... Heaven?"

"The Singularity is a state of their own creation. It provides peace and camaraderie for the soul. But it's no Heaven. Not in the sense that you are thinking."

I bent over Karla and kissed her cheek, my tears dripping onto her face.

That thing rippled under the skin of her belly. Anger and disgust brewed in me.

I looked up at Urszula. "We need to get it out of her. Now!"

Urszula shook her head. "There's nothing to be done. Let her go.

"I can't... I can't just leave her here with this thing still inside her."

Urszula watched me weep. Something like pity took shape in her eyes.

She knelt beside me. "Put your hand flat over her stomach and bring it down slowly, but do not touch her skin."

"But... what will that—?"

"Just do as I say."

I lowered my hand and as it hovered over her navel, a powerful turbulence arose in Karla's belly. A bullet-shaped bulge appeared, and pressed against the skin.

"Hold it right there," she said, as my hand hovered an inch over her flesh.

Ursula placed the tip of her scepter right up against my thumb.

"Lower your hand slowly. Pull away quickly when I tell you."

Waves rippled across Karla's stomach. The pointy bulge strained, stretching the skin until it broke through.

"Now!"

I hesitated a moment too long and the thing looped a coil around my finger. Before it could tighten, Urszula slapped my hand away with her scepter and swirled it down the length of the worm as it surged out of Karla's belly, have grown even thicker and more translucent than the beast that had left Yoric.

It coiled like a caduceus around the tip of the scepter. Karla yanked it free hurled the scepter as far as she could back towards the Sanctuary.

"Now come! Quickly. Unless you want to face the entire Frelsian army." She held up her hands to the sky and her Lalibela looped down from the clouds, wings aglitter.

"Can... can we take her with us? I don't want to leave her here. Please?"

Urszula took a long, deep breath. "If you insist. She is no longer... infested."

Lalibela alighted gently on the road just outside the outer wall. Trisk landed his mantid beside her in a panic.

"They've crossed the valley and are starting up the hillside. You need to clear out now!"

I carried Karla's body up onto Lalibela's back. She was like a ragdoll in my arms. I still couldn't stop sobbing. My face was drenched.

Urszula hopped into the saddle and slapped Lalibela's side with her palm. The dragonfly's wings buzzed into action and we lifted off, circling wide over the scrubby slopes where the retreating Old Ones were dispersing into the landscape, shepherded by Bern and Mr. O on the back of the other mantid.

As the wind peeled the tears from my face, I tried and failed to imagine how my soul could possibly persist in any realm of existence, now that they had all gotten so much bigger and emptier.
Chapter 46: Escape

Burrs and twigs studded the lace of Isobel's pearly communion dress. The hem had been shredded by brambles and barbs. Not the best attire for climbing, but at least Papa had let her wear some sensible shoes. She had Karla's sweater to ward off the chill breeze coming over the top of the ridge.

She paused to catch her breath at the edge of a recently logged clearing. Pitch oozing from the spruce stumps made it smell like Gwen's house at Christmas. Papa, of course, would never have allowed them to glorify anything as pagan as a tree.

The ledges along the ridge top offered views up and down the loch and across the valley to the northern highlands. Before her stretched a patchwork of dark thickets, golden fields and meadows so green they glowed. They spread before a bastion of rumpled hills, their flanks shaggy with evergreens, tops crowned with brown heather. Lakes and ponds glittered like gems.

Down by the loch's edge, two ambulances and four police cars had gathered along the hedgerows. Renfrew must have finally called the authorities, as he had been threatening to do all along. She had left in the nick of time.

She had a little bit of money in her purse, enough only for a few humble meals. Clothes would have to be borrowed or stolen from wash lines. A night at an inn was out of the question, regardless of whether an unaccompanied girl her age would be allowed to check in to such an establishment unquestioned.

There were plenty of farms dotting the landscape. There would be barns and hay. Maybe, if she was lucky, some kindly widow might be willing to give her refuge for a spell in return for a bit of companionship. She just needed to concoct a story benign enough to appease the old bag or perhaps one brutal enough to make her understand the need to keep her whereabouts secret. Maybe the truth would suffice.

All of this hypothesizing would amount to nothing if she didn't keep moving. The sun was sinking low, and there would likely be men sent out to 'rescue' her and she would spend the night in some detention cell.

She could already see a helicopter banking around the end of the loch. She wondered if it had anything to do with their escapade. If so, she had to get back under the cover of trees. She could manage one night out in the open if she had to, as long as it didn't rain.

She turned to go but found herself turning back towards the loch. She was reluctant to head down the ridge just yet, out of sight of those rescue vehicles and the little blue Ford. She had left her sister down there, the only kin in the world she cared about, not to mention her friends.

She was glad for James to be finally getting the medical care he needed. She wondered why they had sent two ambulances. Perhaps such redundancy was standard protocol, an extra precaution. Surely, James was the only one down there who needed any medical intervention. What a worry wart she was.

A light went on across a hayfield in the valley. Already, the shadows were deep and dark in the creases of the land.

She hoped Karla would forgive her for running off without saying goodbye. But her sister was emancipated and no longer had to worry about Papa serving as her legal guardian. Isobel had three more years yet to wait before that would be possible unless she became a ward of the state. There was no way she could survive another day under Papa's roof. She couldn't count on the state to protect her. She couldn't risk being forced to go back home.

She bit her lip and plunged into the fringe of spruce beyond the ledges. The trees were widely spaced here with beds of fine needles that were springy underfoot. There was no looking back now. She was committed.

As she started down the back side of the ridge, her eyes began to sting. No amount of blinking could stop the tears.

She told herself that this would only be a temporary separation. She would see Karla someday soon, and James and Ren and Jess as well, once all of the hubbub died down and she found her way back down south.

How she would get to Brynmawr was still a bit of a conundrum. She couldn't afford a train or bus ticket. She would have to stow away on a lorry or maybe bum a ride with some Gypsy travelers, if anyone did that sort of thing anymore.

Details, details. Now was not the time to think of them. Distance and shelter were her priorities tonight. Some food too maybe, though for now she had no appetite.

Sooner or later, by hook or by crook she would find her way back to Brynmawr. She felt drawn there like a pilgrim. Her days on the farm were the only time in her life where she felt not a burden and a disappointment to the adults in her life but welcome in this world with a right to seek her own happiness. One taste of those freedoms was enough to spur an addiction. She desperately wanted another hit.

Of course, Karla might not be there, if the authorities went ahead and charged her with kidnapping her little sister. God knows that Papa could spin charges and alibis as adroitly as the most devious lawyer. Jessica and Renfrew might be entangled in the law as well, although clearly there were extenuating circumstances in this case—Linval's murder, for one. It was difficult to see how Papa could spin his way out of that one.

In any case, Helen would certainly be around the farm and glad to take her in. Isobel was certain of that. And if the farm was being watched by the authorities or Papa's associates and proved too risky a refuge, there were always Helen's lesbian friends she could take up with. They were a fascinating and lively bunch and likely to be quite sympathetic to her plight.

Not even halfway down the hill and she already missed Karla so much. It would feel so strange not having her to talk things out every night at bedtime. She was used to having her sister help her sort her days, discussing all manner of topics from the trivial to the profound.

But all separations were temporary. She would catch up with her sister one way or another; in one world, one life or the other. She came to the end of the forest and clambered over a stone wall, her eyes on the valley before her, and the lights of the farm houses flicking on across the landscape like evening stars.
Chapter 47: Mourning

Lalibela glided under a thickening bank of clouds, skimming low over a boulder-strewn moraine. Mists obscured the glaciers but I could sense their presence in the wind. A deepening chill sank into Karla's limp body, draped over the saddle before me.

As desperate as I had been to bring her up to the glaciers, reality began to penetrate. What was the point? There was not a hint of life left in her body. She would never become a Freesoul. Her soul was long gone, beyond saving and the poor dragonfly was struggling against the cold and fog for no reason.

I tapped Urszula's shoulder. "Turn around."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

She twisted around in the saddle, eyes probing. "Then I will bring you to Neueden."

"What? No."

"Then... where?"

But I had no alternative destination in mind. I just wanted to vanish from everywhere all at once. I sighed long and slow. "How about you take me to the hollow? That place... with the pond."

She nodded and slapped her scepter against Lalibela's side. We banked sharply over the tarn and circled back around, swooping low over the thinly forested slopes, passing over a group of Old Ones who had paused to rest. Bern waved up at us from the back of Mr. O's mantid.

Urszula steered Lalibela wide around Frelsi. Advance elements of the retreating army were just now reaching the outer walls of the city. They had clearly taken some losses. Fragments of shattered decking dangled from the backs of several Reapers. Officers struggled to maintain order among the ranks of foot soldiers anxious to get behind the city walls.

It wasn't just our diversion that had influenced their retreat. They had taken a beating from that thin line of defenders and their insect allies. These Dusters would be dangerous if they ever got their act together.

So we descended deep into the valley, over a landscape scarred from battle and strewn with dead spikers, soldier ants and the occasional mantid and Reaper. Urszula brought me back to that little box canyon at the base of the foothills.

As I clambered down off the dragonfly cradling Karla's body in my arms, Urszula stood atop her saddle.

"Bury her quickly and come with me."

"No."

"You cannot stay. It is too exposed. Frelsians may be out for retribution.""

"I don't care. I need to be alone... with her."

Urszula tilted her head and studied me, before saddling up and flying off. I watched her disappear over the canyon wall, sorry I had to be so gruff with her, but I didn't have much control over how I felt.

I tumbled back to Scotland. I was in the grass at the edge of some lake. Karla lay beside me. Jessica and Renfrew were all distraught over Karla and wondering where Isobel had gone and how they were going to break the news to her. When I heard loud sirens coming closer, I ducked back into the Liminality as ripple went all through my insides.

I picked up Karla and carried her to the base of the majestic weeping willow I had transformed from a scrawny shrub. I used my sword to loosen the dirt and cut through the roots, scooping out the loose stuff with my hands. It took me hours to dig a decent grave. Not quite six feet under, but maybe four.

I gathered some strips of bark and went to work Weaving. The bark responded readily to my will, expanding, dividing and interlacing into a weft the size of a bedspread. I wrapped Karla in this shroud, jumped down into the hole and laid her gently in the bottom.

When I climbed back out, for the longest time I just sat there, unable to bring myself to toss any dirt on top of her. I broke down after the first handful, but once I got going I kept at it until it was all filled in and an oblong mound of sand and silt marked her resting place.

Blinded with tears whose flow I could not stanch, I turned towards the little, dried out pond. When my vision started to warp, I thought it was from the tears, but actually, I was fading again.

I found myself in a hospital room with bright lights glaring in my face, surrounded by strangers in white coats—medical students playing doctor. Some of them gasped when I awakened and called over a more senior clinician to examine me.

It surprised me how good I felt. My breathing came easily, and I had this smooth buzz on from all the heavy-duty painkillers they had apparently put into me. It felt like I was actually going to pull through.

But it didn't matter anymore. I had no use for this place called Earth. I had no interest in existing in a world without Karla. I didn't care what happened in this end of things. It had no relevance or meaning to me. So I pushed it all away.

In a blink, I was back beside the pond. I wandered over to the seat I had carved into the clay bank, stuck my sword in the mud and watched the wind play with the water.

Hours, I sat tracing the creep of shadow from one side of the canyon to the other as it clouded over and began to rain, a welcome change from the empty skies.

As the raindrops fell, I didn't budge. I pulled out Urszula's shroud and let it expand over my shoulders. I just sat there and watch the speckles accumulate in the dust. Rivulets filled and flowed in bursts and pulses, just like a living thing.

It was a warm rain. Warm as tears. I let the sky do my crying for me.

***

The rain stopped sometime during the night. I never faded, but I must have slept, because I dreamt of highways and body shops and train stations. I awoke with my face pressed into the mud.

I went down and washed up in the pond, weaving myself a fresh set of clothing from some of the reeds along the bank. Without even having to think about it, I gathered another bunch of bark and whipped up a pair of jeans and a hoodie, all black as if I were some freaking widower. I carried an armful of reeds back to cover my muddy seat and went back to staring at the pond and watching the shadows drift.

I couldn't see myself hanging around this place much longer. Karla's last words kept resonating in my skull.

"Find me, James. Promise you'll come and find me."

A bee came by to check on me about midday. Urszula keeping tabs on me, no doubt. I patted its head like it was a golden retriever. It didn't appreciate the gesture, buzzing angrily and backing away, before flying off. At least it didn't try to sting me.

Shadows crept. I got up after a while and went back to visit the sad little mound beneath the willow. It looked so stark and undignified, this pile of dirt, so I added a few decorative touches—daisies and ferns converted from stray tufts of grass.

A drone sounded over the canyon wall. Before the mantid even came into view, I knew who was coming to visit. The mends and tatters in Seraf's wings gave her beats a distinctive rattle.

I watched calmly as Urszula appeared, tall in her saddle, silhouetted against the bluish sun. Seraf hovered down and landed softly on the mudflats.

Urszula slid down the side of her bug and came striding over with that cocky aggression that always made it seem like she was coming to kill me.

She looked askance at my daisies and ferns.

"So girlish, this. You are such a girl."

"And how would you know?"

"I beg your pardon?" She puffed herself up and preened, curving her fingers to her lips, pretending to blow on nails hooked like claws. "You question my femininity?"

"Never."

She stood arms folded, legs apart and glared at me. "The monsoon is coming. You can't stay here. This place will flood."

"So when it does, I'll deal with it. Maybe I'll put my shack up on stilts like they do in Malaysia."

"Come to the tablelands. We have plenty of space. You can have your own mountain."

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be sticking around much longer."

"Oh? Is life so good you must return to Earth?"

"No. I'm heading to the Deeps."

"Fool! Why?"

"I promised Karla I'd go find her."

"That is impossible! The place is more vast than you can imagine and swarming with souls. It would be like searching for a lemming in the steppes."

"Steps?"

"Steppes," she said, sneering. "Think prairie."

"Yeah, well... whatever. I can't see myself hanging around here. And... there's nothing for me back in... on Earth. I almost wish I had died, and gotten it over with."

"Over? There is no such thing as over. Nothing is ever over."

"It is... if I can't find Karla."

"Oh stop! You're such a drama boy. Even if you did find her, she would be changed."

"I don't care. She'll still be Karla."

"You may not even recognize her. Because you will be changed as well."

That, I seriously doubted. After all I'd been through; I was still the awkward, introverted kid I had been in Florida. I did feel a little bit older. And I could do some freaky things with a sword now. But something told me I would always be that shy kid deep inside, even after a thousand years had passed.

But then again, it was pretty clear that the Deeps had changed Urszula. It was hard to make out any trace of the thirteen year old girl that she had been before she died. That is, other than her fondness for furry creatures, even if they tended to have six legs and exoskeletons here.

The wind carried the sound of someone whistling something faintly Celtic, some kind of jig or a reel. We turned to find Bern strolling into the hollow, having crossed the plains from the direction of his cabin in the pit. He had an open umbrella propped over his shoulder even though the rain had stopped.

He approached us with a bit of hesitation. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"What could you possibly be interrupting?"

Bern shrugged. "I don't know... just... didn't want to intrude on your little powwow... war planning... or what-what."

"I would think twice about walking those plains in the daylight old man," said Urszula. "Not all of my comrades know you as a friend."

"Personally, I'm more worried about the Frelsians," said Bern.

"No need. They are hunkered down in their Sanctuary, licking their wounds. It will be some time before they feel so adventurous again."

"Yes, it certainly was nice last night having no Reapers mucking around the surface. Wish I could say the same for down below. Business is still booming in the tunnels."

"Of course," said Urszula. "That is the nature of life. Spewing out floods of unhappy people."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Bern. "People like us, we're just the tip of the iceberg. Most of humanity seems able to cope."

"Most of humanity is deluded," said Urszula.

"Don't knock delusion as a coping mechanism," said Bern. "If delusion is what it takes, I say the more power to them. What I'd give for a delusion or two when things went bad for me way back when."

A flight of six mantids came gliding over the butte and out over the plains, scepters at the ready in the hands of their riders. Bern took off his hat and used it to screen the sun from his eyes as he watched them go.

"Looks like your friends are out to make recruiting for Frelsi a little more difficult."

"That is why I told you to take care," said Urszula. "Our days of mercy are over."

Bern looked around the hollow, his eyes lingering on the burial mound beneath the willow. "Where's your shelter? Where did you spend the night, boy? Out in the open? In all this rain and mud?

"Didn't bother me."

"Why don't you come stay with me?" said Bern. "The cabin's still in decent shape. Needs a bit of sprucing up, but the Weaving is so easy now that I've had some altitude training."

"No. This is where I want to be right now."

"Well, of course. You're in mourning. It's understandable. But there will come a time when—"

"I'm not hanging around. I'm going after her, Bern."

"What? Where?"

"He means the Deeps," said Urszula.

"I'm going there and bringing her back."

"But how? You're going to let yourself be eaten by those smelly—"

"There's got to be other ways," I said, looking straight at Urszula. "I mean... she got here... and her friends."

"That old passage is closed," said Urszula. "The powers that be made sure of that."

"Now, don't be rash, James. You had better think this through. From what I've heard, these Deeps are not a place where you want to get stuck for the rest of your existence."

"If she's there... I don't care. If that's where she is, that's where I want to be."

Bern sighed. "I know how you feel. Can't say I haven't been tempted to head back to Frelsi, even though I'm a marked man now." He showed the D on his arm. "I sure hope Lille is alright."

"I wonder... about my mom. If she remembers me yet... at all."

"Listen, this amnesia business. It might only be temporary. The repairs to my leg are already starting to reverse. Looks like this flesh Weaving needs constant maintenance or else it unwinds. On the bright side, means there's hope for brains. It wasn't like they gave her a permanent lobotomy."

"That's promising, I guess. Sorry to hear about your leg."

"Oh, it's no bother. I'm used to it. That's what canes are for. Listen, how about you two come over to my place for tea? Maybe Urszula and I can talk you out of this Deeps business."

Urszula arched an eyebrow. "You would deign to have tea with a demon?"

"Listen. About all that demon business. I never meant it in a way... I mean I didn't mean to—"

Seraf, who had been preening her antennae by the pond, clattered into action, raising her forelegs, facing the opening of the canyon onto plains.

"Someone's coming," said Urszula.

A lone and slender figure appeared at the mouth of the canyon and was standing there looking at us as the wind buffeted her hair.

"Your woman?" said Urszula.

"Karla?" said Bern. "Is it possible?"

I shot up and started walking towards her, heart pumping like a jackhammer. But then I noticed the slight stature, wavier hair of a lighter shade. "Wait. That's... Isobel."

"Oh, that's such a shame, that the poor girl's been forced back here," said Bern. "She must be sad about her sister." We looked around at each other in an awkward silence. "On the bright side... it gives us a foursome for tea. What do you say, you all? Perhaps we can catch a ride on Urszula's beast."

"Bern, she might not know."

"Might not know what?"

"Isobel might not know that Karla died. She ran off before it happened."

Bern sighed. "I see. How do you suppose we handle this?"

"She needs to be told. She's gonna need some hugs."

"And then... can we have some of this... tea?" said Urszula.

"Of course, my lovely, of course! And I'll weave up some scones to boot. Maybe some cream puffs as well. God knows that child's spirits will need some raising."

Isobel resumed walking towards us. Her whole body seemed to droop. I raised my hand high and waved. Half a football field away, she started sprinting. Her face was blank with shell-shock. Did that mean she already found out what had happened?

Her eyes were damp as she rushed over and hugged me, but she wasn't crying.

"She's gone," said Isobel. "I saw it... in the news."

"I know."

"But how? She was in a safe place and healthy. Did Papa get to her?"

"No. Some bad magic took her from this side."

I took her hand and led over to Bern, who gave her a long and hearty hug. Urszula was up preparing Seraf's saddle. It would be a tight fit, but she could manage four riders for the short hop back to Bern's place.

But first she needed to see her sister's grave. I hoped she would appreciate the daisies and ferns more than Urszula had.

*****

THE END

