 
Penult

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 by A. Sparrow, All Rights Reserved

Jude 1:6 –And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.

Hebrews 13:2 –Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

Chapter 1: Prison

Two cups of coffee and a crumpled wrapper sat on the table between me and the two exhausted detectives. Every time I pled ignorance to another one of their dumb-assed questions they looked at each other with incredulity and exasperation.

I almost felt sorry for them. Every eyewitness account coming from the crime scene was wacky beyond belief. In the world they thought they knew, bleachers don't just get up and walk. Hundred year old beech trees don't suddenly sprout fully rooted in the middle of a soccer field. They just don't.

What was I supposed to tell them? The truth? That it was all me? That the guy they found encased within its heartwood was basically a ninja wizard assassin from one of hell's anterooms? Yeah, right.

That jerk Wendell actually survived the ordeal. Go figure. A team of firemen and arborists cut him free with some nifty chainsaw work. Back when Wendell had locked my friend Urszula in a different tree, I hadn't needed any stinking chainsaw to spring her.

So I kept mum, feigning ignorance, reinforcing their impression of me as some pimply, dumb kid from Florida. And it worked. They ended up treating me more like a victim than a perpetrator.

I was damned lucky the charges were limited to the premature withdrawal of one pickup truck from a probate lot. In the eyes of the law, I was a first offender—an orphan, no less. Things could have turned out way worse for me, considering.

***

FCI Coleman Medium. That's my home these days. Sounds more like a brand of moderately-sized ice chest than a bona fide Federal Correctional Institution one hour north and east of Tampa.

After the incident at the soccer field, the New Hampshire cops tasked to sort things out found all kinds of outstanding warrants in my name. Go figure. The only charge that stuck was third degree auto theft. And that was for liberating a Ford F150 from the probate lot in Fort Pierce and crossing state borders with the allegedly stolen property. The truck had belonged to my dad. He had willed it to me and I just happened to take possession of it before all the t's had been crossed and the i's dotted. Nevertheless, I pled guilty for a sentence of six months in jail plus a year's probation.

That was more than I expected for a first offense, but I can't complain. I was lucky they could not tie me to any of the drug trafficking done by me, or subsequently by the Pittsburgh dealers had I traded it to. Dad's truck had been worked hard for a month before the authorities managed to track down and impound it.

There was plenty of other stuff they could have charged me with, too. Homicide, for instance. People died in my presence, whether or not my actions were directly involved. And I'm not just talking about that old lady ex-assassin in Burlington, Vermont whose departure from this existence I had 'facilitated.'

I had pulled stuff that, to lay people, might seem supernatural, but to me came as natural as blowing my nose. Twice, monsters summoned and conjured by my will had slaughtered a bunch of a drug trafficker's enforcers.

In the old days they might have even hung me for sorcery. Good thing the laws regulating that sort of thing were long off the books.

So I can't complain. Six months in Coleman Medium was nothing compared to what could have been. Yeah. Things could have turned out far worse. Considering.

***

A long time ago back in Fort Pierce, a girl I knew once looked deep into my eyes and told me that I had an old soul. She was one of those New Age, vegan, quinoa/granola types. Hippy parents. High on life.

I took her seriously at the time, because it was something that I had always suspected about myself. I had this weird feeling that I had been through this ordeal we call life at least once or twice before. This was not my first rodeo.

Fast forward a couple weeks and I caught her giving the same spiel to some other guy at a party. It was a throwaway pickup. She had no psychic ability. She had only been flirting, but I had been too vain and too dense to realize it. I was crushed.

I wonder what she would say if she could see me now. These eyes have gazed on things most mortals could never imagine exists. This soul has traveled to places from which most never return. I've been there and back again more times than Bilbo and Frodo and all the other Baggins and Tooks combined.

***

The day I got out of prison, I flew from Orlando to Boston and then rode to Vermont on a used dirt bike I bought with my last five hundred dollars. I stayed at the vacant cabin that had belonged to Ellen's grandmother before Wendell had gotten ahold of it and turned it into an assassin's lair. Poor Ellen was the latest victim of a friendship with James Moody.

My mission in Vermont was to retrieve an object that had haunted my dreams since my first night in prison. I had no intentions of dilly-dallying. I just wanted to find the thing and leave.

I half expected to find Wendell's vintage Cadillac when I pulled up in the gravel drive, but the place was vacant, the garden overgrown. Blackberry bushes crowded in from either side and sent their runners reaching across the ruts like tentacles.

I went around back to the steep walk leading down to the lake. There was a big old tree there, some kind of maple with sprawling branches that would have made for a great tree house or at least a place to hang a rope for a tire swing.

I climbed the knobby trunk using burls for handholds. Halfway up was a tree hole, where a large limb had long ago broken off, I thrust my hand deep into a slimy hole filled with rot and rainwater, feeling amongst twigs and bits of dead bug till my fingers contacted metal.

I snatched it by its lanyard and yanked it out, a tarnished key with a string and the remnants of a paper tag, mostly disintegrated. Wendell's friend, the old lady in Burlington, had given it to me. I had supposedly assassinated her though it was probably one of the most bloodless and effortless murders ever committed.

Assisted suicide was a better description of my deed. She was finished with this world, and wanted nothing more than to free her soul and enter the Sanctuary at the heart of Frelsi. She had been a Hemisoul like me, oscillating between life and the afterworld some called 'the Liminality' and others simply called 'Root'. Only Freesouls could enter the Sanctuary, but Hemisouls could not be freed by a death from one's own hand. Suicide was a ticket to a nastier place called 'the Deeps.' Hired assassins like Wendell had to end their lives.

I was Wendell's apprentice at the time. The key was my payment. I was told it opened a safe deposit box at the Rutland Savings Bank. First thing in the morning, I would head down to Rutland to reap my reward.

***

I got plastered that night on warm whiskey and zinfandel. The fridge was empty and unplugged, but I found some crackers and canned beans and Vienna sausages in the cupboard and made myself a meal.

The woods around the lake were dark and creepy, but the liquor numbed me enough that I wasn't so spooked by every bump in the night, and there were a lot of bumps that night. Raccoons, I hoped, but they made enough noise to be bears.

I conked out under a reading light with a Vonnegut paperback in my lap, eking out a few hours of restless unconsciousness that would have to pass for sleep. When I roused, the first smudges of dawn light were sketching out the details of the surrounding forest. I didn't even wait for the sun to rise over the hills before I was back on the motorbike heading south to Rutland.

The Rutland Savings Bank and its staff looked like something out of a Jimmy Stewart movie—a little too quaint to believe. An old lady with chained glasses led me into the vault to retrieve the box. I was expecting one of those flat and skinny bento-sized things but safe deposit box #3234 was big enough to hold a pair of construction workers' lunch pails with room enough for a loaf of bread. The dang thing felt like it was packed full of rocks.

The lady left me all alone in a cold, dim room sitting on a wooden chair before a Spartan desk. Opening that box felt like a mix of Pandora and Christmas. No demons swarmed out, but as it turned out, what made it so heavy were the weapons. Not just handguns and ammo but weird, exotic stuff. A foot long knife with a wavy blade and a jeweled hilt. A nasty stiletto, slender enough to roast marshmallows. Some kind of compact dart blower complete with leather case packed with poison darts.

There were all kinds of keys in the box, too. One had a keychain bearing the distinctive three bladed propeller logo of that famous car company. It was for a car, obviously, but where was it parked? Back in Burlington, maybe? In the lot of the old folks home? Not very helpful.

One key, a big, brass Baldwin, had a tag that read: "If found, please call +44 20 7660 7660." I knew that country code. I was about to toss it back in the box. What use was a key from a country I was no longer welcome after my deportation? But then I found the fake passports. Four of them! Canada. Australia. USA. New Zealand. Each bore my mug but with different fake names, none of them anything close to James Moody.

I pocketed the keys and documents and went after the valuables. I avoided anything that looked like assassin's gear. There was gold—rings and chains—among stacks of Euros and Yen and dollars both Canadian and American. I mainly went after the Euros but I took a few hundred USD for pocket money. I grabbed one incredibly pretty chain with a four leaf clover charm as a gift for Karla.

Inside an envelope of crinkly, brown crepe was a card all matte black and carbon fiber. It was totally non-reflective apart from a nine-pointed star made of three superimposed and overlapping triangles, the numbers and my real name, James B. Moody, in raised glossy lettering.

It looked like a credit card, so I snatched it and tucked it into my back pocket. I left the box on the desk for the old lady to put away and burst out of that bank in a cold sweat. The first thing I did was to bop into a nearby CVS and use the automated checkout to buy some iced tea and a box of Tylenol. I swiped the black card in the reader, expecting alarms to go off or something but it worked like any old credit card. Instead of VISA or MasterCard the receipt read 'Frelsi.'

The very next thing I did was find the nearest travel agency and book a flight from New York to Rome. Turned out, they also accepted Frelsi cards. Freaking awesome!
Chapter Two: Belinda

An oak leaf rests on my dinner tray, thick and leathery, glossy and brown like the last leaves to fall in November. It had been a maple leaf a little while ago and before that a chestnut. But it had begun the evening as a simple white cocktail napkin.

I'm on Alitalia Flight 611 nonstop to Rome. Seat 7A. I upgraded to business class at the terminal. The seats are sweet. One press of a button and they unfold into beds. The ones in the front of the cabin are even nicer. Now I wonder why I didn't upgrade to first class.

That little black credit card works like magic. With each swipe, a whole new world opens up to me. I bought myself an iPad mini from an Apple vending machine. I picked up Karla some earrings from the Duty Free. Now I'm thinking of getting myself a brand new wrist watch from the SkyMall catalog. A guy could get used to this kind of living.

I've downed two Heinekens so far and am ready for something harder. The flight attendant didn't even bother to card me. Maybe it's all the grit and gravitas I acquired in prison. Or maybe all that warring with denizens of the afterlife is starting to age me.

I'm not even legal yet, but I'm no teenager any more. I turned twenty just the other day, celebrating my birthday alone in that cabin in Vermont, just me and a book and a fifth of Jack Daniels. I've been drinking like a fish ever since I got out of jail, not because I need it, just because I can.

Six miles over Newfoundland I bid farewell and good riddance to North America. For every sweet memory on this continent, I had three tainted with bitterness and blood. Not that the UK had been any better to me, not that I would ever be going back there again, at least not legally.

Italy was another story entirely. I truly enjoyed my first time there even if it did turn out to be a wild goose chase. I could see myself living, if not in Rome, then someplace in all that crazy beautiful countryside I saw from the train. Of course, knowing Karla is there waiting for me is no small bias.

I have to say that my most happy and thrilling days all happened in the Liminality. Nowhere else but this foyer to the afterlife have I felt more alive.

There were plenty of dark days, the darkest of them being Karla getting killed by that Fellstraw. For the most part, though, good memories prevailed. Hanging with Karla in her cozy little dome deep in the caverns of Root. Cruising the mesas and valleys of the surface world on the backs of giant mantids.

No chance of me going back any time soon. I was way too excited about my prospects in this world. I mean, I just got out of jail and now I'm jetting off to see Karla. In fact, I've felt this way for some time now. The roots haven't come calling in months.

Early in my sentence, bored out of my skull with the days creeping along, the roots would visit me regularly. I welcomed them like friends come to take me out on a joy ride.

Karla would meet me in my favorite hollow with the pond and the waterfall and the willow tree. She had a knack for crossing over at will, a skill she called 'surfing.'

We would have tea with Lille and Bern at their cabin on the pitted plains and go on long hikes up to the mesas where the new Dusters were settling into a 'life' out of the Deeps. We even visited with Luther in his new palace, roaming the alleys and avenues of the sprawling city that the Burg had become.

But once I got past the halfway point of my sentence, the visitations abruptly ceased. When I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, the roots were no longer interested in me. It has been three months since I stepped foot in the Liminality.

Optimism and excitement were toxic to the forces that recruit souls to places like the Liminality. They avoided me like I was strychnine.

I still had my bad days, but none ever bad enough to drive my soul to the depths it needed to reach to execute a crossing. Even when I started missing Karla again, it could not outweigh the expectation that I would soon be seeing her again for real in the living world.

I'm thinking it might be nice to have a little out of body excursion to shorten this plane ride. No chance of that happening. I am way too buzzed and tingly at the prospect of seeing Karla. My life forces have shifted into a rarely engaged gear, a special kind of overdrive. I think it's called love.

The flight attendant comes by to offer me another drink. The oak leaf that had been a napkin startles her momentarily, but she whisks it off the tray with the other trash.

Small-scale weaving comes to me easy as breathing these days. Prison time only honed my skills. Any mass of carbon or water less than a kilo or so is no match for my mind. That frost on the window that marred my view of the Newfoundland coast? Gone. Vaporized.

My napkin? I had cycled it through an entire herbarium's worth of leaves—big-toothed aspen to serrated elm, sugar maple and every oak I knew from red to black to white.

I have yet to master larger scale transformations. I can do it now and then, but it takes way more effort and concentration to make it happen. I almost have to be on the verge of a panic attack to get something as large as a tree or a house to shift. It's a rare skill, they tell me.

Yet, there are Weavers in this world and some of the others that can execute such transformations with ease. I'm talking about souls like Victoria and Luther and Wendell. I'm not quite on their level yet.

Prison gave me tons of time to practice. I would animate dust bunnies, make them sprout legs and eyes and send them running down the corridor, to give me a head's up on what was for dinner or to eavesdrop in the warden's office.

I could even give my creation wings and send them flying off into the suburbs on vicarious jaunts that did wonders for my mood. They would swoop through yards past little kids playing soccer, old men trimming shrubberies, coyotes circling the carcass of a deer that had been hit by a truck.

Don't believe all the hype you hear about the American prison system. The food isn't nearly as bad as they say. The violence? The sexual deviancy? All over-rated. Boredom was the biggest threat to my mental health.

Maybe things weren't so bad because I was in Coleman Medium, a place devoid of hard-core criminals. Maybe Florida State Prison would have been much worse. Though, I think I could have handled it. It was hard to imagine anything worse than Edmund Raeth's church basement dungeon.

Six months in the slammer healed my brain and made me stronger both emotionally and physically. I took advantage of the gym, the books, the classes in Biology and History and Trigonometry. I worked in the wood shop for a while, but had to quit, because I couldn't restrain myself from weaving the wood instead of cutting and carving it like my shop mates.

Weaving was not a skill I was ready to go public with. It had been awkward enough during the court proceedings trying to explain how a hundred year old beech had been made to appear in the middle of a Dartmouth soccer field and how its wood had come to encase a dapper gentleman named Wendell Frank who had a taste for cigars and fine handguns.

The case against Wendell didn't even make it to trial. The happenings on that Dartmouth field could not be distilled into in words. The weirder stuff was downplayed and an alternative rationalization was fabricated involving bombs and bulldozers. Just like me, Wendell was treated more like a victim than a perpetrator.

Wendell had great lawyers according to Ramon. That didn't surprise me. A guy like Wendell had access to the best of everything.

After I stopped being able to visit Root, Karla compensated by starting to send me letters by snail mail. She was a Luddite when it came to the internet and social networking. I didn't hear from her nearly as often as I would have liked, but it was at least once a month. Her letters were less than satisfying. She was cryptic in both expressing her affections and in describing her activities.

She seemed to be moving around a lot. She hinted that she was being followed. I wasn't sure how much was paranoia and how much was real. In every letter, she begged for me to come see her as soon as I got out. That went without saying.

Time slowed down. Days crept. Hours became interminable. But if nothing else, prison taught me patience, as if my thwarted life had not already been one long lesson in perseverance and delayed gratification. The day I left Coleman Medium, my heart took flight and I practically floated through world. I was brimming with energy. Leaves rustled as I passed and it had nothing to do with the wind.

***

When the plane touched down, I turned on my phone and was surprised to find a text from Karla, sent from her cousin's iPhone.

"Cannot come to Fiumicino. Meet me at the special place. Make sure nobody follow you."

Fiumicino was the name of the airport. But what did she mean by special place? Karla loved living in Rome so she had a lot of special places she had gushed to me about. Did she mean the pews under the alabaster dove in the Basilica? The Trevi fountain? The benches below the columns on the edge of St. Peter's Square?

I grabbed my only luggage, a day pack, out of the overhead bin and hurried off the plane. The queue for immigration was short. I got through in a flash and made a bee line for a coffee stand and ordered a double espresso.

Despite my cushy digs aboard the plane, I hadn't slept much. The video unit listed tons of movies I hadn't seen. A year spent living homeless, wandering the lands of the dead, being held hostage and doing time will do that.

As I sat there taking tiny sugary, bitter sips, a wicked pain punched through my back and into my sternum. I grunted and lurched, spilling the espresso all over myself. Another jab, not as deep, went straight into my belly. It felt like I had been shot, but there was no blood, no puncture wounds.

I knew this pain. The places that hurt were exactly the spots where Junger had got me with his arrows. I had felt aches in those places from time to time, nothing compared to this. These felt as bad as the original injuries.

As I sat there, clutching myself, some blonde lady ambled past and tossed me a glance. She leaned against a support column, alternately staring at me and gazing down at her phone.

The pain subsided, and so I daubed myself dry with a stack of napkins and wiped the spilled coffee off the metal table. I debated whether to replace the precious caffeine I had just abused when I noticed that woman staring at me outright.

I knew she wasn't checking out my good looks. I was an unshaven, bedraggled mess, my hair a collection of cowlicks, having gone straight to JFK from Rutland, without bothering to check into a hotel. I had tried my best to wash up in the rest room, but there's only so much you can do with an airport sink.

Even at my best, I'm not exactly handsome. So what was she looking at? Did she mistake me for some celebrity?

My wits were slow, dulled by lack of sleep, but it occurred to me that she might be a threat. I downed the last dribble of coffee and tossed the cup in a bin, darting away, weaving through the crowd, making for the exit.

Who was she? I don't know, maybe one of Sergei's people continuing a posthumous vendetta for the deceased drug lord. Or maybe she was one of Wendell's folks, come either to recruit or assassinate me.

Before I could reach the door, the lady was already there, blocking my way. How did she get there so fast?

She was nicely dressed, wearing a short jacket that complemented her dress. Hazel eyes. Brown with shards of blue and gold. Her makeup was perfect. I prefer a natural look, because so many women apply makeup like they learned it in clown school. But her eyes were nestled in velvet, carefully feathered out to faceted cheekbones and an expanse of pristine, unwrinkled skin. She had strawberry blond hair, so silky it didn't look real, tied back in a neat ponytail.

I checked for a gun, but her hands were empty and clasped in front of her. She smiled, baring an elegant array of pure white teeth, lined up almost too perfectly.

"Hello James. Please. Come with me. We need have a little talk."

"Who are you?"

"I am Belinda. Come. Just little talk. We give you ride. It will not take long. We have a nice, cool drink. We chat. Afterwards, we can take you wherever you want to go."

"Who are you with? You one of Sergei's people?"

"I know not any Sergei."

"Wendell's?"

The mention of his name snagged her attention like a baseball bat to the temple. Her hazel eyes burned back at me and studied every pore on my face.

"No. But this is about ... his people. Don't worry. You are safe with us. We mean you no harm. We're not like them. We're not ... executioners," she whispered and slowly regained her smile.

I've never been good at sensing people's motivations, but her ease and grace reassured me. I perceived no threat. Maybe like a cow at a slaughterhouse, I followed her out the glass doors to a silver Land Rover waiting in the drop off lane.

The driver wore bulgy mirror shades that made him look like some giant insect. I got into the back next to Belinda. Another man who seemed to materialize out of nowhere hopped in front. We drove for half an hour, deeper into Rome, but not quite to the city core. We pulled down an alley that led into a huge courtyard with gnarled olive trees, manicured gardens and marble fountains.

The driver hopped out and opened my door. Belinda opened her own door and made her way around the back and took my hand. She led me down a cobbled walk that led through the gardens into an open portico. A huge room, like a stripped down hotel lobby, devoid of any wall decoration, not even a painting or a clock, yawned before us. The ceilings had to be twenty feet high.

We sat beside a glass table on some weird looking chairs—asymmetric leather strapping on a metal frame. They were easy on the bones, supporting me in all the right places.

A warm, dry breeze wafted in from the garden, raising goose pimples on my neck. A woman in a maid's uniform brought us a tray with two cappuccinos and some cookies that looked like slices of squashed toast. They tasted like licorice.

I could run, if I had to. The stone wall hemming in the garden certainly looked climbable. And Belinda was a petite woman, wiry perhaps, but no match for a freaked out James Moody. I'm not saying the situation was freaking me out, but if it did, I had options.

Eyes down, Belinda tapped away on her smartphone. She seemed in no hurry to get started, but I was getting antsy.

"So ... uh ... who do you work for?"

"Work?" She smiled. "This is not work. I am volunteer. All of us ... we are all ... volunteer. Some sugar in your cappuccino? Yes?"

"Um ... would you have any water or soda or something? I'm kind of thirsty."

"Roberta? Portargli un po 'di Orangina per favore."

So they brought a tall glass of what tasted like carbonated orange juice over crushed ice.

"You like the ice?" she said. "I should have asked. But most Americans take the—"

"Ice is good," I said. In fact it was great. The cold drink was just what I needed.

"Are you with some kind of religious organization? The Vatican, maybe? Or ... the Sedevacantists?"

"Vaticano? No." She giggled. "We are ... independent. And I can't say we are exactly ... religious. We don't need what you call faith. We believe what is plain and real before our eyes."

"Well, isn't that how things always look ... to the faithful?"

"We are different. You cannot call us Christian or Muslim or Jew. It is beyond that. And I think you know exactly what I mean. You have been there. You have seen these things. You are simply playing coy."

"Doesn't mean I know much of anything," I said. "Half of what I saw, I couldn't explain."

"It is rare for a living person to be given a glimpse ... of what is to come. Those who see don't usually return to share their visions."

"How do you know where I've been?"

"The Frelsi people do not recruit those who have not seen the other side. They keep their secrets from plain souls. You must have seen the Liminality ... at least once or twice."

Her eyes were laughing at me, but she kept her mouth scrunched.

"We ... volunteer ... also have privilege ... to know ... of the existences to come. The proper order of existence. Those who stay in the place you call Frelsi are ... how you say? Abomination. They do not belong there. Just as those ... creatures ... those ... wastrels ... some call Dusters. They too do not belong in that realm. No one belong on surface of Liminality but those who are chosen for Penult. The rest of the land must stay sterile, devoid of life. This is what the makers intended. But it has become contaminated with plants and bugs and souls who do not belong there. We, the Friends of Penult, are devote to restore natural order."

"Life ... what you know as life ... living things ... is reserved for ... here ... this realm ... and for some higher realm where it can be properly steward and appreciate. But the Liminality is old. Perhaps it is beginning to show its age, cracking and crumbling at the seams. We ... the Friends ... we just want to restore it to ... the way it should be. Its proper function. Seal the rifts. Put everything back in its place."

"What is this Penult place?"

She sighed deeply. "A higher realm. Not the highest, but it stays beyond Liminality, beyond even Tartaros and Tzoah Rotakhat. Far above Abaddon and Lethe and the Deeps. Penult exist to keep order in the lower realms."

"So Penult is kinda like ... Heaven?"

She blanched.

"Goodness no! Not ... Heaven." Her eyes descended to the floor tiles. "Heaven is a place certainly we all aspire to, but it ... it is unattainable ... to most. It is a ... a mystery. Access is denied those who dwell in the after lands." She looked up, eyes widening. "But Penult is almost a Heaven. It is certainly a place worth striving for. We like to think of it as like stepping stone."

"Like ... Purgatory?"

"No. Nothing like that. We need no purification or atonement. But all of this is nothing you should worry about yet. You are young. You have life to live. You should live it."

"I intend to."

"That is good. That is what we want to hear. And I want you to assure us that you will stay away from these so-called Frelsians."

"Don't worry. I want nothing to do with them."

"But you have something of theirs, yes? A small, black card?"

I felt flushed and defensive for a second. Was she going to take away my magic credit card?

"They tried to recruit me to ... kill ... for them. They gave me that card and ... well, I've been using it."

"When was last time they contact you?"

"It's been months," I said. "Since before I went to prison."

"Good. Keep it that way."

"Honestly. I have no interest in them. They tried to recruit me. I refused. They gave me money and stuff. But I can't do it. I can't kill people."

"What you say rings true," said Belinda. "We find no trail of homicide in your path. No parade of convenient and tidy expirations. So ... keep it up. Stay out of realms in which you do not belong. Have no contact with Frelsians. And ... we will leave you be. Keep the card, too. Use it. It is linked to bank account in the Cayman Island. Go ahead. Leech away. Spend, spend, spend. Deplete their accounts. Although, that would be difficult for a hundred people with little black cards. Their wealth is enormous."

She smiled broadly. Those teeth. So many and so perfect.

"Okay then. Is that all? Can I go now?"

"First, you should know the consequence of going against our wish. We Friends of Penult are not only advisor, we are also enforcer. If you go against our wish, we can take you down; send you to your destiny before your time. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Those hazel eyes, so warm a moment ago, had turned downright chilly.

"Yes. I got you. Can I go now?"

She reached out and touched my chest exactly where Junger's arrow had punctured it. A searing pain bore through me and I crumpled to my knees.

"Yes, you may go. But remember. You are marked. You cannot hide from us."

I picked myself up off the floor, gasping.

"Would you like Franco to bring you somewhere?"

"No thanks. I can get there on my own."

I rose from the table. What had been a plain white cocktail napkin was now a spray of bright green gingko leaves. I don't even remember transforming them. Belinda noticed them and gave me the weirdest look. I turned and bolted out the door, heading for the garden gate. I did not look back.
Chapter 3: Excursion

I charged out of that fancy compound having no idea where I was. All I knew was that it was some residential neighborhood on the outskirts of Rome. The buildings here looked pretty upmarket, though there was tons of graffiti. I kept on walking until I came to an area that was more commercial with dress shops and delis. At a busy intersection I managed through some awkward pantomiming to hail a cab.

I hated the idea of blowing my ample but limited cash on a taxi ride but I was in a hurry. Karla was waiting for me at her special place, the identity and location of which, I still wasn't completely sure about. I wish she had her own phone instead of borrowing her cousin's. It would have made things so much easier.

As the cab careened through the back streets, I had time to reflect on what had just happened. Were these the people who had been following Karla? I don't know why they would be so interested in us, or why they wanted me to stay away from Wendell. Maybe they were just purists who didn't want anyone to tamper with the natural order of the Liminality?

It surprised me how little they knew about me. Belinda saw me as some guy with a little black card who was being courted by Wendell's guild of friendly assassins. All she cared was that I stayed the hell away from them.

She mentioned nothing of my exploits in the afterlife: busting out of Root, raiding Frelsi, cruising the Singularity, taking down the Horus. I would have thought by now my name would have gotten around.

Maybe I was a little too full of myself. The afterlife was an enormous place, populated by hundreds of generations of souls, many more talented and powerful than I could ever hope to become. Why should I expect her to know about some kid named James Moody?

Penult sounded not much different from Frelsi. Another bunch of surface dwellers broken out of Root. Angel wannabes. Folks trying to pretend they were somehow more special than everybody else, living in yet another facsimile of Heaven.

I had nothing to worry about from their so-called 'Friends.' I had no intentions of working for Wendell. I don't even think Wendell had any interest in me anymore. He didn't strike me as the vindictive type, unlike Sergei. Wendell was all business. He knew when to cut his losses and walk away.

It irked me that the Friends were able to track my purchases on that little black card. That meant Wendell could do the same. But if I refrained from using the card in Rome until we were ready to leave, that would keep us one step ahead. As long as we kept moving, we would be fine.

If Karla and I could agree on a place to settle down, we could withdraw a big cash advance someplace far from our destination, travel there incognito, and then burn the damned thing once we got there.

For now, though, I was not quite ready to give it up. I was hooked on the purchasing power it brought us. Not having to worry about money was a huge convenience. It made everything so easy. Hungry? Pick a restaurant. Any restaurant. Tired? Any comfy hotel will do, no matter how expensive.

I let the driver take me into central Rome and drop me downtown near the Coliseum. That wasn't anywhere near where I planned to meet Karla, but I wanted to make sure I wasn't being followed. Even before I left the states, she had warned me to be careful.

Karla had intended to stay with her cousin Franca in Rome the whole time I was in prison, one of the 'black sheep' from her father's warped Sedevacantist perspective. To me she sounded like one of the few normal people in that clan of weirdoes and religious fanatics.

She didn't stay put for long. It only took a few days for her to realizing that someone was tracking her. She didn't know who and didn't care to find out. She bounced between Italy and the UK because her sister Isobel was still missing and she suspected that her dad's sect might have something to do with it. I don't know how she managed it because she didn't have much money. I had a feeling that most nights she slept on the streets.

She assured me that she knew how to take care of herself. Not to worry. She had a handle on the situation.

But unlike me, she had been making regular excursions to Root. That alone told me something about the state of her mind.

Karla's letters were terse, unsentimental and devoid of detail. She sounded pretty down on life, but I could tell that she still cared for me. She would remind me to eat well and warn me not to pick fights with the other prisoners.

She kept begging me to come see her in the Liminality. And I did on occasion during my first few months in jail, but once I reached the mid-point of my sentence my visitations ceased.

Once I began counting down the days, I got too pumped knowing I'd be getting out soon and completely lost the ability to transition. If she had stopped writing me that might have cooled my jets enough to drag me back under, but I never told her that. Those letters fueled my hopes.

I kept telling her not to worry about seeing me in the Liminality. She should be looking forward to our imminent reunion in 'real' life. Surely, our future together in the living world would be better. How could it not be?

Once we were together she would see the light. It was probably hard for her to imagine ever being together again when we had been apart for so long.

A skinny guy in a muscle shirt was leaning in a doorway looking at me funny. Never mind that I was probably funny looking. I remembered Karla's warning and picked up my pace.

Losing a tail in Rome seemed easy with the crowds and narrow, twining alleyways, meeting and diverging at odd angles. By the time I reached the Spanish Steps I felt pretty sure I was alone. Then it was simply a matter of making my way towards the river and across to the Vatican.

***

Early on in my jail term, lying in my cell, still coming to grips with my incarceration, frustrated over my inability to just get up and go for a walk any time I wanted, the roots came hunting for me. Later on, as my release date approached, these visitations would cease, but a few weeks into my internment, they still came and took me to the Liminality with some regularity. At that point, I was still able to wallow deep in the pit of self-pity.

My mood shifted the instant I sensed the sun-warmed and resinous breeze that wafted off the scrubby foothills embracing my favorite hollow. Karla and I had a standing agreement that this would be our meeting place. But I had to see her since entering prison. My expectations were high.

The shore of the pond had receded greatly since the rains had stopped, exposing again the mud flats and meadows. My old sword stood gleaming and undisturbed right where I had stuck it in the mud several visitations past. With peace at hand, I hadn't needed to touch it.

The waterfall that spilled from the hanging valley had dwindled to a tiny fraction of the torrent it had been during the peak of the rains, but remained strong enough to create a cloud of mist that refracted fleeting fragments of rainbow.

My willow remained a willow tree swaying in the wind just like the real thing. It had even grown a bit. I would have expected for it to have long ago degenerated back to the roots it was created from.

After what must have been hours of dawdling, it became clear that I would not be seeing Karla this time around. I decided to head out to the settlements on the pitted plains to visit with whatever friends I could conjure. It would have been a shame to fade back to my prison cell without seeing anyone.

I considered bringing my sword, but why would I need it? I left it stuck in the mud like some battlefield grave marker for a fallen warrior.

Peace had come to the Liminality. The Frelsians no longer patrolled the plains with their modified Reapers. They pretty much kept to their massif now that the Dusters have bolstered their numbers with the influx of new immigrants from the Deeps.

This rebalancing of power is what kept things peaceful. It also helped that Luther had somehow managed to make friends on both sides. He was a regular diplomat, arranging joint meetings between with Zhang, the new leader of Frelsi, and Yaqob, the closest thing to chieftain of the more anarchic and free-spirited Dusters. Luther mediated disputes, negotiated trades and even arranged symposia for the sharing of weaving-related skills and spell craft. He became the glue of the surface world.

The Old Ones we had awakened remained awake for the most part, although a steady trickle of them was gradually returning to the long sleep. They were a fixture in the populations roamed freely among the mesas, the plains and the massif, observing all that passed but generally keeping their thoughts to themselves. They would commune in the most random or places—atop dunes in the great outwash plain, in the meadows that graced the slopes of the massif.

Luther had arranged for free passage to Victoria and other recruiters from Frelsi to go into the pits into Root to free any willing new souls from their pods. Those who liked a little more structure in their existence generally went to Frelsi. The more independent and creative types joined Luther in the Burg. This steady flow of Hemisouls sustained the growth and population of surface dwellers to grow and allowed its burgeoning cities to thrive.

The Dusters had expanded from their cramped mesa tops to recolonize an ancient sister city of Frelsi that they called New Axum. I knew the place from my time there alone when I had awakened Mr. O. The location at the head of the big valley was stunning as Machu Picchu. It was nice to know that those beautiful ruins were being spruced up.

A giant mantid preened itself atop one of the bluffs that flanked my hollow. As it had no rider, it was probably out and about hunting for prey. It was comforting to know that I was not on the menu.

The Burg came into view well before I had passed the bluffs. With its many spires and multi-hued pastels kind of reminded of the Magic Kingdom. Luther's aesthetic sensibilities would have made Walt Disney proud.

An amazing amount sprawl had sprouted around its outskirts, radiating outward like the points of a star along cobbled avenues. Word of the surface world had spread fast to all of the rebel communities down below, prompting a mass exodus. Even many who had been committed to the pods had been convinced that an existence beyond the tunnels was worth lingering in misery in the 'real' world.

Bern and Lille's little complex of cabins and sheds had been overtaken by one of these rays of sprawl, and they had been joined by a number of like-minded couples and singles to create a sort of satellite village for those who wanted a slower place and less craziness. Things could get a little ridiculous in the Burg with Luther in charge.

I found them out on their porch, Bern seated on a rocker with Lille standing behind him, adjusting his hair. She used no scissors. She did it all with twirls and swipes of her fingers through the air, never touching. Filling in thin patches, lengthening bits here and there, making entire swaths fall away with a swoop of her palm.

Bern started to rise when he spotted me and instantly ruined the symmetry of his hairdo.

"Well, well. Look who's here," said Bern. "My fellow convicted criminal."

"Sit back down!" said Lille. "You don't move until I say so. I'm tired of you looking like a tramp."

"Sorry James," said Bern. "She's been hounding me for weeks to get this done."

"Look like you could use a bit of a trim yourself, James."

"Thanks. But I'll pass."

"So how's the old incarceration going?"

"Fine," I said, leaning against a post.

"Fine? Is that all you can say?"

"I mean ... it's boring. But other than that...."

"Boring is good," said Bern. "Boring is what you want, because the alternative—"

"It's not that kind of prison," I said.

"A prison is a prison, is it not?"

"Well, no. This one's mostly non-violent offenders. It's clean. The guards are nice. Lots of outside time. Big fields. And the food's not quite as horrible as I was expecting."

"What? Sounds more like a resort," said Bern.

"There is nothing wrong with putting the best light on a bad situation," said Lille, who unbeknownst to Bern was experimenting with the hue of his hair, altering its color of his hair in streaks and blotches. She held her finger to her lips for me to keep mum.

She had apparently been working on more than his hair. He looked years younger. The creases beside his nose had been greatly reduced and the laugh lines in the corner of his eyes were much more subtle. She had picked up some flesh weaving skills during her time in Frelsi.

"Have you guys seen Karla?"

"She was here only a couple days ago," said Bern. "Asking pretty much the same thing about you."

"Dang! I wish there was some way we could coordinate our visits."

"Just ... set a time," said Lille. "Synchronize."

"Yeah, but ... I don't have as much control over transitions as her. She seems to be able to come over anytime she feels like it. Me, I've got to be in the right mood. If only there was a way I could let her know I was here right now. She could come meet me."

"Lille and I never have to worry about that," said Bern. "We're both here more often than not these days."

"You're not ... free ... Lille? I thought—"

"My execution was botched. And then your little raid forced us to evacuate glaciers. So no ... I am not yet a Freesoul. I'm still stuck in that horrible nursing home."

"Sorry to hear. I ... I wasn't sure."

"No worries. I'm stable for now. But if you ever think you might over to Surrey. Let me know. I'm still looking for someone to pull my plug."

"Not any time soon," I said. "I was deported."

"Oh?"

"Working without a permit."

"Oh, well that's a shame. I'm still working on getting Bern to join me on a trip to the mountains. The old sod doesn't seem to have much of a death wish for someone who is supposed to be suicidal."

"Don't ruin my illusions dear, or I just might fade."

"You? Fade? You're as close to a Freesoul as a living man can be."

"Prison ... a real prison ... has its charms," said Bern, whose suddenly thick and lush mop made his head look top-heavy. Lille had overdone it a mite.

"Will you stay for dinner?" said Lille.

"Um ... thanks, but no. I should get back to the hollow in case Karla shows up."

"By all means, bring her by if she does. I can whip up a nice shepherd's pie in moments."

Bern wiggled his eyebrows. "It's well worth it, boy. Even if Karla doesn't show. Lille has the textures down to a t. Chewy beef. Crunchy carrots."

"Will do. Nice seeing you all."

***

I wandered back to the hollow avoiding the bustle of Luther's metropolis, though I couldn't help crossing some of the spokes. He had actually cobbled some of his avenues with yellow bricks.

Despite its proximity, few from the Burg seemed to visit my hollow, and that was perfectly fine with me. The footpath through the scrub was barely discernible. Residents of the Burg didn't seem to share my taste for nature and solitude.

The hanging valley disgorged only a trickle compared to the torrent and flood that had filled the gorge while Karla was still stuck in the Deeps. The rainy season in this place was mercifully brief.

I found no messages scratched in the mudflat as Karla was wont to do whenever she came by and found me absent. I felt oddly jealous of her absence. Was she having too good a time on the other side?

I knew she was traveling, but she never shared her location with me until she was ready to leave a place. Her paranoia over being followed was just then beginning to intensify. She had been starting to notice the same person or persons loitering in her vicinity in disparate places.

I walked over to the willow where I had once buried the version of Karla who had been murdered with Fellstraw. I wondered if her body remained where I had placed it or if her return from the Deeps had eradicated it out of existence. But I was not about to dig her up.

A flurry of wings announced the arrival of a mantid, and not just any mantid. I recognized the patches on his hind wings. I couldn't see the rider from below, but this was clearly Seraf, Urszula's trusty war bug. Only recently did I realize that his name was a mocking dig against the Seraphim who persecuted souls who dared not chase the Horus in the Deeps.

Urszula leapt off Seraf's back before she had even landed in the gravel, charged into me, wrestled me down and straddled me, pinning me down and holding an obsidian blade to my throat.

"What the fuck?"

She was grinning as she pricked me with her knife. That girl had a funny way of showing affection.

"And what are you doing here? I thought you said you were never coming back. Why aren't you with your woman?"

"We ... uh ... kinda had a hitch in our plans. Karla got deported. I went to jail."

"You are a bad boy? They jail you for murder? Because we kill the assassin? The cartel?"

"No. It was for something I did long before that."

"You really are a bad boy."

"What about you?" I said. "What are you doing here? I thought you liked being alive."

"I do ... but I find my way here still. The connection is too strong ... the portal too weak to resist my wants."

"Did you miss your friends?"

"Well ... yes. And there are new people I know from the Deeps. And you bring them here. I thought ... I would never see them again."

"Well, can you ... uh ... please get off of me?"

A flight of nine mounted dragonflies buzzed over us, heading for the plains.

"Jeez! What are they up to, I wonder?"

Urszula rolled off and sheathed her blade. She sat cross-legged in the dirt, studying me.

"Just scouting. There is some suspicious activity across the plains, down by the shore. They are going to investigate."

"What kind of ... suspicious activity?"

"Ships," said Urszula. "Yaqob is thinking ... maybe the Frelsians now have a navy."

"Why would they need a navy?"

"We don't know. We are not even sure it is Frelsians."

"Who else would it be?"

She got up and helped me to my feet. "We don't know." Her face went sour.

"What's wrong?"

"You are leaving me already. And I wanted you to fly with me to see the new city."

"New city?"

But I was already tumbling. I had awakened back in Coleman Medium. Some guy was singing at the top of his lungs and someone else yelling even louder for him to shut up. The noise echoed down the cell block.

*****
Chapter 4: Together

I honored Karla's request to make sure I wasn't followed by walking a route through downtown Rome so circuitous and illogical that only a blood hound could have tracked me to the Vatican. I wasn't convinced that the threat she perceived was real, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Who could be following her? Her wicked father? Sergei's avengers? Agents of the supernatural? All were possibilities, but it was just as likely that her paranoia had no basis in fact.

All I knew was that I ached to see her after all these months apart and this ache was a physical, tangible thing. It was probably impossible for the real Karla to live up to the version I maintained in my memory-scape, but I knew I would be satisfied with her in any form.

We had such a weird and tenuous relationship. The actual number of hours we had spent together in the living world probably totaled less than a week. Yet it felt like we had spent years together. At least every minute together in the Liminality was quality time, always intensely engaged, never knowing who would fade first or when.

So many things had contrived to keep us apart, not the least of them, her death. I wondered sometimes if she felt obligated to me only because I had managed to reincarnate her. Did she love me as much as I loved her? Why was she always running away?

But now, I was striding full bore down one of the widest avenues in Rome, heading for a rendezvous with the only girl I cared about in all of existence. I was a sweaty, thumping mess by the time I reached St. Peter's Square.

I crossed over to a passage beneath some tall columns separating the square from some adjoining neighborhoods, hoping I had guessed right about this being her special place. I had texted her earlier that I was on my way and on foot, but she hadn't responded. Not that I should have been surprised. She didn't own her own phone and only rarely borrowed her cousin's.

When I reached what I assumed to be our designated rendezvous point—a wooden bench beside yet another marble fountain—she wasn't there. Some guy in a blue uniform sat munching some stuff wrapped in pink paper. Behind me, a gaudily dressed Swiss guard stood by the back entrance of a building.

I checked my phone again, just in case. If ever there was a time for her to borrow her cousin's phone, this was it. But I had missed no calls or texts.

My stomach felt like a couple squirrels were wrestling inside. A cloak of dread began to spread over me. My heart kicked up the beat. A panic attack was looming. I could almost sense the roots reaching out from me from whatever unseen, parallel dimension they inhabited.

A leaf fluttered down and landed on the low wall of marble blocks that hemmed in the fountain. I wouldn't have noticed it, except that it had a strange shape with long, sharp points like one of those Japanese star maples. But the only trees anywhere the fountain were lindens.

As I stared, two of the points curled into cylinders that reached and dragged the leaf around until the central point faced me. This wasn't my doing. My mind was blank, my will disengaged.

The leaf lifted itself off the wall and the central point folded into a concavity that looked like an eye socket. I surged off the bench and smashed it down with my fist. Some passing tourists stared.

I turned around and there she was, standing by the bench like a mythical creature, an apparition or a dream.

***

Karla Raeth. Not the prettiest name for one who was not exactly pretty. But she was my Karla. Her petite frame swam beneath a flannel shirt. Her eyes were wide and frantic, her hair, longer than I remembered. Un-brushed. Greasy and stringy. She looked almost feral, like a girl raised by wolves.

Her cheeks were sunken, eyes rimmed with red. She hadn't been sleeping or eating well, that was for sure. Grease soiled her jeans. Both knees were shredded and bloody. Her sneakers had no laces. Their tongues flapped free.

"Come!" she said. "We have to go."

She had made no attempt to greet me. She didn't even look happy to see me. I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. She looked so serious and scared. She turned her back to me and started passed beneath the columns that separated us from the adjoining neighborhood.

I grabbed my pack from the bench and ran to catch up with her.

"What's wrong?"

"We have to leave Rome. Immediately."

"Why? What happened?"

"Come." She grabbed my hand. Her fingers felt rough and dirty."

This was not at all the kind of reunion I had envisioned all those months in jail. Had I had fooled myself into believing that she shared the feelings I held for her? Maybe there was a reason she was always keeping a distance between us. It wasn't all due to fate.

She looked at me sideways as we walked on hand in hand. Her expression softened. The beginnings of a smile took form.

She stopped, glanced over her shoulder and flung herself into my arms. She buried her chin deep into my shoulder.

My doubts flew away like a flock of spooked pigeons.

She leaned back and looked into my eyes, her gaze piercing right through me. And then she rose up on her tippy toes and kissed me long and hard.

In a flash, her face went serious again as she glanced back in the direction we had come. She grabbed my hand and dragged me onward.

***

We walked and ran at least a mile, zig-zagging down residential streets, to the Vatican wall and away again, changing direction almost at random.

"This is how I move these days," she said. "Every city. Every country."

"Did you ever figure out who's after you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well, maybe. It could be someone benign like ... the Friends of Penult."

"Like who?"

"Penult."

"Never heard of him."

"Penult's not a person, it's a place. In the Liminality."

She shook her head. "I am not worry about the Liminality. All I know is that my father wishes to punish me and he has many friends. And I know this Sergei gave my picture to every drug dealer in the EU. I don't know if it is one or all of them coming after me. All I know is that I am being chased. I do not want to come to Rome again, because it is worse here. But it is the best place I know to meet you without having to say."

"Maybe we should stop running until we find out who it is. Maybe you're running for no good reason."

"Don't be stupido. A gazelle does not let herself be captured to find out if it is a leopard or a lion doing the chasing. Why does it matter if both are predator?"

"What if it's just another gazelle?"

"I said, don't be stupido. We have to leave Rome."

"Okay. And go where?"

"We do not speak out loud our destinations. They have ways ... of hearing."

***

We caught a bus out of Rome to some sad and nondescript town on the outskirts, and then boarded a slow train heading north towards Verona.

Karla refused to let me buy tickets with the black card, but she gladly dipped into the thick wad of Euros I had taken from the old lady's safe deposit box. Her eyes popped at the sight of all that cash.

She had lived practically homeless most of the time I was in prison. Any money she had, she spent on transport, scrounging food from grocery store dumpsters, or leftover crusts from sidewalk café tables.

"What's in Verona?" I said.

"Nothing. We will not stay in Verona."

"Where are we going?"

"Don't worry about it. You'll know when we get there."

"I'm not worried. I'm just curious."

"The less we say, the better. No ears to hear us."

"Who's listening?"

"You should know better. My father has friends. And Weavers make avatars. Like your Billy, yes? Your little familiar who feeds you sounds and visions?"

It had been a while since I had been able to conjure Billy—that manifestation of my will who seemed to have a mind of his own. What was left of him had pretty much dissipated.

Early on at Coleman Medium, when my cabin fever was at its worst, I was able to conjure him from shreds of tissue and cotton swabs to create a little moth-like creature whose eyes and ears I could share. I made him fly out the window and buzz strip malls and movie theaters. Having him was like having a personal surveillance drone. He went a long way to making my time bearable.

"Billy's ... gone," I said.

"Trust me, I cannot squat to pee behind a bush without thinking that someone is watching me."

"Actually, I ... uh ... I think I saw one."

"Where?"

"Back at St, Peter's Square."

"You see?"

"That means it can't be Sergei's people, then ... or your dad. They're both ... muggles ... or whatever. It's got to be someone with connections to the afterlife."

"Your friends? Penult?"

"They're not my friends. But I don't know why they would come after you. You have no connection to Frelsi or Wendell ... other than me."

"Who is this Penult?"

"I'm not sure. I get the impression they think of themselves as angels' helpers. Only the angels they're helping aren't exactly from ... uh ... Heaven."

"Heaven?" She huffed. "You still believe?"

"Maybe."

"Well, these Penults, if they really are angels, maybe to them I am an abomination. Once dead. Twice alive. Like Jesus."

"Or ... a miracle. I don't see how they could hold it against you. It wasn't fair for you to die in the first place."

"Who says death is ever fair?" Karla's lowered her eyes. "Did I tell you? I was unable to find Isobel. I think ... she might be dead."

"Don't say that."

"But there is not a trace of her. She was staying at the farm like we agreed. They were taking good care of her. But then she made some friends. She moves to Cardiff. Jessica tries to stop her but she does not listen. She is living there for a while. Hanging out with some punks. And then she is gone. No one knows where she goes ... what happens to her." She avoided my gaze. "I fear ... she is gone."

I threw my arm around her and pulled her close to me. "No way! She's a tough kid. She can take care of herself."

Tears dribbled down her cheeks. "She is my little sister. My only. I don't know what I would do if ... she is gone."

"Listen. I'm sure she's fine. I'll help you find her."

"But even on the other side ... in Root. There is no trace of her. I have looked."

"Well. That's good. Right? It means she's happy."

"Or gone to the Deeps."

I took her by the shoulders and forced her to look at me. "Stop! We'll find her. I promise."

***

It was already late in the evening when the train pulled into Verona, its terminus. Karla made me wait until all of the other people had retrieved their luggage. We only exited when the conductor made his last sweep of our car. We exited the train as far from the station as possible, charging across the tracks through the train yard.

A track worker shouted and swore at us. Karla made a rude gesture and kept running.

"Where now?" I said, as we climbed over a fence to reach the road.

"We take a bus."

"Which bus? To where?"

"Any bus. Wherever it takes us. I don't care."

"Sheesh!"

We found a station and it was no secret when the next bus arrived that we were going someplace called Bolzano. We boarded and went to the very back where the lighting was faulty and the seat was veiled in shadows.

"I need a bed," I said, plopping down hard beside her. "I'm beat."

"Soon," she said patting my arm. "Soon."

I sighed and laid my head on her shoulder. Her jacket smelled like motor oil, as if she had been living in some garage. Her muscles were all tense. She smoothed my hair and pecked me on the cheek.

"They tried to kidnap my cousin Franca. Broke into her apartment and tried to kidnap her. They thought she was me."

"Who did this?"

"I don't know. And I don't want them close enough to find out. Now you see why I am so careful?"

"Your cousin, is she okay?"

"I think so. Her neighbors drove them off. She has ... good neighbors. But I dare not go back. Ever."

"When did this happen?"

"Early this morning, when you were still on the airplane."

I took a deep breath.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"I don't know," said Karla. "I hoped you could tell me."

"Do you even know where we're going?" I said. "Do you even have a destination in mind?"

She sighed. "No. It is better we not know. We just let the fates decide for us. Take whatever bus or train we see, wherever it goes."

I slouched down lower in the seat and took her hand.

"So ... when do we stop running?"

"When I feel safe."

***

Fate brought to the city of Bolzano that night. I wanted to find a room but Karla nixed that idea. She didn't feel safe enough yet to stop running and come out of the shadows. I was beginning to wonder if she ever would.

We tucked ourselves behind a wall and some hedges in a public park and took turns napping in each other's laps. It felt so surreal to have her near after so much time apart. I was buzzed just holding her.

While she slept, I studied her face in the glow of a street lamp. She had worry lines in her brow now. Her eyes had retreated into their sockets. I couldn't get over how much older she looked. Coming back from the dead will do that to you, I guess.

I didn't want to know how my own face had changed. I avoided mirrors. My hair was a rat's nest. Patches of sprouted randomly across my chin and cheeks.

In the morning, we crawled out from behind the hedge and dragged ourselves to a bus station. I bought us two tickets to a place up in the hills called Castelrotto. We munched on some brioche I picked up from a little stand in the station.

"In the mountains, we will stop and rest," she said as we took our seats. "Okay?"

I sighed deeply. "Sounds like a plan."

I had thought might catch a few winks on the bus ride, but the mind-blowing landscapes we encountered around every bend in the road made that impossible. I had the window seat and expected to go tumbling down the mountainside on some of those hairpin turns.

These were the Dolomite Mountains. I had heard they were nice but never expected to see such otherworldly spires of gravity-defying stone on this planet. And this is from a guy who had experienced other worlds.

My eyes stayed glued to the window. I didn't understand how so much rock could get so vertical. But what do you expect from a guy who's spent most of his life in the flat lands of Ohio and Florida?

The bus discharged us in an ancient town of stone buildings perched on the edge of a high plateau of impossibly green meadows surrounded by blocky and jagged peaks. We drank from a public fountain, splashing the drowsiness from our eyes with that pure and chilly water.

I spotted a staid but decent looking hotel down a narrow street off the main square.

"What about that place?"

"No," said Karla. "This place is too crowded, too tight. Too many buildings and tourists. I don't want to be blocked. I want to be able to see what is coming our way."

"Yeah, well. Good luck finding that in a place like this."

"Maybe not here, in the village, but we passed an inn a little ways up the road."

"Cool. Let's go."

I hoisted my pack and we started back in the direction the bus had brought us. Karla had no luggage but for a canvas purse with frayed corners, that was stuffed with dirty clothes. I was going to have to take her shopping or find her a launderette.

As we walked we snacked on some thinly-sliced speck and hunks of hard cheese that we picked up at a little deli in the corner of the square. The inn wasn't far all, still within sight of town, just up the hill on the edge of a vast expanse of rolling meadow. It was a clean and bright chateau-like place that catered to skiers in the winter season. Luckily they had a vacancy and could check us in right away. I let the desk clerk swipe my black credit card while Karla used the ladies' room. I figured it wouldn't hurt to conserve some cash while we were out in the boonies.

The room proved glorious. Karla let me shower first while she walked the hotel grounds to make sure we hadn't been followed. That girl really needed a chill pill. Maybe a couple days up here and she would calm down.

When it was Karla's turn, she took nearly an hour to wash up. I zonked out atop a cushy cloud of cotton and down, awaking only to find her emerging from the bathroom wearing one towel on her head and another around her middle. An array of panties, jeans and blouses hung dripping from a clothesline like semaphore flags.

She bounced down next to me and curled up close, smelling pretty for a change. We snuggled together and conked out in each other's arms. I woke up from time to time to draw up the covers and keep her near. If this wasn't Heaven, I couldn't imagine a better place.

***

We spent the day in bed, at one point transitioning wordlessly into love-making as natural as breathing, even though we were both pretty much neophytes. We voiced no presumptions or conditions. I harbored no illusions or expectations, just love. Unprotected, of course, which worried me a bit after the fact, but not enough to spoil my buzz.

Karla was crying afterwards, which confused me. I could only hope it was joy. I lay and stared out the window. The scenery made everything even more unbelievable and miraculous.

A swarm of birds came fluttering up to the glass, wings scraping, beaks tapping before the swarm went on its way.

"Get down!" Karla shoved me off the bed onto the floor, landing on top of me. She pulled the covers over us.

"What are you doing? They're just birds!"

"We can't be sure."

"Why are you so freaking paranoid?"

"I told you! They attacked my cousin yesterday! They are looking for me." She peeked out from under the bed sheet, trembling, before scurrying over the window in her hands and knees and drawing the blinds closed.

"In her flat, they put something that looked like Fellstraw. Here! In the land of the living."

"But why? Why would anyone want to kill you?"

"I don't know. Maybe ... because I am not supposed to be alive. I think maybe ... they are right."

"Nonsense."

She pulled on her panties. She was so thin there were gaps around her waistline. I needed to feed this girl. I looked at the clock. It was a little after three p.m.. Too early for dinner, but maybe the little restaurant downstairs could accommodate us.

"How about we go down and have an actual meal for a change?"

"Room service?" she said, hopefully.

"Nah. Let's get out and get some fresh air. We've been cooped up in this room all day."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

***

Karla was reluctant to leave the safety of our room, but ultimately willing. She clung to my arm as we made our way downstairs to a stone patio in a courtyard that opened up to the meadows.

We took a table in the corner. There were few other customers at this hour. An old lady stroking the Chihuahua in her lap. Some guy in a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, who was leafing through a stack of tourist brochures. He wore a jacket made of fabric that shimmered. It somehow looked familiar.

"Some wine?"

"I don't drink," she said. "Only ... in church."

"Tea then?"

"Sure."

Her face was tense.

I patted her hand. "Relax."

Wisps of fog snaked down the gullies of the higher peaks, but not a speck of haze marred the horizon.

"I like this place. Have you ever been here before?"

"Castelrotto? Yes. Kastelruth— the Austrians call it. It means ruined castle. My grandfather ... you know, Luther. He met us here when Mama was still with us. When she was thinking of divorcing. She brought me here."

"What happened? Why didn't she?"

"He had her committed. To a mental institution. Divorce is forbidden among Sedevacantists. It was the only escape he had ... other than murder. And I'm sure he thought about executing that option."

"Is she ... still with us?"

She shrugged. "I suppose. I have not been in touch with her. I don't dare. For her sake ... and mine. Especially now."

The man with the brochures wheeled around to face us. He lifted his shades. I knew that face. I reached for a table knife.
Chapter 5: Zhang

"What's wrong?" said Karla, reading the panic on my face. Before I could get out a word, her hand beat me to the knife and she burst to her feet, almost knocking over the table, brandishing the dull blade.

"Easy, easy!" Wendell opened his coat to reveal an ugly, blocky looking weapon—a high tech cross between an assault rifle and a machine pistol. "Sit down, both of you."

The lady with the Chihuahua grabbed her dog and beat a hasty exit into the lobby.

"Didn't think guns were your style, Wendell."

"I carry them for deterrence. Listen. I'm not here to hurt anybody ... so calm down! Take it easy. I'm just here to have a chat with you all."

"I ain't ever gonna work for you, Wendell. Can't you take a hint?"

"This isn't about me. My offer's off the table. I'm here as a favor for a friend. He's not looking for Facilitators. He's looking for soldiers. His name is Zhang. Ring a bell?"

My face remained blank.

"He's the current head honcho of Frelsi."

"What does he want with me?"

"They need you. They're under attack and getting hit hard."

"Why the fuck would I want to help Frelsi?"

"It's not just them getting whacked. It's everybody. Your friends, the Dusters? All surface dwellers."

"Who's attacking them?"

"Penult. Cherubim mostly. Under the supervision of Hashmallim and Seraphim."

"Cherubim?"

"It's not what you think. They're not babies with wings. They're a bunch of cold-blooded, soul-less warriors."

"Why are they attacking?"

"Who knows? Righteousness? Jealousy? Pick a motivation. The first wave hit hard. The alliance held them off but they're regrouping for another attack. Zhang's already lost Victoria and a couple unit commanders. He's desperate. I've been tasked with rounding up every master Weaver I can find."

"Why me? Why don't you go?"

He slitted his eyes at me. "Kid. I'm not in your league. Not even close."

"Really?"

"Really. That was a neat trick you played on me over in Hanover. Turning the tables. Trapping me inside that tree. You almost had me."

"That wasn't me. That was Urszula."

"The little Duster bitch? No way. She had to have help."

"Nope. It was all her."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm sure she had help. But ... whatever. The point is ... my spell craft is thin soup compared to yours. I'm better off working for them on this side, and they know that. Besides, I've never been to the other side. Everything I know about the Liminality is what people tell me. Guess I have too rosy a perspective on life."

"How'd you end up working for Frelsi?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Somehow they found out about me when I was just a cat burglar. I had the skills they wanted. So now I'm an independent contractor specializing in Facilitation. I don't do the whole Hemisoul/Freesoul thing."

"I'm not sure how I can help. I haven't made the crossing in months. I'm not even sure I'm capable anymore." I glanced over at Karla, who was still holding onto that knife. "Did you hear anything about a war?"

"I ... I haven't been either," she said. "Not for weeks. Not since I came back from Wales."

I looked at Wendell. "See? Neither of us are any use to you guys."

Wendell grinned. "Oh? Too happy? Well, we can change that fast. Lots of ways to change that big time."

"Are you threatening us?"

"Not necessarily. I'm betting you can find a way to get over there without our help. They tell me there are ways to summon them, without having to screw up your head. Zhang calls it the power of negative thinking."

"Surfing," said Karla, looking at me.

"Whatever." Wendell shrugged. "These ... roots, once you've been visited, they never go away. You might not feel them, but they're there, lurking, waiting for your life to take a tumble. But the point is, there are ways of shaping your thoughts to fool the damn things. There are always to work the system. So don't tell me you're locked out."

"What if I don't want to go?"

Wendell's face went taut. "That's not an option. Zhang is expecting to hear from you." A smile crept back into his features. "Listen. There's no rush. I'm only asking that you try to make it over there when you can, and when you do, go see Zhang's people. They're expecting you. And no worries, they've got an alliance thing going on with the Dusters so it's not like you'll be going against your buds."

"An alliance? Really?"

Wendell frowned. "Yeah. They were that desperate. I tell you, this whole thing has been bad for business. Demand for Facilitations has gone way down. A lot of Hemisouls are figuring they'll give life another chance."

"Do you blame them?"

"Shit, no. I'd be a hypocrite if I did. I'm just saying, business is slow."

Karla had a weird expression on her face. Wistful, but sad and lost. She was being so quiet. She looked more disappointed than scared. But was she looking at me like that?

"Make an effort," said Wendell. "That's all I'm asking. And when you do, go see Zhang." He gathered together the pile of brochures he had been perusing. "Well, folks, that's pretty much it. Just try not to dilly-dally too much. Otherwise, we ... uh ... we might have to grease the skids."

"What do you mean?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Just that, we have ways of ... uh ... altering your mood, so to speak. Facilitating a transition, in fancy terms. I don't mean in a permanent way. Let's just hope it doesn't come to that. Just ... apply yourself. Go see Zhang as soon as you can. The gates of Frelsi are open to you. They'll be expecting you."

He rose from the table, crumpled the brochures and tossed them in a trash bin along the wall.

"So that's all for today, folks. Just wanted to pass the word. I won't be coming back unless I have to. Oh, and Karla. So sorry about your cousin. It was an honest mistake. You guys look so much alike. But she'll be fine. She's just a little bruised."

"You guys were the ones chasing Karla? But why? You knew where to find me."

"Thought it might be nice to have some leverage when you got out. So we thought. But that girl's a slippery little thing. She's got mad skills in evasion and misdirection." But no worries. Go see Zhang and we'll leave you lovebirds alone. Later gators."

He strode off the patio and struck out across the meadows heading towards the hills.

***

We sat at the table and watched Wendell disappear into a speck in the distance before disappearing behind fold in the rumpled fields of green. I was relieved that he said nothing about the black card. I had half expected him to ask for it back.

"Where is he going?" said Karla.

"Who knows? Maybe he's got a helicopter parked out there." I reached over and squeezed her hand. "Feel better now? Now that we know who was following you?"

"I do," said Karla. "Now it all makes sense to me. They just want our ... well ... your ... help."

"Yeah, well. Too bad they're not gonna get it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm not going back to the Liminality. Why should I?"

"Our friends are there. They may be in danger."

"Let them come back here, then. They don't need to stick around. Why put themselves at risk?"

"Some of us don't have a choice in the matter."

"But ... all I'm saying is that they can fade back temporarily. Wait for any trouble over there to blow over. And then go back, if they want."

"We don't know what's happening over there. And that's easier said than done ... for some."

"What happens there is none of our business. Why should we worry about the afterlife? We're not even dead? I mean, let's get on with life ... with living."

"They won't leave us alone till you go see Master Zhang."

"Who is this guy? Do you know him?"

"He used to live in the Burg. In the early days, before Grandpapa lost his mind. He's a good Weaver. One of the best."

"Honestly, what can they do to me if I can't go back? I mean, is it my fault that I'm optimistic for a change?"

A policeman stepped out of the lobby and looked around the patio, nodding to me when I glanced at him.

Karla looked troubled. "Let's go back to the room. I need to talk to you ... someplace quiet and ... private."

"What about dinner?"

"First we need to talk."

***

The bed was made and everything in the room had already been tidied up while we had been out. Karla sat on the bed and motioned for me to sit on the little armchair across from her. Her eyes were flitting all over the place.

"Are you okay? What's up?"

She looked straight into my eyes, her gaze unwavering for a change. I could see myself reflected in the black mirrors of her pupils.

"I'm done here. I don't want to live."

Those words should not have surprised me. Every soul who had ever been to the Liminality had harbored suicidal thoughts. That's how we all ended up there, by edging to the brink of ending our lives. An honest death wish was the scent that brought roots, those agents of the Reapers, out hunting after our souls.

But I thought things would be different now. We were together, with nothing to keep us apart. I thought that would have at least made her hopeful, and given her a reason to live, the way the havens of Root had once given us all a second chance at existence. Was the prospect of a life with me not enough to keep her going? I was stunned.

"You don't want to be ... with me?"

"Of course I want to be with you. I just said ... I don't want to live."

"I'm ... speechless."

"My dream James is to be with you ... forever ... as Freesouls. I am thinking next time we are in the Liminality together, we make our way to the glaciers. And then, when we are back here ... together. We ... take each other's lives."

"What? Suicide? You want us to make a fucking suicide pact?"

"Or maybe ... this man we just meet ... this Facilitator ... maybe he can do it. What do you think?"

"Wendell? You want Wendell to kill us? Are you crazy?"

"Okay, then me. I'll do it. We'll ... do it together."

This was insanity. Yet, there she was, perfectly calm and serious. I detected no sadness in her now. There was hope in her eyes. Wistfulness tinged with longing.

"Karla. Nothing personal, but I'm not ready for this kind of commitment. I'm not ready ... to die. I love you, but—"

"But it's not really a death. We both know that."

"But we lose ... all this. I waved my arm towards the window and the storybook scenery that spread in all directions. We lose ... this world."

"There are pretty places in Root. And other worlds ... with bigger possibilities. Anything is possible in the Liminality."

"But ... it's the same here. Maybe it's a little bit harder but ... anything is possible here. Anything."

"For you, maybe. Not for me."

Again, I didn't know what to say. I struggled to find something that would give her a reason to live, if being with me wasn't reason enough.

"What about Izzie?"

She frowned. "What about her?"

"Don't you want to find her?"

"I told you, there may be nothing to find. I think there is a good chance she might be gone."

"We don't know that for sure."

"But what can we do?"

"I can help you look for her."

"I have looked. Everywhere. Brynmawr. Cardiff. London. Glasgow. And besides ... you were deported. They won't let you in."

"No problem. I've got a fake passport."

Her eyes softened. A slight tremor came over her. I could see that I had dented her armor. She had lost some of her conviction.

"How about we go back to Wales? Give it one more shot? And if we can't find her, then we can talk about ... other options. Okay? How about it?"

Her eyes were weepy and her lips trembled. I took her hands in mine. They were stone cold.

"Okay," she said, weakly.
Chapter 6: London

It occurred to me that I should have taken the opportunity to press Wendell regarding Isobel's whereabouts. If his people had been keeping tabs on Karla, they probably knew something about Izzie as well. Back when he first tried to recruit me to become one of his Facilitators aka assassins and I had showed reluctance, he had actually threatened her safety.

Coercion came easy to guys like Wendell. Blackmail was the favorite tool in his motivational tool box.

But all that was water under the bridge. Nothing to be done now but to go and search for Izzie on our own.

I rummaged through the folio I had taken from the Rutland safe deposit box, selecting a Canadian passport with a recent picture of me that I didn't remember posing for. The name next to the picture was David M. Rooney. There you go. No longer was I blacklisted with UK immigration. It was going to be hard getting used to Karla calling me Dave.

We went back down to the restaurant and had a real dinner, and afterwards spent another night enjoying each other's bodies. Karla sure didn't act like a girl who wanted to die, not that we couldn't keep on making love on the other side.

Our pillow talk that night dared not broach the topic of death wishes or suicide pacts. Maybe she sensed that I didn't want to hear about it. We spoke only of logistics. Where we would go first. How we would get there.

In the morning, we packed our few belongings, grabbed a quick breakfast and made our way down to the bus stop. I wish we had a few more days to stick around the Dolomites, because I liked it here. I would have liked a chance to explore the place.

I hoped we could come back here again someday, preferably with Karla in a better frame of mind. The bus careened down the switchbacks to the lowlands and Bolzano where we caught a train to Milan, and then a budget flight to London City Airport.

The black card went through without a hitch and my fake passport worked like a charm. We breezed through customs, this time with no strange blonde ladies to accost me.

It was time to draw from my box of tricks again, this time the key I had found in that old lady's safe deposit box in Rutland. I called the number on the tag and listened to a recorded message on the other end: '1137 De Vere Gardens, Kensington.' I Googled it, and found it was just off of Hyde Park, in what had to be an extremely ritzy neighborhood given its proximity to Kensington Palace.

Karla was leery about going there but I insisted we check it out. When we arrived, we found a dense block of nicely kept apartment buildings. Number 1137 was a green metal door in a wall of beige and brown stone, the number in bronze gone green with verdigris.

We unlocked the door went up the stairs to find a fully furnished flat with a well-stocked fridge and pantry. It looked like someone lived there, apart from the fact that there was not a speck of trash in the bins, and the end of the toilet paper was folded into points like they do in nice hotels.

"Who lives here?" said Karla, hovering in the foyer, reluctant to touch anything. I plopped down onto a humongous leather easy chair and clicked on the TV.

"It's ours for now. Enjoy it while you can."

"No, really James. Who owns this place?"

"I don't know. Wendell's bosses I guess. The rich people who go to Frelsi. But it's cool. We can stay here. They gave me the key. Right?"

"They gave you or you took it?"

It took her a while, but eventually she relaxed enough to explore some of the cupboards and closets.

"There is pasta here. And sauce in jar. You like pasta?"

"Sure," I said, as I flipped through the channels.

"Pesto or marinara?"

"Um ... I don't care. Either one. They both sound good. Need some help?"

"No. I can manage."

It felt weird have Karla in the kitchen making us dinner. Like we were an old married couple or something. I caught up on the news. I was kind of out of touch. They only let us watch CNN and Fox News in prison. The BBC gave the impression that we lived in a way more nuanced and complicated world.

The doorbell buzzed. Pans clattered on the kitchen floor. Karla burst from the kitchen in a panic.

"Whoa kiddo! Calm down. Let me go see who it is."

I was a little freaked out as well, I had to admit. I wasn't in the mood to deal with one of Wendell's people. I looked around for something I could use to defend myself just in case, but all I could find was an umbrella.

I tiptoed down the stairs and peeked through the peephole. There was no one standing outside. When I inched open the door I found a cardboard box filled with perishables: a bouquet of flowers with fresh baguettes, milk, cheese and a small basket of apricots. I could get used to this kind of lifestyle. It was like being a rock star without the annoyances and obligations of fame.

I brought the stuff up to Karla and she looked at the stuff like it was poison.

"See?" I said. "I told you we're welcome here."

She broke the baguette open and sniffed. "It's fresh." She broke out into a big smile. It was good to see her starting to get into it.

"Smells great!"

She scrunched her face at me. "It's just sauce from a jar. I wish I could make fresh."

I went back to the news. She called me into the dining room when dinner was ready, greeting me at the entrance with a glass of bubbly.

We sat down, with a steaming bowl of pasta with pesto between us. A board with sliced prosciutto and Romano cheese, some olives and artichokes.

"How much you pay for this place?"

"Nothing," I said. "It's ... free."

She shook her head. "Nothing is ever free. I hope you will think about helping them."

"Yeah, sure. I'll think about it. Don't know if I'll be much use though, if I can't cross over."

"You need to at least try," she said, twirling her linguini into a spoon.

I nodded, to humor her, and mumbled through a mouthful of noodles.

"I am thinking," said Karla. "We can go up to Inverness tomorrow. That is one place I haven't looked for Izzie. I was afraid to go there by myself, because ... of Papa."

"Um. Sure," I said. "We can do that. Whatever you think is best."

"We can find Sturgie; get him and his friends to help us. Around Papa's people, I would feel better if we have safety in numbers."

"No problem. He's still going to school up there, right?"

"College? Yes, I think so. He was only in his second year last time we saw him."

"Maybe we should rent a car. What do you think?"

"You have enough money?"

"I have the card."

She frowned. "I don't think it is such a good idea to keep using this credit card."

"Why not? They gave it to us. I mean, if they want us to work for them, they should be willing to cover our expenses. Right?"

"You have decided? You are working for them?"

"Well, no. But...."

"Don't use that card anymore. Please. It's not right."

"Karla. It's fine. Really. These people are rolling in the dough. Rich people die and leave them everything. I wonder what kind of car we should rent. It would be nice to get something upscale. I always wanted to drive a Jag."

***

We had another glorious night all clean and cozy in a big, soft bed. All this luxury and companionship was making up for all those long nights in prison on that hard, thin pad they called a mattress.

Karla nixed my rental car idea. She insisted that we pay cash, so we had to take the train. Again.

I got us a pair of Oyster cards and we took the tube to King's Cross Station, grabbing a couple of cucumber and goat cheese sandwiches from Pret to take along for the ride. We had an hour before the train left so we hung around in the food court and shops in the building besides the platforms.

I was checking out a magazine rack when this heavy set red-haired woman made a bee-line over to us, cutting off a group of travelers dragging suitcases. She was pale and bookish, with round rimmed Harry Potter-ish glasses, freckles and a pug nose. She came right up to me.

"You're James," she said, without a shred of doubt. "This must be Karla Raeth. Hi. I'm Sophie Cryer."

Karla sidled up to me and took my arm. We looked at each other.

"Don't be alarmed. I've been asked to check in on you. Master Zhang has not heard from you. Is there a problem?"

How the hell did she find us so quickly? But I guess I should have known better than to wonder.

"You're ... with Wendell? You're a Facilitator?"

"Oh please. Don't be worried. I'm just here to troubleshoot. We just thought you might have checked in by now. Wendell said you would—"

"I didn't make any promises," I said. "I just told him I would try."

She scrunched her eyes at me. "Can we talk? Over coffee perhaps? There's a nice little café around the corner. We can get a private booth."

"We ... uh ... have a train to catch."

"You have fifty-five minutes before you need to board. We have plenty of time, I assure you."

"Um. Okay then." I shrugged. Karla was being oddly silent and compliant.

We followed Sophie out of the building and down a block to a row of converted warehouses. Her eyes darted and probed the passersby, assessing every person we passed.

The coffee shop had a Middle Eastern motif. Persian rugs and sisal mats covered the floor. The tables were low, with stools and a formidable array of hookahs in the corner.

Sophie led us to a booth in the back that had its own little privacy curtain. We took our seats, Karla and I together across from her.

"Instead of coffee, why don't we have chai all around? I've already had two espressos today. I don't know about you, but I don't need any more caffeine. Besides, what you're trying to achieve goes much better without the interference of psychoactive substances."

"What are we trying to achieve?"

"Well, apparently, you're having trouble making transitions. That's what Wendell tells me, and it's apparent from your no show. So I'm here to coach you." She tilted her head at me and grinned.

"Listen. Uh ... I really don't need any coaching. I mean ... I'll go when I'm ready."

"Yes, but you assured Wendell that—"

"I told him I would try. I didn't promise anything."

"That was most definitely not his impression. Surely, you are aware of the urgency of our situation?"

The waitress brought over three mugs of spiced tea. I didn't really care for it. It was way too sweet and had too much milk, but I drank it anyway. A fly landed on my finger. I let it stay, watching it preen itself with its front legs. Seraf and Lalibela had irrevocably altered my relationship with the insect world.

Sophie watched my every action with the rapt attention of a primatologist.

"You're not bothered by the little things, aren't you?"

"Why should I be? They're little things."

She turned her attention to Karla, who drank hungrily and had almost finished her cup already.

"What's with your boyfriend? What does he have to be so smug about?"

"Smug?"

"Well ... we have been apart," said Karla, who was still being oddly meek and quiet. "But now we are together."

"Say no more. Young love. All is right with the world. All polka dots and moonbeams. That's your problem right there."

"Say what?"

"Keep in your mind that no matter how rosy things look right now, your world is only moments away from doing a 180 and turning to shite. All it would take is a double decker bus to hop that curb and plow right into the shop window. A terrorist deciding to toss a bomb. And if one of you goes, I can tell that the other ain't going to be too thrilled about it, am I right?"

"I knew it. You are an assassin." I searched for a weapon but all I had was a tea cup.

"Not at all. I am a transition consultant. Yes, I used to run with that pack, but no longer. Now I deal with Hemisouls wishing to increase the frequency and duration of their visitations to the Liminality. Those not quite ready to take the plunge and become Freesouls. I'm here to help you cross."

I checked my watch. We still had forty-five minutes. Karla nudged me and frowned.

"I try to tell him, it is all the state of mind. Is like surfing. You let your bad feelings build like a wave and let them crash over you, even if you are feeling good."

"Precisely my dear. Only I find it more akin to dredging. Cultivating thoughts of the more horrible things that have happened to you, building the conviction that there are more horrors to come, endless unbearable horrors."

"How fun."

"It's all about fooling your heart, love. That's all it is. It's like a muscle. Once you get good at it, you can flex it on and off. The trick is identifying those key horrors, finding those that compel you personally, and dependably. But everyone's different. One man's horror is another man's inconvenience. Now tell me, what bad things have ever happened to you?"

"Bad things?"

"Things that made you sad. Things that made you question whether you wanted to go on with life. There must be something. I mean, you're a repeat customer."

I glanced at my watch again. I really did not want to be doing this, but we still had half an hour before we had to be on that train.

"Come on, love. Surely you can come up with something."

I sighed. "I don't know. Feeling like and outcast, I guess. Back home, in Florida."

"School difficulties?"

"I was home-schooled."

"Ah. Say no more. And what aspect of that experience in particular made you feel ... the way you felt?"

Now I was starting to fidget. This was not stuff I kept in the forefront of my mind. Thinking about it again was making me uncomfortable.

"Yes?"

I didn't really want to cooperate. This felt like an interrogation. But Karla's eyes had gotten all big and expectant. She clearly wanted me to go along with this.

"I don't know. The isolation, maybe? I wasn't like the other home-schooled kids. For that matter, I wasn't at all like the public school kids, either. I couldn't make ... or keep ... friends."

"Excellent! That is exactly the sort of well from which we want to draw."

"Yeah, but ... now I see that it was all bullshit. I really wasn't all that different. And the parts of me that were, well I'm glad I wasn't like everybody else. I'm glad I became who I am."

Sophie grimaced. "What is this I am hearing? Vindication? Self-esteem? You will need to stifle these feelings right away if are to make any headway. Please focus only on the bad. Now tell me, how else do you fail as a person?"

"Fail? Me? I wouldn't exactly call myself a failure."

"Oh, come now. There must be disappointments. Things that made you question the value of going on with life?"

I was staring at some spilled sugar on the tabletop. I could actually make out each little cuboid crystal. Karla jabbed me with her elbow.

"Cooperate!" she hissed.

I let out my breath. "Well, I was homeless for a while. Except, that wasn't so bad. And there was prison. And ... I'm an orphan."

Sophie's expression brightened. "Dead parents! How old were you when you lost them?"

"It was only a few years ago. But ... I saw my mom in Frelsi. In the Sanctuary. But ... she didn't recognize me."

"Of course not, dear. She's cleared. Why would she need to be bothered with the living world when she had Frelsi? But unfortunately, now that you've seen her, you understand that souls continue onward. You have glimpsed your loved one in another existence. That's not exactly the best fuel for despair."

"What can I say? My head's in a good place right now. I mean, is that a crime?"

"Surely, there must be more. You must have had something truly horrifying happen to you? Most people who have visited the Liminality do."

Karla looked at me. "Papa."

Sophie leaned forward, her face expectant. "What's this?"

"I was kidnapped. Beaten ... and tortured. By Karla's father."

"Now we're getting somewhere! Put yourself back in that place. Close your eyes. Empty your mind of everything but that. Bask in the futility, the hopelessness."

I tucked my chin and clenched my eyes, remembering the moldy dankness of that church basement, the pain, the rats, the darkness. I sensed something begin to swirl just beyond the range of my perception. Roots?

Karla took my hand in hers and broke the spell. I was back in the coffee shop, my heart aglow.

"Karla, dear, you're not helping."

"Sorry!" She yanked her hand back.

"You see, burgeoning love is a most powerful bane against hopelessness. It can make a young man yearn for life even in the most desperate situations. I can see that this is likely the root of your problem. Perhaps ... a separation is in order."

I slammed my fist on the table. "No fucking way. I just got out of prison! She just came back from the dead."

"Now, now. It was just a suggestion. Give a few weeks for the glow to fade and you might be happy to have a little time for yourself. Happens to the happiest of couples. Which makes me think we should strike while the iron is hot. But then again, maybe we have enough to work with here. Reach back James, and put yourself back in that basement. And this time, Miss Karla, restrain yourself. No touching!"

So I closed my eyes again. Summoned the rat going after my lunch. The footsteps coming down the corridor, never knowing whether they were coming to beat me. Linval's screams. His groans. His ever weakening whimpers. And finally, his silence. A tear dribbled down my cheek.

But I knew Karla sat beside me. She didn't have to touch my hand. I knew she was in reach. And her presence made it all okay. I could handle the nastiest horrors of life with her by my side.

"Anything?" said Sophie.

Nothing filled my senses but the smell of coffee and spiced tea, tobacco, cloves, cool leather, the rumble of the underground trains passing below us, reminiscent of Reapers.

No roots announced their presence. The Liminality kept its distance. I felt nothing.

And in a way, I was glad. Whatever troubles the Frelsians were having, they had nothing to do with my current life. My path through existence need not lead through Root. There were other realms for souls to reside. I would find the right place when the time came.

"How about now?"

"Nope. Nothing."

"Maybe I can go for him," said Karla.

"Go where, dear?"

"To the Liminality, to see Master Zhang."

Sophie pursed her lips. "Well, I am sure you can, love. No doubt you have vast reservoirs of angst to tap. You may go wherever you like, dear, but this is all about James."

"Why me?"

Sophie skipped a glance towards Karla. "The boy has no clue, does he? Low self-esteem, perhaps? Renders him completely unaware of the elephant in the room?"

"Elephant?"

Sophie pursed her lips.

"You James. You are the elephant. You are why I rode the early train down this morning all the way from Bristol. This is all about getting another master Weaver to join our ranks in the Liminality. Because souls with the ability to move ... mountains ... are few and far between. We can count their number on ... two hands. We need you ... to stand against the Cherubim. To save Frelsi."

"What if ... I don't want to save Frelsi?"

Sophie glared. "It's not just Frelsi. I'm talking about every society and sub-culture on the surface of the Liminality. All of them Penult aims to exterminate, or at least drive back underground. These so-called angels. Self-appointed overseers of the afterlife. Seraphim and Hashmallim and their strange, poor minions the Cherubim. They just want the surface or themselves, to drive us all back underground like cattle to be processed for the Deeps."

I tapped my watch. "We ... uh ... we have a train to catch."

Sophie sipped the last of her chai. "So you do. A long train ride can provide an excellent environment for executing transitions. Something about the rhythm of the rails. Please, do try your best. It is vastly important that you see Master Zhang as soon as possible. We would hate to resort to more drastic measures."

"Drastic?"

"I cannot stress enough the urgency of seeing Master Zhang. The alliance awaits you." Her eyes narrowed into piggy little orbs. "You need to see him soon, love. Time is running short."
Chapter 7: Scotland

As we pulled out of King's Cross Station, I sent Sturgie a text with our arrival time in Inverness. Almost instantly a torrent of eager and excited messages set my phone pinging like a pinball machine.

He was thrilled to hear from us, couldn't wait to see us. Yes, he was still going to college up there, starting up his third year. He wanted to take us out for seafood at his favorite pub across the River Ness. Afterwards, we were welcome to crash at his flat, as long as we wanted.

I grinned at Karla as I showed her the parade of texts.

"He came to see me in Brynmawr," she said, smiling.

"Oh? How are he and his uncle Renfrew getting along these days?"

"Pretty well. Sturgie is actually thinking of coming back to the goat farm when he graduates. He changed his major to business."

I was getting spoiled by all the nice hotels and expensive flats. The thought of sleeping on some college kid's floor didn't thrill me. I could kick myself for not grabbing more keys from that safe deposit box. Maybe we could sneak off somewhere cozy after a couple of nights hanging out with Sturgie and his mates.

I nodded out with my head propped on Karla's shoulder somewhere on the north side of London. No roots came to visit. I have to admit I was being a bad boy and not heeding Sophie's advice to let myself be overtaken by negative thoughts.

Why should I? I had worked hard to achieve my positive frame of mind and I wasn't quite ready to give it up.

But there was something weird about my dreams. Something fundamentally different. They were tangible. My senses more completely engaged. I could feel things and smell things. Even within the dream I was aware of this difference, but my awareness did nothing to break the spell.

I did a lot of floating around kind of like what I experienced through Billy. But also a lot of flitting around between people's heads, kind of like the way I experienced the Singularity.

For a time, my consciousness clung to a man walking down a city street. I had no idea what city or what country. He was no one I recognized, just some random stranger, for all I knew. He was walking along some waterfront near a church carrying a thick coil of braided wire. Strange.

My eyes flicked open. The interior of the train car was glaringly bright. Karla's face was inches from mine, her eyes pegged wide.

I squirmed up out of my slouch and looked out the window at some rolling meadows, rocky hills, boulders and sheep. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere north of York," she said. "You slept a lot. Did you go? Did you see Master Zhang?"

"No. Did you?"

"No." She pouted. "What are we going to do?"

"We do what we can, when we can, if we can. When was the last time you went back?"

"When you were still in jail. Around Easter."

"And? How was everything?"

"Fine," she shrugged. "They were worried about the newcomers arriving on the shore, but there was no fighting. There were dragonflies everywhere."

"Whatever happened, must have happened fast."

"I went down below ... to the tunnels. Looking for Izzie. There were so few pods, compared to how it used to be. So many souls are coming to the surface. But ... no Izzie."

"Well, that's good, right?"

Karla's face flushed. Her eyes glistened. "I don't know why she had to leave the farm. They would have taken such good care of her. She should have waited for me. I would have come for her."

"But she thought you were dead."

"I was dead. But no matter. She should have just stayed on the farm. Or in Brynmawr with those ladies. All would have been fine."

"Maybe she found a boyfriend."

"Please. She is only fourteen."

"You're positive she's not still in Wales?"

"I went through every corner of Cardiff. Retraced all her steps. She was helping out a band. Punk band. Roadie, groupie, whatever you want to call her. Living with them. Carrying their equipment. Singing, sometimes, although she has a terrible voice. But she's not there. She left without even telling them, although she packed her things."

"She packed? Well, that's a good sign. Means she wasn't kidnapped, maybe."

"If she was coerced, it is just as bad. Papa knows how to push her buttons."

"Don't worry. She's a tough little cookie. The fact that she hasn't shown up in Root is a good sign, right?"

"Maybe," said Karla. "Maybe not."

***

We got to Edinburgh on time and had a bit of a wait between trains. Finally, I finally got to see a bit more of the wondrous city beyond the train station. It was crazy, with all the castles and the different layers of streets and their verticality. I had never seen anything like it.

Even though it was drizzling, Karla plopped herself down on a wet bench and refused to budge. She was in a bit of a funk. It took all the charm I could muster, which isn't much admittedly, to get her off her butt to go shopping.

She needed some clothes badly to replace some of the rags she was hanging onto. But she just couldn't get into it. All I got her to buy was a flannel shirt and a pair of cheapo jeans from a tourist shop. She glared at my little black card when I pulled it out, but said nothing.

I wasn't crazy about going to Inverness, either. Nothing against that town, just that some of the most horrible days of my life were spent in Edmund's church basement.

Once I got her back on the train, a pall fell across her face like a shadow. She sank deeper and deeper into herself every mile closer to Inverness, accumulating layers like so many coats of hard shellac, re-erecting defenses that she had previously shed. This wasn't surfing. This was depression.

I tried not to take it too personal, but I had to wonder what it said about our relationship when I practically floated through the world in her presence, but she acted like she was wearing a hundred pounds of lead weights? Did she not want to be with me? Did I not matter as much to her?

Of course, she had some extra baggage to weight her down. Isobel meant a lot to her. She was her only sibling, her sole confidante through some enormously difficult times. Karla had been pretty much Izzie's fill-in mom during her growing up years. She couldn't help but feel responsible for whatever had happened to her.

She was a prime candidate for a visitation. I could almost feel the roots come swirling around her soul. I watched her for the change. When her eyes stopped twitching and her body went limp, I took her hand and sighed.

"Say hi for me."

I propped my forehead against the window and watched the world go by. On the outskirts of Edinburgh, I could have sworn I saw one of those automated changeable billboards display a giant "Zhang?" in big red letters over a field of chartreuse before the rollers engaged and transformed back into a Guinness ad. Had I really seen what I thought I saw, or was my mind playing tricks?

Karla remained unconscious for a good hour and a half. The shadows were growing long in the heath before she began to stir. I was the one this time leaning in close, watching her eyes.

"So ... did you cross? Did you ... visit Root ... just now?"

"No," she said, in a small voice on the verge of a whisper. "I was only ... sleeping. "

Somehow, I felt gratified. This was Karla, who bragged about her ability to surf her moods. If she was unable to make the transition into the Liminality even when she was already feeling down, maybe I had something to do with it. Maybe, she was happy with me, or, if not happy, happy enough to stay out of Root.

Too bad she was sobbing.

***

When we finally reached Inverness, I almost had to pry Karla off the seat. She didn't want to leave the train. She looked and acted stoned, though I knew better.

We waited for everyone else to exit first. I hovered by the door, scanning the platform for those solitary young men—the watchers—who I got into the habit of looking for in the days when Sergei had a bounty on my head. But Sergei was dead, and I seriously doubted that his successors had nearly the emotional investment that Sergei had put into finding me, especially when they saw the cost of Sergei's obsession.

"Sturgie says he and his friends can help us. You have a picture of Izzie, right?"

"Yes."

"We can go to a copy shop, make a flyer. Promise a reward for information. But maybe we don't post them just anywhere. We hand them out to Sturgie's friends. We don't want your Dad's people to know we're looking for her."

"It was a mistake, coming here," said Karla.

"Why do you say that?"

"I just wish we hadn't come. I don't like this place. Too much bad happens here."

"Oh, stop. It's time we make some good memories here. It's not a bad town. It's not the city's fault."

I led her onto the platform heading for the one exit before reversing course and heading in the opposite direction. A young man stood alone beside a waste bin, clothes rumpled, hair frazzled, his expression distant and vacant.

A watcher? Perhaps not. But old habits die hard.

***

Sturgie had apologized profusely in advance for not being able to meet us with a car. His plan was to shuttle us back to his flat on the back of his motorcycle so we could wash up before heading across the river to the pub. I had texted him the minute we pulled into Inverness station, but he had yet to respond.

We left the station and waited outside on the corner where he had told us to meet him. It drizzled just like in Edinburgh, but here it wafted with the wind weightless, in no hurry to meet the ground. We huddled together under an awning and waited as the damp found us anyhow and seeped into our clothes.

The foghorn in the harbor competed with nearby sirens. A half hour later and after several more unanswered texts and calls, he had still not arrived.

"This is not like him," said Karla. "He is usually good with time. Are you sure he said to meet us here?"

"He said same corner he met us to take you away from me my first time in Inverness. This is it, right?"

Karla studied my face for a moment before taking my hand and squeezing it.

"Maybe he has trouble with his motorcycle."

I was tired of standing around and train stations still made me nervous. "It shouldn't be too far to walk. Maybe we should just go?"

Karla nodded and we started off down the street. I let Google maps lead the way. Three blocks down we turned the corner left to come across a light show of ambulances and police cars. A small heap of crumpled metal lay smoking against a brick wall. Paramedics were busy trying to delicately transfer an accident victim to a stretcher.

Karla took off running. I was right on her heels.

She evaded a policeman who reached out, trying to keep her away. She looked up at me, her face anguished. "It's him!" She screamed.

A detective pulled us under an awning. Garish emergency lights reflected off all the dampness.

"You knew this young man?"

"He's our friend," I said. "What happened?"

"Hit and run, we presume. Only there we were no witnesses, unless, perhaps, you happened to see something?"

"No," I said. "He was supposed to meet us at the train station."

"Is he ... is he going to be okay?" said Karla.

The detective bit his lip. "I'm so sorry ,dear. He's already gone."

My head swirled. The glare gave way to darkness. The pavement below beckoned, but Karla steadied me and I kept my feet.
Chapter 8: Inverness

Just down the hall from Raigmore Hospital's mortuary, Karla and I sat in the special room reserved for grieving friends and family. Pictures of baby animals, sunsets and nature scenes dominated the décor.

Sturgie's college mates came by in dribs and drabs, many of them sloshed, some teary, some simply disbelieving. I had just gotten off the phone with Renfrew. The old man was crushed. He wanted to drive up that night, but Helen convinced him to stay put. Sturgie's dad Wilbert, Renfrew's estranged brother, would be coming up in the morning to handle the transport arrangements.

Sturgie's body was to be shipped to Cardiff where he had grown up. His body would be laid to rest in his home town.

"Never should have called Sturg," I said. "We should have just shown up and surprised him."

"James. Stop. These things happen. No matter what we had done, maybe it was meant to be. Maybe something worse would have happened."

"Something worse? What's worse than getting hit by a truck?"

A braided metal cable had been found on the road, its broken end still attached to a lamp post. Sturgie had been clotheslined, and as he and his bike skidded across the blacktop, a lorry had run him over.

I couldn't rid my head of the image of him lying broken in the road. And my mine kept returning to that oddly tangible dream and the man with the coil.

"Let's get out of here," I said.

We wandered for a time in the incessant drizzle, hoping to find a place to stay, but there was no lodging in the area. Karla wanted to go back to the hospital but I couldn't stand being there.

We retreated to a bus shelter that smelt like a urinal and sat on a hard, cold bench. Our eyes were closed, but neither of us could sleep. I held her and rocked her in my arms, watching sheets of mist dance under the streetlights, concentrating on the rhythm of her breathing, trying not to think bad thoughts.

"The roots are close," said Karla. "Do you feel them?"

"No," I said, and I knew that it was Karla's presence that kept the embers glowing in my heart and kept them at bay like a bonfire against wolves. I was afraid to tell her, though. I know how badly she wanted me to cross. And yes, we might cross together, but that was never guaranteed. I wanted to hold her in the here and now, and even if she crossed alone, I would still be here to hold her.

"I want to go, but they won't come. Something is keeping them away."

"Yeah, well. They'll come for us when they're good and ready. I guess."

"So what do we do now?"

"I don't know. Go back down to Wales, I guess. Attend the funeral."

She pulled away from me and looked me in the eye. "But we came all the way here. We should still look for Izzie. Yes?"

"Yeah. We should. But it would be nice to get some rest. How about we find a hotel? Get a few hours sleep. In the morning we can go looking. We have a couple days before the funeral."

"Okay." She relaxed and snuggled back.

"Maybe you can try to in touch with that friend of hers again. What's her name?"

"Gwen."

"And I'll go ... I'll go snooping around the church."

She squeezed my arm and looked up at me. "Are you ... okay with that?"

"Don't worry, I'll be careful. I won't go inside, that's for sure. But I can hang out nearby. See who comes and goes. They all go to mass every day, right?"

"Sometimes twice a day," she said. "Some days morning, noon and night."

"So that's the plan. I'll watch and see if I can spot her. Meanwhile, you try and find Gwen, and see if she knows anything."

We left the shelter and walked towards the city center. It didn't matter to Karla but I was hoping to find a bigger, nicer hotel. I needed a good night's sleep. I didn't want to stay in some flea bag, tourist place. I really was getting spoiled. A year ago I would have been happy to find a dry corner in some shed.

We found a place off High Street called the Heathmount, checked in and collapsed on the bed without taking showers or even stripping off the covers. The sun was high when I awoke to find Karla already clean and dressed and standing by the door.

"I'm going off to look for Gwen."

"Why don't you borrow my phone? Try calling her first?"

"Can't. Her parents monitor her calls and texts. If they know I'm in town, this will be a problem."

"So where—?"

"I will go to her school. Every day she goes home for lunch. I know the way she walks. I can intercept her on the way."

"Okay. Just ... be careful."

She scrunched her eyes at me. She didn't look pleased.

"You're still going to the church right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Just so you know, you have already missed the morning mass, but ... no worries. Papa sometimes holds meetings during the daytime. If he's keeping Izzie out of school, she's likely to be with him. And if not, there will be another mass at six."

"How do we get word to each other if we find her?"

"Just come back to the hotel. Leave a note."

And with that she slammed the door and left.

***

It was the first minute we had been apart since we met each in Rome, and I didn't like the feeling one bit. I was already anxious, and had to suppress an urge to follow after her, so needy I had become.

I washed up. It was too late for the complimentary breakfast downstairs. They were already packing things away, so I struck out at random until I came across a bakery and picked up a couple scones in a waxed paper and a cup of coffee.

I took a deep breath and made my way towards the River Ness and the ancient church that had been taken over by the Sedevacantists. I turned right when I reached the avenue that ran along the river bank. My heart began to pound as I approached the hulk of lichened stone that had once imprisoned me.

Drugged, hauled to Inverness at night and locked away in that dungeon, I had no idea that it could be so pretty outside. The clouds had broken into shreds and allowed some bits of sun to seep through to make the river shine and glaze the wet trees until they glistened.

I remember hearing traffic from my cell, but at the time I had assumed that they had taken us to another part of Glasgow. I passed the basement exit from which we had made our escape, half expecting a mob of ardent Sedevacantists to come bursting out to grab me. My pace picked up and I gave that door a wide berth.

When I came around the front I was startled to find a crisp new sign on the front lawn. This was no longer a Sedevacantist church. It now belonged to the Swedenborgs—a Protestant denomination I knew next to nothing about. The Sedevacantist Catholics were gone.

It was with a strange mixture of relief and dismay that I turned back to the hotel. My heart calmed, but it meant we were no closer to finding out what had happened to Isobel.

I didn't know what else to do, so I went back to the hotel, went up to the room and flicked on the tube. I felt guilty hanging around, watching TV, but I didn't know what else to do. It didn't make sense to wander aimlessly around Inverness.

When I Googled "Sedevacantist" and "Inverness" all I came up with was some island monastery in the Orkney's called Golgotha. The idea of going there horrified me and I wasn't even sure I wanted to share the information with Karla.

I got worried as the afternoon lengthened and there was no sign of Karla. It sucked that I wasn't able to convince her to carry a cell phone. She had nothing, not even a cheap slab phone on which I could contact her. That girl could be so old school it was aggravating.

She finally showed up about an hour after I went downstairs to pace the front walk. She seemed a bit more glum than usual, if that was possible. Our eyes met briefly, before her gaze fluttered back down to her feet.

"No luck, I take it?"

She shook her head. "The house is vacant. No furniture. Curtains. It seems Papa has moved."

"What about Gwen?"

"She was not at the school. She did not come home for lunch so I went inside and spied in the classrooms. There is no sign of her name anywhere. But her house is still there and her family is still living there. But I did not dare to speak with her mother. I think maybe they sent her away someplace. Maybe with Izzie?"

"What are you thinking, like a nunnery?"

"A convent? I have no idea. They are building such places, I know but ... I don't know where."

I was on the verge of telling her about the Golgotha monastery but I was afraid she would want to go there. It would be a shot in the dark. And being trapped on an island with those people scared the crap out of me. So I kept mum.

"So what do we do now?"

Karla shrugged. "I don't know. But I think ... we are done with Inverness."

***

That night, Karla barely slept. She kept getting up and sitting at the armchair by the window, staring out towards the river. The window was speckled with a million tiny droplets. The drizzle had resumed.

"Hey. Come back to bed."

"I am wondering if I will have better luck finding her in Root. Together."

"What makes you think she's there?"

"If you had her life, would you want to keep it?"

"Who even knows what her life is like. Maybe she's happy."

Karla snapped. "How could she be happy with these maniacs?"

"Who says she's with them? We don't know that."

"I feel it is the most likely explanation."

"Yeah, well. We don't know for sure. Maybe ... after the funeral ... we can go on looking."

"Where? Here?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Why not Root? Why won't you come to Root with me?"

I squirmed out from under the covers "You know why. We've talked about this. I've sort of ... lost the knack."

"You don't want to go, that's the problem."

"It's not necessarily ... a problem."

"James! I am begging you to help me find my sister." Tears now streaked her cheeks.

"Hey. And I will. As soon as I can. I'll cross with you. I promise. I'm just ... not there yet."

"You promise?"

"Yeah. I'll find a way. I will! Come back to bed. Try and get some rest. We have another long day of traveling tomorrow.

She rose up off the chair, silhouetted by the window, and glided to the bed like a specter, collapsing, crumpling onto the sheets beside me.
Chapter 9: Manchester

We drank loads of coffee that morning with our black pudding, beans and tattie scones. The hedges outside our window still dripped from three days of accumulated drizzle. The sky was still grey but brighter. Thin patches in the clouds filtered the sun and washed the city the city with a subdued glow. I don't think I could have handled a day with blue skies.

Karla hadn't slept much and it showed. She looked ten years older. I could see traces of the woman she would become if she lived past thirty. I hate to say it, but the hollowness in her cheeks reminded me of those heroin addicts I used to see near the bus station in Fort Pierce.

As for me, who knows how I looked. I avoided mirrors as much as I could. But I was ashamed to feel so refreshed, and guilty for not feeling as distraught over Sturgie's death. He had been much closer to Karla, the only friend she had outside the church in the real world when she still lived with her dad. To me, he wasn't much more than a passing acquaintance though I had heard so much about him from Jessica and Helen. How he had basically grown up on the goat farm with Renfrew, spending every summer vacation with his uncle from the time he was seven.

I also felt bad for not having the same level of emotional investment in the search for Isobel. But I had confidence in a more positive explanation for her disappearance than the worst case scenarios that haunted Karla. Isobel was a capable girl. In some ways she was even more robust and resilient than Karla. Given what she was up against, maybe she was simply savvy enough to be lying low. She was aware of the forces about this world who wanted to do her harm.

When we checked out of the hotel, I paid the bill with that bottomless black credit card. We planned to hop yet another train that morning to follow Sturgie's remains back down to Wales, which were apparently traveling by lorry. His dad was already in Inverness making the arrangements.

Karla perked up a bit as we walked to the station. I was glad to hear her singing under her breath and she rewarded my little quips and jibes with a few smiles. Those right there—those smiles—they were little slices of heaven to me. For such moments ... in such moments ... I lived.

Once we got onboard and found our seats, Karla zonked out with her head slumped over in my lap, snoring most of the way to Manchester. I kept as still as I could to not wake her up. A full bladder and pins and needles in my leg were well worth the price of having her get some rest.

She woke from her nap in time to have some tea before we changed trains in Manchester. Nasty place, that Manchester, or at least the parts I could see from the train. Its music scene was legendary, nothing I saw from the window made me want to spend any time there.

When we exited onto the platform, I made my usual scan of the station. It was mid-day and the place was crowded. I saw nothing unusual but a watchful man wearing glasses stood by the entry into the ticketing area, rocking back and forth on his feet.

I was prepared to ignore him. He seemed innocuous enough. Far from the model of the lone watchers I had erected in my head. This guy looked like he could be a tax accountant. His sandy brown hair was neat, flat and conventional. He wore a white shirt, buttoned up all the way, under a pastel blue cardigan. His watch was one of those Casios with the built in calculator.

His eyes went straight to mine as we approached. Nobody does eye contact like that in the UK, not with strangers.

"Mr. Moody? A word with you, please? I will only need a minute."

I stopped in my tracks. Karla curled her hands into fists and went into a fighting stance. A knot of people clogged the exit from the platform. There was nowhere to run but back out to the tracks.

"How do you know me?"

"My name is Edward Price. I'm with the Friends of Penult. Can we head to that refreshment stand for a little chat? I'll buy you both a smoothie."

"No thank you," Karla blurted.

"Please. I won't delay you. This will only take a minute."

I put my hand on Karla's shoulder. "Let's go see what he wants."

We followed him over to a sticky café table and pulled up some plastic chairs.

"Are you sure I can't interest you both in a smoothie?"

"Positive," said Karla.

"Well, I know you have a train to catch. But I just wanted to re-iterate some instructions my colleague Miss Davolo may have passed onto you."

"Belinda?"

"Yes. I believe she met with you in Rome."

Karla squinted at the man, "You are ... angels?"

The man blushed. "Oh no. Nothing of the sort. Not yet, anyhow. I am with the Friends of Penult. We are a group blessed ... some would say cursed ... by visions of the afterlife and sometimes even visitations ... from beyond the grave. We help those who have passed keep order among the living. Keep the lines between our worlds from getting too blurry. Last chance for a smoothie. How about it? Some iced tea perhaps? The minted mango is quite lovely."

"No thank you," Karla said again, before I could get out a word.

"Well, anyhow. I just wanted to re-emphasize to you the importance of refraining from all with these rogue agents of what they call Frelsi in what is sometimes called ... the Liminality. I believe you might possess a certain black credit card, do you not?"

"But ... Belinda said we could use it."

"She also asked you have absolutely no contact with the Frelsians. But apparently, you met with gentleman named Mr. Wendell Frank in the Dolomites, and more recently a Ms. Sophie Cryer in London."

"Listen. They came to us. If it was up to me I would have nothing at all to do with them."

"I understand. But the fact remains that you had several meetings with agents of Frelsi since speaking with Ms. Davolo. Now, I'm not saying you did anything wrong. But I would like to rectify a small error on our part. I suspect that Belinda should not have let you keep that card. That seems to be their primary means of tracking you, and not just through your purchases."

"The thing is ... I'm getting kind of low on cash."

"No worries." He pulled an envelope from his coat pocket and slapped it on the table.

"Inside, you will find a replacement. But unlike theirs, this one is untraceable, either by electronic or ... spiritual ... means."

I peeked inside the envelope. It indeed contained another credit card, or at least something shaped like one. It bore a set of fourteen embossed numbers on an off-white sliver that could have carved from ivory or bone.

"Spiritual?"

"We will see your transactions of course, just like any other card. But this one will make you much less visible to the Frelsians. Please. The card you currently hold ... the black one ... may I have it?"

I held up the white card. "Will this work in ATMs?"

"Of course. It's just like the other card, only this one has no eyes and ears, I assure you. We have no need to monitor your every breath. We just want to keep dibs on your location. An ordinary card serves just fine."

"What do you mean, eyes and ears?"

"Please now, can I have the black card?"

The black card was tucked away in a 'secret' inner compartment. I unzipped it, and pulled it out.

He took the card from me, pulled an old brass cigarette lighter from his pocket and with a flick of his thumb, set it aflame.

"What are you doing!" I went to slap out the flames, but he grabbed my wrist.

"Don't touch it! Let it burn!"

The card splintered and folded itself into a spider that scurried into a half-empty glass of water, extinguishing the flames. The man upended the glass over the spider. It scratched at the glass, struggling to escape.

"You see? It's an avatar, one belonging to the Frelsian head agent, no doubt. I guarantee that the card we have given you is just a card. The Powers-that-be frown on fragmentation of the soul."

"What are you? You work for the Seraphim?" said Karla.

"The Seraphim are mere servants ... just like me."

"Who do you ... serve?"

"Well, proximally we have the Lords of Penult, but even they serve at the pleasure of the Powers-that-be. And as for the Powers? I suppose they are subjects of the Supreme Being, though who that might be and what form he or she might take is beyond my pay grade to speculate. And frankly, it matters not. I have my role."

"Are you talking about God?"

"Perhaps."

"What is your religion?" said Karla.

The man sighed. "I have none. Nothing nameable at least. We Friends have gone beyond the idea of faith. There will always be mysteries in the universe, but some things are clear, like the existence of the after realms."

He took the glass, inverted it and smashed it down on the bug. It shattered, and each fragment crumbled into a smear of oily soot that the man wiped away with a napkin.

"Belinda should have known better. There was a time one of their credit cards was just that—a credit card. But Mr. Frank is craftier these days." He gathered his portfolio. "Yes, well, you have a train to catch don't you? This completes my task. Just as a reminder. You've done very well so far. We are all quite pleased, but please, continue to stay out of the after realms. And ... don't talk to strangers."

"But ... what if we have no choice?" said Karla. "What if the roots, they come for us?"

The man tilted his head and peered over his bifocals.

"Frankly, if the Liminality comes to claim you, there is nothing to be done. Such are the vicissitudes of life. Stay below ground. Let the Reapers claim you ... or not ... as fate would have it. But the surface is no place for an unfinished soul. It is not your place. The surface belongs to Penult. Understood?"

Karla and I just stared back at him blankly.

"Well then. That is all I have to say for now. Have a good day ... and a good life ... if I don't see you again." He slid his chair back, rose and strode briskly away through the crowd, without as much as a second glance at us.

"From now on we pay cash for everything," said Karla.

"We don't have much left."

"We just need to stay at cheaper hotels."

"Karla. Even then ... there's not enough. Not if we want to eat, too."

She set her chin. Her eyes flitted back and forth.

"Just this once. Go ahead. Use that ATM. But this is the last time. This man already knows we are here. But after this, we become invisible. Understand? Cash only."
Chapter 10: Brynmawr

Problem was, the daily withdrawal limit on my new ivory card was only five hundred pounds. That was more than the average credit card allowed, but it was still a leash. Even if we booked ordinary hotels and ate on the cheap, we would have to withdraw some cash every few days, more often if we traveled. These Penult folks knew how to keep tabs on us, even without avatars.

"Destroy it now," said Karla.

"What if we need it ... like in an emergency or something?"

"What if it is watching us, listening, just like the other one?"

"He said it wasn't."

"And you believe him?"

"How about we hang onto it ... just a little longer?"

Karla was not pleased. "Then put it away. Keep it zipped. Understood? After the funeral, once we decide where we go next, you burn it. Understood? Any fool can figure out we are going to Brynmawr this weekend."

"Yeah. Sure."

What can I say? I was the addicted to the cash flow. Understandable, I guess, once you've been homeless for a while like I was after mom died. I just wasn't quite ready to start worrying about money again. I suppose I could always get a job like normal people.

"Do you think they'll let us stay with them on the farm? Maybe we should call ahead?"

"Are you kidding?" Karla's eyebrows collided in the center of her brow. "Renfrew thinks of you like you are his own son. Of course, he will be happy to have us."

I had thought a lot about those guys while I was in prison, more nights than not. Thoughts of my life on their farm often provided the calm, soothing kernel of the daydream I used to help me fall asleep. It worked like a charm, driving worries and fears like so many harried foxes into the corners of my brain where they could do no harm.

We took a train five hours south to Ebbw Vale Parkway. It was still overcast as we headed out of the station into the car park, which was fine with me. I liked clouds when they weren't spitting rain.

"Why don't we take a cab?" I said.

"No taxi. We walk. Remember? From now on, we must save money."

I didn't argue, though, in retrospect maybe I should have. It didn't look that far on the map. Down one valley, into Brynmawr town, and then up another to the farm. But it took us a good hour to walk to town and another half hour or so to reach the lower gate of Cwm Gyrdd farm.

Across the main road, a bunch of goats with Cwm Gyrdd ear tags stood munching alfalfa in someone else's pasture.

"Damned fences must be broken again," I said.

"Look," said Karla, pointing at the entrance to the farm. The bottom gate was torn off its hinges, as if a large truck had plowed through in haste.

Her eyes sought an explanation, but I could only shrug. Without a word, we took off running up the driveway. As we rounded the mound of slag that stood between us and the first outbuildings, we stopped in our tracks all flushed and gasping.

There were no outbuildings any longer, just heaps of ash and charred timbers. Apart from one small storage shed that Renfrew had used to keep odd bits of hardware and lumber, every structure on the farm had burned to the ground. Karla squeezed my arm and buried her face in my chest.

The fire was recent. The embers no longer smoldered, but the ashes were still warm. Two guys with rakes combed through the debris while a supervisor watched from the cab of a lorry bearing the logo of the South Wales Fire and Rescue Service.

"What the hell happened?" I asked.

"Friends of Mr. Boyle, are you?" said the man in the lorry, cocking an eyebrow.

"Is he ... is everybody okay?"

"Nobody's died ... yet. But Mr. Boyle and one of the ladies hospitalized for smoke inhalation."

"Who? Miss Helen?"

"No. It was the younger gal. Jessica, I believe. They're still in the hospital, if you care like to visit."

"Jesus Christ. How did it happen?"

"That's what we're here to find out. You two wouldn't know of anyone who might have bear a grudge against Mr. Boyle?"

"Heck no," I said. "I mean. He can be a crotchety old dude. But he makes friends with everybody. People seem to like him."

The detective lowered his voice. "To be frank, we're a little bit stumped right now about all this. This doesn't look like arson. We've found no trace of accelerants. Everything's in order with the electrical. It's not a kitchen accident. And it can't be lightning. We've had no thunder, just a gentle rain. So what else is left? Spontaneous combustion?"

We stood there, Karla in my arms and stared at him, while he eyed us like we were a pair of prime suspects returning to the scene of the crime.

"So how long have you two been in town?" said the man, who I assumed was an arson investigator.

"We just arrived this afternoon by train ... from Inverness. We came down for the funeral."

"Ah, of course. My condolences. Mates of Sturgie are you ... were you?"

"Yeah. Well, Karla especially. I just ... I used to work on the farm."

"Work? Wait a minute. You wouldn't happen to be that American lad who was deported, are you?"

A stab of dread lanced through my heart.

"Me. Nah. I'm ... I'm ... uh ... Canadian."

"What's your name?"

"David," I said, but I couldn't remember what my new last name was supposed to be.

I turned and walked away briskly before he could ask me any more questions. Karla caught up with me and we made our in silence way down the dirt track and through the ruined gate. A goat ran up to us and bleated, as if it were pleading for some human to turn things back the way they were.

***

At the hospital we learned that Jessica had already been released and was staying with friends in town. We found Helen sitting up with Renfrew. The old man had tubes stuck up his nostrils and taped to his beard.

"Can you believe these people? They wanted to shave off all my whiskers." Ren's voice was hoarse and weak.

"Good thing we talked them out of it," said Helen. "They would have ruined a good pair of scissors."

"Oh, come Helen. It's not that bad."

"You guys are gonna rebuild the farm, right?" I said.

"With what?" said Helen. She glowered at Ren. "I tried to warn him at the time, but Ren bought junk insurance. The bare minimum. Maybe we could rebuild an outbuilding or two. But the main house, the cottage and the cheese house. They're all gone for good."

My stomach sank at the thought of the farm being gone forever. I wondered how much money I could extract from that new ivory card if I withdrew the max every day.

"Ach, it was time I bloody retired anyhow," said Ren. "It's not like Sturgie was ever going to take over the place." Ren's eyes lost their focus. "Even if ... even if he had lived. The boy didn't want nothing to do with the place."

"That's not entirely true, Ren," said Helen. "He was warming up to the idea of late. He even switched his major ... to business."

"Doesn't matter now. He's gone. What's done is done and that's that."

"With a little help from us, Jess could easily run the farm," said Helen. "Maybe she's not family, but—"

"There is ... no farm!" said Ren, his words punctuated by fits of coughing. "My business is gone. I no longer have a nephew. And that's that. We all just have to move on. That is all there is to say about the matter." Helen handed him a glass of water and he sipped from a straw until his eruptions calmed.

"It's a damned shame," said Ren, his voice as raspy as a rip saw. "The boy should have never left for the north. He should have—"

"...never made friends with me," said Karla. "I am to blame. I am the one who involved him in this wickedness."

"No, Karla," said Helen. "Don't be silly. This has nothing to do with you. How could it? These things happen. It was an accident."

"Was it really?" said Karla.

"What are you saying?" I whispered.

Her eyes bored in on me. "Come out in the hall. We need to talk."

She took my arm and led me out into the ward. Renfrew tried to say something as we left but all he could manage was a wheeze. We wandered down the hall to a quiet place near the elevators.

"First Sturgie. Now this," said Karla. "The two must be connected, no?"

"But how?"

"Wendell ... and Zhang."

"You mean he's trying to extort me? I didn't hear him make any threats, did you?"

"It must be so. They are trying to encourage you to cross."

"Encourage me? By killing my friends? Burning their homes?"

"They want you to try. I ... want you to try."

"I've tried. You know I have."

"Do I?"

"It's no use. I've lost the knack."

"Because of me?"

"Because I'm happy. Is that a crime? I mean, I feel terrible about Sturgie and the farm. But it's not like it makes me want to kill myself. Not even close. They think this is a way to get me to cross? That's just stupid."

"Then how? What if they threaten to hurt someone else?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm done with that place. The sooner they get that into their thick skulls the better. I can't encourage them by reacting to this crap. I still don't understand why they want me there so badly."

Karla's eyes took on a faraway gaze. "I think it's time we found out." Her face went flaccid and blank. She turned away from me.

"Hey. What's wrong? You okay?"

"Nothing is wrong. I am fine. I am simply preparing myself."

"For what?"

"I've had enough of this. Tonight, I will cross. This is something I need to do ... for the both of us."
Chapter 11: Spades

Helen and Jessica were staying in town with their friends Fiona and Britt, the gay couple who had harbored Isobel for a time after she left the farm right before she had taken off for Cardiff. Karla knew them well, having stayed with them herself while I was in prison on one of her several futile hunts for her missing sister.

When Fiona and Britt found out that we were in town, we were immediately offered a place to stay. They set up a futon for us in the attic they used as a studio. It was a bit stuffy up there, but they brought us a fan. We propped open the windows and it aired out nicely.

Dinner was pork loin simmered in tea with asparagus and polenta. Tea pork, they called it. They served it cold and it was really tasty. Afterwards we had almond macaroons and Prosecco. Our conversation kept drifting to Izzie.

"I can't help feeling she left because of us," said Fiona. "That she just wasn't comfortable here."

"I find that hard to believe," said Jessica. "She raved about you gals."

"She told us the Cardiff thing was to be temporary," said Britt. "She went to help out a band she had met at the Green Man festival. A punk band I suppose. They called themselves 'Ebola' of all things. When they went on tour up north, she apparently told them she was moving back to Brynmawr. But she never showed."

"Sounds fishy," I said.

"I found them in Leeds," said Karla. "They said they had not seen Izzie since leaving Cardiff. I believed them. They were gentle boys. How you say? Emo? Not the kind who would hurt her."

"She had wanted to go to London," said Jess. "She always talked about it. Never anything specific. It was just a place she wanted to go."

Karla nodded. "Papa never let us linger there. Sometimes we passed through. Izzie was fascinated. I went to London and looked there, too. All over. I slept many days among the homeless. Showing her picture. Nothing." Her gaze fell to cracked tiles of the parlor floor.

"Oh, I bet she's just fine," said Fiona. "She was a resourceful gal, that one. She knew how get things without money, that's for sure. Good at making friends and getting people to help her."

Fiona slapped a deck of cards onto the table. "How about a game of Spades? Anyone?"

Karla's eyes had gone blank. I tried to get her attention but she got up and went up into the attic without even looking at me. She just up and left.

The ladies looked at each other.

"Don't just sit there," said Helen. "Go see to your girl."

I went up and found Karla laying on the futon staring at the ceiling. I lay down next to her and she squirmed away.

"What's wrong?"

"Don't touch me. I'm trying to surf."

"Really? Now? Do you have to? Why don't you stay here with us? Come on down and play some cards."

"No."

"Why do you have to go there? You think you're going to find her there? You don't even know if she's crossing, and even if she does, the odds of you two being there at the same time are ... remote."

"Come with me," she said, her eyes pleading. She stretched out her hand to me.

"I ... can't. I told you."

She snapped her hand back. "Then leave me alone. One of us needs to go. We need to know why they want you there so badly. Why they hurt our friends. And yes, I need to make sure Isobel is not there ... stuck in some pod again."

"Why would she be in a pod? She broke out. I mean ... I was never in a pod after the first few times. I always went back to wherever I left off. Except ... that once."

"Because sometimes people regress. Now stay away. Don't touch me. Don't talk to me. I need to set the mood."

I sighed and got up from the futon and went back downstairs. The ladies were all eyes as I came down the steps.

"She wants to be alone."

"Oh? Had a little tiff did you?" said Britt.

"Not really. She just wants to be alone."

"She probably just needs some space to clear her head," said Helen.

I sat down and Britt fetched me a glass and filled it halfway with bubbly.

"Hey ... uh ... did Izzie ever happen to mention a place called Root?"

"Root?" said Helen. "You mean that place you used to go sometimes? In your head?"

"It's not in his head," said Jess.

Fiona piped up. "She did mention feeling down on occasion and having these ... visions, if that's what you mean."

"They're not visions," said Jessica. "Root is real."

"Oh?" I said. "Have you gone, Jess?"

"Me? Heck no. Too happy, I guess. Can't you tell from my sunny disposition? I just believe in it. I've just seen you in your trances. And the stories you and Karla both tell me, they're too consistent, too vivid to be false."

"Where is this place?" said Fiona.

"I want to see!" said Britt. "Can we go? How do we get there?"

"It's a threshold to the afterlife," I said. "You can't just go there. It has to come to you. Karla thinks if she can find Izzie there, maybe she can find out where she is in this world. And that's why I came downstairs. Because she's up there trying to ... surf."

"She's surfing," said Britt, smirking.

"On a futon," said Fiona.

Everyone burst out giggling but me. They all had had a little too much wine to take anything seriously, but I didn't hold it against them. I just took a long swig of my Prosecco in hopes of catching up with whatever state of intoxication they had already achieved.

"I've had weird dreams too," said Fiona. "When I was depressed."

"Were you ever suicidal? Because ... that's what it takes ... to get there."

"No. Not quite. I was just miserable."

"Who knows? Maybe you had a glimpse. But the roots generally don't come for you you're at the end of your rope. You have to want out of this world to get into Root."

"So what's it like there?" said Fiona.

"Well ... it's pretty horrible at first ... if you just let things happen to you. There are these stinking tunnels and pods that bind you up and Reapers that ... reap you.. But, like everything, the place is what you make of it. Only more so. In Root, everyone has the ability to ... shape things. I don't think the makers of the place intended that. You can reshape things. Some of us more than others. Weavers. We can create things. Make things nice. In some ways, nicer than they are here. And so suicide becomes out of the question because with all these new abilities and possibilities and communities comes hope. It's kind of like a Catch-22 situation. It gets harder to go back, the more you want to. But ... I'm over that now."

The ladies were all looking at me with a mixture of fascination and perplexity.

"Go on," said Britt.

"Well, what's happened to me is ... well ... I'm in love. With Karla. Obviously. So, I don't get unhappy enough to cross over anymore. But ... Karla ... she's up in the attic ... crossing over ... which you can only do if you fool your mind into feeling suicidal. What I'm asking is ... should I be concerned ... about our relationship?"

"Of course you should be concerned," said Britt. "You're in a relationship with a woman."

"It pays to be watchful," said Fiona. "Partners communicate to each other with more than words. Every little action means something."

"Well, not every action," said Britt, giving Fiona the finger.

"Even that!" said Britt. "See? I know she's being playful. It's all about context and body language."

"You have nothing to worry about, James," said Helen. "Karla adores you. Don't listen to these witches. I've seen the look in her eyes when she talks about you."

"But ... suicidal?" I said. "Really? I can't get my head anywhere near that state. Not when I'm with her. How does she do it?"

"She's a woman," said Britt. "She's female ... like us."

"I realize that."

"In case you haven't noticed, the emotional repertoire of a female is far greater than the average male's," said Fiona. "We can tap into a vast reservoir of unhappiness and resentment. It's the female condition. Generations of oppression, persecution and inequality will do that. We have resources at our disposal. Don't take it personally."

"And can be sad on the outside or the inside," said Britt. "And flip between them in a flash. These states co-exist, and the best of us waffle back and forth between them."

"Sad but true," said Jessica, shrugging. "I can be happy and sad at the same time. These feelings are not incompatible."

"Are all women are like this?"

"Nah, not all," said Britt.

"Only those who are worth knowing," said Fiona. "There are plenty of silly, mindless bitches in this world. But those of us with stout hearts and robust souls experience the full range of female experience. And Karla, I would guess, is a robust soul. That girl has a brain and a heart. She can hurt and be happy."

"So, you're saying I shouldn't worry?"

"I never said don't worry," said Fiona. "That was Helen. I would tell you whatever reservoir of angst she's drawing from to achieve this state, it likely has nothing at all to do with you."

"But then again, it might."

"Britt! Please! I've just calmed the boy down and here you are troubling his head with disturbing notions."

"Karla loves you, James," said Jess. "That's clear. There's no way she doesn't. I think that's obvious to all of us who know you both."

The ladies all nodded.

"No worries," said Helen.

"For now," said Britt. "But it can all go to shite in a blink."

Fiona threw her a glare. "I don't know whether to refill your glass or take it away," said Fiona, commandeering the wine bottle.

"Fill it and I promise to shush."

***

We stayed up another hour playing Spades and commiserating about the unfortunate events of the last two days.

"Losing Sturgie was bad enough," said Jessica. "But then we had to go and lose the farm too?"

"You know what they say," said Britt.

"What's that?"

"Bad things ... come in threes."

"That's it! I'm taking your glass away," said Fiona, but Britt was too quick and snatched the wine glass to her bosom, splashing some of it on her blouse.

Helen was quick to daub it with a napkin.

"Good thing we're not drinking red. It's not as wearable."

I was feeling a little nervous and anxious. "I'm ... uh ... gonna go up and check on Karla."

I went up into the attic and found her lying calm and snoring gently on the futon. I crouched over her and studied her face, trying to determine if she had made the crossing or if the sandman had gotten to her before the roots. It was hard to tell.

I pulled the blanket up over her bare shoulder, gave her a peck on the cheek and went back downstairs. But the ladies had taken my leaving as the cue to break up the party. Helen and Jess were already in the kitchen washing dishes while Fiona and Britt put away the snacks.

"Can I help?"

"No thanks, hun," said Fiona. "We have things under control."

"How is she doing?" asked Helen.

"Snoozing."

"Go on, then!" said Fiona. "Get back up there. Be with your woman. Hang out with the likes of us too long and we'll turn you into a dyke."

"Idle threats," said Jess, winking at me. "I've been coming over here for years and they have yet to alter my preferences."

I headed back to the attic stairs. I was still feeling a bit wired. This was shaping up to be a long night. But Sturgie's wake wasn't going to be till four, so even if I needed to sleep in, there would be plenty of time to get ourselves together.

The wood in the tread of the stairs was scooped with wear from centuries of use. Each tread had a different creak, and every one of them creaked. It made a strange music. He imagined that someone lying awake in another room could tell if someone was going up or down just from the pattern of the creaks.

A groan arose from the shadows. Karla staggered to the top of the stairs and stood trembling, wobbling forward and back out of the darkness so that the hall light alternately illuminated her face from below, highlighting the creases in her troubled brow, her sunken cheekbones, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked like a ghost.

She lost her balance and leaned towards the stairs, about to fall. I thudded up the last few steps in time to catch her. She went limp in my arms. I scooped her up behind her knees and carried her back into the attic.

"Are you feeling okay?" I said. "What's happening?"

"I ... I went back," she whispered.

***

I helped her back to the futon and laid her down, snuggling up next to her.

"It's gone. "All gone," she whimpered.

"What's gone?"

"Everything. There is nothing left. Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing?"

"The surface. It has been destroyed. There is utter destruction."

"You mean, like Luthersburg?"

"Everything! It's all gone. All of it. Penult. They've come and destroyed it all. Everything."

"What about our friends. They ... okay?"

"I don't know. I didn't see anyone we knew. I was lost. Couldn't find my way. Everything was different. And then I was attacked. "I was stalked by these ... creatures. Some Dusters had to rescue me."

"What creatures? You mean like Reapers?"

"No, not Reapers. They looked like men but they weren't. They have no soul." She clutched my arm. "James! You need to go back. They need you."

"But what exactly did they do? How did they destroy everything?"

"I don't know. All I know is that it is all gone. All of it."

"Where did you go?"

"I don't know. I didn't recognize anything."

"Were you on the plains?"

"There are no plains."

"What are you talking about? How can there be no—?"

She burst into tears. "I can't explain. You need to go and see for yourself."

I sighed. "Okay."

"So you will go?" She looked at me expectantly.

I shrugged. "I don't know. Not sure I can."

"But you have to! You have to go and see!"

"Karla. I told you. I lost the knack."

"There are refugees. Frelsians and Dusters together. They are being hunted. Exterminated or driven underground, back into Root."

She buried her face in a pillow. Her body heaved. Her muffled sobs would not cease. I could only pat her shoulder. I felt useless.

I lay down beside her. I wanted to stay up and talk to her some more about what she saw once she calmed down, but somehow being near her, feeling her warmth next to me, a calm came over me and I drifted off to sleep. I could sense the distant stirrings and probing of roots, but in the end, only dreams came to whisk me away.
Chapter 12: Wake

I dreamt not of Root but of Cwm Gyrdd farm before the burning. Of me prowling the dewy meadows at dusk, rounding up stray goats that had slipped through the perpetually damaged fencing. The goats kept one meadow ahead, no matter how fast I ran, how stealthily or circuitously I approached. A storm crept low over the hills, sooty clouds smothering, lightning bolts stabbing.

My eyes opened to the sun bright in the attic windows and Karla snuggled against my side. The attic steps creaked. Fiona barged in carrying a steaming tray.

"Rise and shine you lazy bums. You ignored your breakfast, so now I'm bringing lunch. You have two hours before we head to the hospital to fetch Renfrew. They're releasing him just in time to attend the wake.

"How's he doing?" I said.

"What's a little smoke inhalation to a man like him? He was a two pack a day smoker in his prime. A few burns won't prevent him from shaking some hands. We're going to put him in a wheelchair and trundle him about. He won't like it, but we're going to hide his fake leg. That way, he stays under our control."

Karla sat up and crossed her legs on the futon, accepting the tray from Fiona. It held a small glass pitcher of minted tea and a plate of little crust-less sandwiches of cucumber, ham and sliced boiled egg. Fiona left us alone while we had our brunch.

"Did you go?" Karla whispered.

It took me a second to realize what she meant.

"Oh. To Root? Nope. Just slept. I'll try again, after the wake. Give it a shot anyhow."

"You tried. Really?"

"Yeah."

"But you don't really want. Did you?"

"To be honest. I wasn't too thrilled about it," I said, between bites. "But hey ... I promised I would check it out, and I will... again ... after the wake."

"I don't need you to be thrilled. It is about getting your mind into the right state so that the roots come and take you. Let in the bad, block out the good. You know how it works."

"Is it any wonder I'm not so thrilled? I'm kind of liking my state of my mind right now."

Karla's eyes wobbled as if they had been knocked off their moorings.

"You like? We are preparing to go to a wake. And you are happy about this?"

"Happy? I never said ... I mean ... that's not what I meant. I just like being stable ... not so anxious for a change."

"This is not just about you. It is about our friends. It is about the thousands of souls who find refuge on the other side."

"Well, maybe it's time some of them try to work things out on this side."

"Oh really? Lille should just go back to her ventilators and dialysis machines in the long-term care facility? Bern should just go back to his prison cell? And everything will be hunky-dory? That's easy for you to say. Everyone else should abandon the Liminality to come back here and suffer?"

"You're not suffering, are you? I mean ... aren't you happy?"

"This is not about me, stupid! I am not doing this for me. There are a million souls that need your help, not just now but in the future. Why can I not get this into your head?"

She grabbed a heap of clean clothes plus one of the towels that Fiona had left for us on a card table and stomped off downstairs.

***

We fetched Renfrew from the hospital about an hour before the wake. Fresh bandages covered his arm. An oxygen tube was taped to his beard. He insisted that we swing by the farm for a look-see. Helen tried to talk him out of it, but he could not be swayed. The fire had struck after midnight and he had been one of the first to be evacuated, so he had yet to see the full scale of the damage.

I watched him out the corner of my eye as we passed through the gate. His face, ruddy in the calmest moments, went pale at the sight of the blackened timbers poking into to the sky.

A smattering of goats stood arrayed atop some of the old slag heaps, watching us, almost with an air of bemusement.

"Damned goats. Look at them. They're scattered all over the place! It's like we never had any fences."

"One of the fire trucks backed into the gate, Ren," said Jessica.

"But look at them! Munching away like nothing's happened. Nothing at all.

"They're goats, Ren. Only goats."

"I know, but...."

"I was crunching the numbers," said Helen. "And you know, there might be enough from the insurance and maybe a small loan to rebuild something modest, something manageable. We can still make cheese."

"Make cheese! And why would I want to be doing that ever again?"

"Because that's what you do, Ren," said Jessica. "That's who you are."

"Count your blessings," said Helen. "You were damn lucky to have come out as intact as you did." She turned to me. "He was in the barn when it collapsed."

"Lucky, she says," said the old man.

***

At the funeral parlor, Renfrew was cordial most who came by to express their condolences to the family, but he avoided the father of the deceased, his own brother Ralph, who evaded Ren just as diligently. The sat at opposite ends of the first row of chairs facing the open coffin.

Ren and Ralph weren't the only ones having communication issues. Karla had withdrawn deep inside herself. She kept her arms clasped tight. As the night went on, she grew less and less responsive to my futile attempts at conversation. I half expected her to drift off to Root, but as far as I could tell, she stayed with us.

Ren also grew more and more taciturn as the flow of visitors slowed to a trickle. Eventually, he sat slumped in his wheelchair, alert, but unable to conjure much more than a smile and a nod. As calling hours drew to a close, Jessica leaned over.

"You don't suppose Ren is a candidate for this Root place?" she asked. "I have never seen him so down."

"Ren?" said Helen, overhearing. "Don't you have to be suicidal? Him? Never. He's much too stubborn. The kind of man who would live to be a hundred just to spite the world."

Karla said nothing. She wouldn't even look at me. When we filed out of the funeral room, she refused to take my hand.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She didn't answer.

With Jessica pushing Ren's wheelchair, we walked a few blocks to the sprawling house of Ren and Ralph's cousin. Jamie Boyle was a banker and by far the most successful of his clan.

The tables were piled with dishes people brought to share. Shepherd's pie. Homemade lamb sausage with mint. Leek soup. Casseroles and cake. Bitters and spirits flowed freely. Karla ate sparingly. She mostly sat in the corner and sulked.

Apart from occasional forays for food I sat beside her like a loyal dog. Spirits flowed freely and the chatter was vigorous. No one else seemed to notice that anything was wrong between us. This was a pot luck dinner after a wake. People grieved differently. A wide variety of reactions were expected and tolerated.

But Karla's quietude left me feeling extremely uneasy. This was more than grieving for her friend. She was mad at me for not going to Root like I had promised. We had never had a real spat before, so I didn't know how to think or act. So I just sat there awkwardly, wondering if it would make things better or worse if I tried to take her hand.

About an hour into the reception, she abruptly rose from her chair.

"I'm going back to the house."

"I'll come with you."

This time, she let me take her hand, which I took as a major victory, and we made the rounds together, saying goodbye, passing on yet another round of condolences to Sturgie's family and friends.

Out on the street, an unusually sultry wind swirled through the gutters. The air was dank and heavy and smelled like rain. We walked several blocks in silence.

"So tonight? You will go?"

"Yeah," I said.

The wind captured some candy wrappers and set them dancing around the base of a waste bin.

"You think you can cross?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Good." The tension in her hand relaxed and her fingers slipped more naturally into mine. "Maybe ... we should sleep apart tonight."

"Why?"

"So you have space ... to surf."

"I'll be fine. No, stay with me. Please?"

She gave me a sidelong, expressionless glance. "It is better you be alone."

The way she said it hit me hard in the gut.

"Things are bad over there, huh?"

"Yes. Bad."

The light was on in the townhouse. Britt had apparently snuck home before us. She had some paperwork spread out on the kitchen table. Paying bills, it looked like.

"Things finally breaking up over there?" peering up over her reading glasses.

"Yeah. Starting to," I said.

"Ren talk to Ralph at all?"

"Not really. They just sort of grunted at each other."

Karla released my hand before I reached the attic stairs.

"Aren't you ... coming up?"

"I will sleep on the sofa.

"Karla. That's not necessary."

"But it is." She went up on her toes and kissed me gently on the lips. "Be careful."

***

I found an old easy chair in the attic, turned it to face the window and stared out into the streetlights like I used to do at the farm when I wanted to visit Karla in Root.

I brought my mood down as low as I could bring it, thinking only bad thoughts, filling my heart with all of the accumulated darkness I had deflected for months. I reached deep, bringing up stuff I didn't like to think about: childhood regrets, my parents death's, living in that storage unit, failed attempts at meeting girls, Karla's first death at the hands of that wicked Fellstraw, everything ghastly or embarrassing and uncomfortable that I could ram into my head.

The problem was, all that bad stuff came from the past. Its power over me had faded. The kernel of love and hope that now blazed in my heart was way too hot and bright to let the darkness prevail. All of the horrors and disappointments that had for so long haunted me just went up in smoke, incinerated.

The roots again kept their distance. At least I could tell Karla in the morning that I had tried. I really had.
Chapter 13: Gone

The other gals had returned a little after midnight. I could hear Britt hush them as they stormed in all drunk and raucous, warning them not to wake Karla. Someone took a shower. Someone else brewed some tea. And now the house was still.

I was still in that easy chair, curled up with a blanket, as a sultry wind swooped in though the open window. I considered lying, pretending I had crossed, but Karla had share so little of what had happened on the other side. If she pressed for any details whatsoever she would sniff out my lie. I had no choice but to admit defeat to her in the morning. Hopefully, she would understand. Some things were just not meant to be.

I couldn't bring myself to lay down on the futon alone, so I stayed in the easy chair, drifting in, drifting out. This way, at least I looked like I was making an effort. My tactic paid off when I heard Karla come creaking up the attic stairs sometime in the wee hours. She found me awash in moonlight.

"So did you do it?" Excitement tinged her voice. "Did you go?"

That face, so eager. She would be so pleased with if I said yes. I was so tempted to lie. "I ... uh ... no. I didn't get there. But I tried ... really hard."

Every last shred of love and empathy drained instantly from her face. She looked incredulous. "What is your problem?"

"I don't know. I tried! I'm a different person now. I mean, I might never go back. I'm sorry. It's just how things are."

"I can't believe you. I just ask you to go and see. Is that really so difficult?"

"Yeah. It kind of is."

She huffed and went over to the futon, collapsing heavily, dragging the covers over herself.

"I can give it another shot ... tomorrow ... after the funeral ... or whenever."

"Good night."

"But ... I have to tell you. I don't think it's going to happen."

"I said good night!"

I settled down next to her on the futon. I tried putting my arm over her, she didn't resist but she didn't exactly respond. It took me the longest time to fall asleep.

***

My dreams had a different quality this time, with the intensity, crispness of detail and sense of drifting omniscience I had last experienced in London before we went up north to find Sturgie. I saw that man again, not Wendell, but just as nicely dressed. One of his gang perhaps, or one of the Friends of Penult? Was he even a real person? Who's to say?

I could tell he was in Wales from the unpronounceable names on some signs. He wasn't doing anything suspicious or threatening, just walking through a parking lot, but he carried an odd, bulging briefcase, like an old-fashioned doctor's kit like you see in old movies from the times when docs still made house calls. My conscious hovered around him like a gnat, before it was swept away by the flow and went flitting through a hundred random minds.

I woke up alone. Karla was an early riser. I figured she was just downstairs washing up or helping the ladies with their morning chores, the way she was wont to do wherever she went.

I went downstairs to find breakfast preparations well underway. Helen and Jessica were setting a table for six. Britt was frying sausage and eggs. Fiona was mixing Bloody Marys.

The funeral was scheduled for eleven. There was to be only a short ceremony at the cemetery because the Boyles were not the most religious family. They were pretty much agnostic.

"You guys seen Karla?"

"No," said Britt.

"She's not with you?" said Fiona.

"Perhaps she's in the toilet, love," said Helen.

I stood there and twiddled my thumbs, feeling useless.

"Anything ... I can do."

"No worries love, we have things under control," said Britt.

"Why don't you go and fetch some parsley from the garden?" said Fiona.

I went out back and picked a fistful of parsley sprigs. Karla loved sitting out in the garden. I hoped to find her here, but the garden was empty.

Layers of cloud shuttled fast overhead like they were in a hurry to get somewhere. A change in the weather was in the offing.

I went back in and found the ladies already settling in at the table with their Bloody Marys. Britt went around and cracked fresh pepper into each glass.

"No Karla?"

Helen looked at me, got up quickly and checked the bathroom. The door was open, the room vacant.

"How odd. You're certain she's not in the attic?"

Could I have missed her somehow? Was she slumbering in the easy chair? I flew off the chair and ran back upstairs.

The easy chair was vacant as was the rest of the attic. I found the sheets rumpled where she had slept beside me. But her little, battered suitcase sat open right where she had left it. Her dirty clothes lay wadded in the corner. I looked around hoping to find a note, but there was nothing.

My heartbeat accelerated. A flush of panic brought heat to my face. I thudded back down the stairs.

"She's not here."

The ladies looked at me, their faces blank. Jess got up from the table and went to the mud room.

"Her shoes are still here, right by the door," she said.

"Her purse is gone," said Britt, checking the counter.

"Oh, settle down you all," said Helen. "The girl just went for a walk. It's a beautiful, breezy morning. Give her a chance to breathe."

"She went for a walk without her shoes?" said Jess.

"Why not?" said Helen. "It's spring. Maybe she likes the feel of grass in her toes."

Jess pushed open the door and peered out into the garden. "The marble vase ... on the stoop ... was it broken before?"

"Oh no!" said Fiona. "We bought that in Thailand. My fault. I shouldn't have left it on the steps."

Jess came back in and sat back down with us. We passed around a pan of French toast and bacon. I wasn't that hungry to begin with, and my appetite faded even more with every minute that passed and Karla did not walk through the door. I kept staring at the empty dish beside me.

Afterwards, I helped clean up. I bused the table and washed the dishes, but before I was done drying them, Jess took my wrist and pulled me towards the door.

"Come on you," she said. "Let's go for a ride."

***

We climbed into the same lorry that Jess had once driven me to the train station in Cardiff back when Sergei had a bounty on my head and every criminal in Europe was on the lookout for me.

"Let's just drive around," she said. "Maybe she got carried away and went for a longer walk than she planned. Maybe she's lost her way."

So we cruised the streets of Brynmawr, up and down its avenues and alleys, car parks and vacant lots. There was a brown-haired girl sitting on a bench on the riverfront. I got excited for a moment, but it wasn't her. She wasn't anywhere on the streets of Brynmawr. Jess made sure of that, covering every stretch of pavement that could be accessed by vehicle.

"Could it be ... she went off to that place?" said Jess.

"What place?"

"You know. The place you told me about. Root?"

"Well maybe, but you do realize that we ... our bodies ... don't physically go there. Just our souls. Our bodies remain behind."

Jess sighed. "I did not know that. So you're like ... ghosts ... over there?"

"No. Just ... different bodies."

"How odd. Two bodies. One soul."

We drove past a row of restaurants and pubs.

"Maybe she's in some café?"

"But why?" I said. "She knew you guys would be making breakfast."

"Ah, let's not worry ourselves unnecessarily. I'm sure she'll be back in time for the funeral."

"I sure hope so."

"Did you two have a disagreement or something?"

"Not really. I mean she wanted a favor from me. And I couldn't deliver. But not because I didn't try."

"She wanted you to cross."

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"You told us. Over Spades. Remember?"

"Sorry. I'm not thinking straight."

"Give her a chance. She'll come back. She's probably just making a show of her displeasure. Maybe she's back at the house already."

***

She wasn't at the house. And she didn't come back in time for the funeral either. That deep sense of dread I knew so well from my teenage days descended back over me with a vengeance, smothering, suffocating me with fear. It was the feeling that something unspecified but most definitely bad had gone down and being powerless to reverse it.

Helen took me aside as we were headed back to the cars at the cemetery.

"Don't you think, at this point we should call the constables? File a missing person report?"

"What do we tell them?"

"That a young woman disappeared without a word and without her shoes, breaking a vase in the process."

"I suppose we could."

"What do you suppose happened?"

"I don't know. She either ran or way, or got taken. Or both."

"Both?"

"Maybe she took off to be alone, and someone found her. Maybe it's the same thing that happened to Isobel."

"Oh my. You mean—"

"Edmund and his nut cases might have grabbed her. It's one possibility."

"There are others?"

I hadn't told Jessica about Wendell and wasn't sure I wanted to get into all that.

"Yeah. There's other possibilities related to Root."

That was about as far as I wanted to explain, and Jessica didn't pry. To tell you the truth, after what happened to Sturgie and the farm, I didn't want to think about what they might have done to Karla.

My best hope was that she had simply run off to teach me a lesson. At least she took her purse which held most of my remaining cash.

"Should we go straight to the Gwent police station then?"

"You can go. I shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"I'm traveling under a false identity."

"Alright. I'll take Helen and we'll file the report. They already have one for Izzie, so maybe they have some leads already. If not, maybe this will stir them into action. Two sisters, both gone missing in the same year."

***

The rain that threatened never came. The clouds split and gave way to a perfect sunny day, but this world had rarely looked so bleak and dark to me. It had nothing to do with the funeral. Sturgie was an afterthought, I'm ashamed to say. I barely knew him. But Karla was everything to me. And as hard as I tried to think positive thoughts about what had happened to her, the worst case scenarios came to dominate. I sat there at the funeral and brooded, blaming myself for being so stubborn in avoiding the Liminality. I certainly could have done better than my half-hearted attempts to cross.

During the service, various people got up and said nice words about Sturgie, most recounting stories from before college and before Karla and I knew him. He wasn't originally intending to go to college right away. I was his virtual replacement at the farm, at least in terms of the fence repairing and menial tasks that used to be his responsibility. To think if he had stayed another year tending goats, none of this would have ever happened to him. And Karla and I would be in a different place right now. Maybe together. Maybe not. I couldn't help thinking of what might have been. These alternative scenarios were always better, of course, than what really happened.

Renfrew sat next to his brother at the service. It was nice to see him somewhat reconciled with Ralph. It must have happened at the wake sometime after Karla and I had left, the process undoubtedly lubricated by the whisky that Renfrew's doctor had forbidden him to partake.

I never learned what slights or insults or acts of betrayal had led to their estrangement, but if nothing else, Sturgie's death provided the nudge that enabled them to let bygones be bygones.

Back at the house, I sat in the garden alone most of the rest of the afternoon keeping an eye on the front gate, hoping Karla would appear. Fiona brought me tea at four and then, when the clock struck five, a vodka and tonic. But I just sat there in a wicker chair, feeling small and staring out at the darkening world. The early blooming sunflowers that Karla had cooed over the day we arrived now looked ghastly to me, their gaping solitary eyes staring at me like a bunch of Cyclops. Everything had looked so green when we had arrived, but now green was just another shade of grey to me.

If Karla had not gone off on her own, I could narrow the likely suspects down to two: Edmund and Wendell. I could only pray that neither wanted her dead. With Edmund, I was less sure. Yes, Karla was his daughter, but from what Karla told me, he had long ago condemned her to hell and would not hesitate to have her removed from this world.

As for Wendell, why would he kill Karla? Sure, killing was what he did and he was good at it. But what possible incentive could that provide for me to go back to Root in aid of their cause?

Sure, it would make me miserable and grease my skids back to the Liminality, but once there, what motivation would I have to fight Penult? I would throw every ounce of my will into tracking down her soul. And if she was dead, I had no idea where a soul like hers would end up. Would it be the Deeps, or was that just another way station between Root and whatever lay beyond? I did not know enough about the afterworlds to have the faintest clue.

Wendell would have to offer me some smidgeon of hope to keep me in his thrall. A hostage situation served his cause better than murder. They could keep quiet until I had been driven back to the Liminality before spilling the beans. And then they could milk me with threats of torture and pain.

To think that was the best case scenario I could conjure for an involuntary disappearance. It was better to hope that her leaving was voluntary, but my fear would not allow it, and I sank deeper and deeper into that garden chair.

What if Edmund had followed us back to Brynmawr? Inverness was infested with Sedevacantists who knew Karla and could have spotted her on the street and us onto the train. What if he had her in one of his basement dungeons ready to do to her whatever he had done with Isobel? This was the possibility that seized my brain and refused to release it.

I began to doubt that Karla would have stayed away voluntarily without a word to the ladies or a note to me, missing her best friend's funeral, leaving her favorite shoes as well as well as most of the rest of her meager mementoes and possessions behind. She had been taken, that much was clear.

These grave thoughts stirred only favorable feelings for the Friends of Penult. All they had ever asked of me was to stay in this world, mind my own business, and be happy. What was wrong with that? They seemed now like the good guys in this situation. Would they be willing to help me get Karla back? It would seem in their best interest to keep me happy, to keep me out of Root. But how would I even contact them? I had that card, but no address, no phone number. Were they watching me right now? Would it suffice for me to simply pray to them for help?

I have no religion. I'm not one to pray, but I did my best.

"Please. Whoever's listening. Help me get Karla back and I'll never go back to Root, not ever, if I can help it. I just want her to be safe. That's all that matters. Please! Help her."

Dusk fell over the garden and I barely noticed. I sank deeper and deeper into that wicker chair. Its strands came to life and wrapped around my legs, tugging at my soul. Soon the garden itself was boiling with roots reaching ever upward.

Helen came outside and noticed nothing strange. She saw only a drunk kid sitting in the dark. She helped me to my feet and my body, untethered, responded. The roots let me leave for now.

I had drunk too much vodka to walk a straight path down the flagstones. Helen and Jess helped me into the house, up the attic stairs and tucked me into bed.

As I lay on the futon, I prayed again to the Friends of Penult, but before I could finish, the roots had come for me in force. They slithered up through the floor boards and smothered my soul in their prickly embrace.

Liminality, ready or not, here I come.
Chapter 14: Ravaged

Roots converged like guided missiles, joining to tear my consciousness free of my earthly body and drag it through the seams that separated our world from the Liminality. I descended through the netherworld between, twisting, tumbling, regaining my flesh at the bottom of a deep, dank pit that had the feel of a basement exposed by a bomb.

Shaggy shreds of torn, inert root jutted from the walls, wafting in the draft. The foul vapors of tunnels infested with Reapers vented through the gaps.

But I had no desire to enter the underworld. The surface was all that mattered to me now, as it was with any Hemisoul who knew of its existence. I wanted out of this ragged pit.

As with every entry in the Liminality I was naked, but I did not bother to weave myself any clothes. I just got up and started climbing. When I reached the top and pulled myself over the rim, the sight that greeted me made me disoriented and queasy with doubt.

Where was I? I recognized nothing. I expected the pitted plains—that scrubby veldt dotted with sinkholes. What I found was a jumbled mess, a wasteland of shattered rock and shredded roots, heaped and churned and gashed with gulleys. Chunks as large as city blocks had been ripped apart, upended and piled up.

Here and there, a few undisturbed patches of plain loomed over the devastation like steep-shored islands. In the midst of each, lone obelisks jabbed into the sky like radio towers.

I was drawn to them like a wasp to cola. I scrambled over jumbles of shredded root and shattered rock to reach the nearest island. I climbed its sheer face, using loops of root as handholds and footholds, hauling myself up onto what was once a flat patch of ground, but had now become a mini-plateau.

The shrubs and soil on top were undisturbed apart from some bulges in the ground that ran radially out from the pillar. It stood on leg-like buttresses that jabbed deep beneath the soil into the bedrock and roots below, each as thick as my thighs. The main shaft reminded me of a neo-modern totem pole, its segments bearing abstract patterns, no faces. I placed my hand on the pillar and found it uncomfortably warm. Some patches were translucent and gave off a faint glow.

I looked out over the sea of devastation that had been the pitted plains. Parts of the horizon looked sort of familiar. But entire mountain ranges and mesas were missing from the landscape I remembered.

I could see no trace of the sprawling metropolis of castles and towers and spires that Luther had constructed at the base of the foothills. The land, it seemed, had opened up and swallowed it. Luthersburg, or its surface annex at least, was no more.

Whatever had torn apart the plains had taken down many of the foothills and even some of the larger peaks, reducing them to low mounds of rubble. The nearest remnants were studded with broken tree trunks, many of them now raising their roots to the sky. Where the mesas had been, only stubs of rock remained.

My heart leapt at the sight of the familiar bluffs that flanked the opening to my favorite sanctuary, the hollow ringed by cliffs with its pond and the creek that poured from a hanging valley

At least now I had a destination. My refuge remained intact, or so it appeared from a distance. I climbed off the island and lowered myself back into the chaos.

It was a hard slog over and around ridges and pits. In some of the deeper rifts I could see some evidence of healing. Some of the more motile roots had infiltrated the wounds and meshed together. Much of the root mass closer to the surface was now inert matter, impervious to my attempts at weaving. Somehow, it had been killed, like flesh deprived of a blood supply for too long. Much of it was already crumbling into dust.

In some places the roots were so jungle-like I could make no headway and had to backtrack. Some patches were unconsolidated. I would step on them and just sink into the tangles like quicksand and had to practically swim back to more solid terrain.

The sound and stink of the tunnels now mixed with the breezes that swept over these ruins of the pitted plains. No longer was the surface insulated from the Reapers' foul odors and utterances.

I came to an area littered with the carcasses of insects and Reapers alike—most likely a battlefield. Many still bore saddles and riding platforms. I climbed atop the shell of a dragonfly and reached into a saddlebag. Inside, I found bits of manna, the sweet cracker-like food that the Dusters relied on for sustenance. The stuff looked like scabs, but had a nutty, sweet flavor, sort of like toasted sesame with a hint of honey.

The thorax of the insect was pierced with several spears with long, flanged tails. Conical black points transitioned into four blades that ran down most the length of each shaft. They looked like giant arrows, but far too large to have been shot by any ordinary bow.

Something moaned in the near distance. I looked up to see a lone Reaper a stone's throw away, sniffing among the ruins. Whatever barriers had kept the wild Reapers underground had now been breached. All of the Liminality, above and below, had become their hunting ground.

I moved away over ridges and into depressions that alternated like waves in a frozen sea. Chunks of plain had been overturned, rotated and crushed. I couldn't imagine the scale of violence this entailed. This was far beyond the worst that could happen in an earthly earthquake. The Richter scale did not suffice to capture its magnitude.

Had Karla seen all this? And still she wanted me to come back? What did she think I could possibly do? Make it all better? This was way beyond my ability to deal with.

Though, maybe. Had I come earlier, before all this went down. Might there have been a chance to prevent it?

Whatever the case, it was too late now.

Once I reached the bluffs and passed between them, the destruction lessened. The land was far from undisturbed, but the damage here was reduced to seams and rumples no worse than what you might see after a significant, but more ordinary earthquake.

The once mighty waterfall that had tumbled through a notch in the hanging valley had been reduced to a trickle. Boulders and rock slides had tumbled down from and reduced many of the surrounding cliffs.

The creek still flowed weakly, but it was truncated, plunging into the underworld at a new waterfall at the brink of a deep crevasse. I was glad to see the pond remained, a little shrunken but intact. Across from it, stood the weeping willow I had woven from a mere stick stuck in the ground, looking strong with all of its boughs in place.

I found what remained of my throne of mud along the high banks of the pond, partially filled with debris. My old sword remained where I had left it stuck in the mud. If it had been woven of roots, it probably would have come apart long ago. And if it was made of steel it would have rusted. But this blade was made of something different, some strange unearthly alloy. It bore a light coating of tarnish but no rust, and its blade remained as sharp as the day I found it deep in the tunnels of Root.

Not that sharpness mattered for such a weapon. I had rarely used to slash or impale anything. I mainly used it to focus the weird inner energy, that manifestation of projected will, that some of us in the Liminality are able to harness and wield.

It was nice to feel that hilt in my hands again. Urszula and the Dusters had their scepters, which were nothing more than carefully selected sticks. I had my sword and was glad of it.

I felt less naked somehow holding that blade in my hands. Nevertheless, I took the opportunity to finally weave myself some clothes. There was an outcropping of live roots, exposed along the bank of the pond that I had mined for raw material before. Unlike those I had found on the shattered plains, these tendrils responded instantly to my desires, shrinking, multiplying, re-arranging themselves into my standard dark blue hoodie and a pair of black jeans.

I pulled them on and took a seat on my 'throne' after sweeping out some of the accumulated debris. So here I was, back in the Liminality, finally honoring the wishes Wendell and Zhang and Karla. Shouldn't there be a welcoming party? Instead, it was just me and that lonely Reaper.

I wondered what had happened to the thousands of souls that Luther had encouraged to come up to the surface, not to mention all the Freesouls and Hemisouls of Frelsi. This cataclysm had to have caused a lot of human casualties.

The skies were vacant as well. There was not a Duster to be seen from here to the horizon.

I listened to the wind whistle down the gullies, to the distant trickle of water, the far-off groaning of a Reaper.

By being here, I suddenly realized that I had violated my promise to the Friends of Penult. Did they even know yet? Would that void the terms of my ivory card? Shit.

For that matter, how would Wendell know that I had fulfilled his request? I needed to find Zhang somehow. I needed to get up to Frelsi or what was left of it. Someone needed to know I had come, if nothing else, to get Wendell to ease up on my friends, if he indeed was the one responsible for inflicting all that misery on us.

But then again, was it better to keep mum and hope the Friends of Penult didn't learn of my coming? Maybe this was a one shot deal, my coming here. Maybe I would never be back again and the Friends of Penult would be none the wiser.

I gazed out past the bluffs at the now rumpled and barren plains. Had Karla seen all this? I couldn't believe she had been in such a panic for me to come back here. What could I possibly have done? She acted like I was some kind of superhero.

Sure, I could still weave myself a nice pair of jeans, but I couldn't fix anything on this scale. I couldn't repair whole mountain ranges.

I leaned back on my mud throne, feeling just as grave and gloomy as I had on that wicker chair in Fiona and Britt's garden. There was a grave beneath the weeping willow across the pond, a grave that I dug myself with a shovel woven from the same patch of roots I had mined for my clothes. I had once laid Karla's body down into it on a bed of reeds, covered her with willow branches, covered her with dirt. But then, I had managed to find her in the Deeps, and with the help of Olivier and his 'will bomb,' resurrect her.

I used to think of bodies as necessary prerequisites to sustain a consciousness. Now I knew they were just hunks of meat, loosely associated with the core of our being.

I wondered if that original corpse of hers, the one that was ravaged by Fellstraw, still remained where I had placed it, or if it had ceased to exist once Karla shifted back to this realm. It was a mystery that would have to remain unanswered, because I wasn't about to go and dig her up.

I could only hope that her latest physical form was unharmed and that her soul was safe. Might she be here right now with me in the Liminality? If so, she knew where to find me. We had often told each other that if either of us made it back to the Liminality with the other, this pond would be our meeting place. I was prepared to wait here for as long as it took for her to show.

I sat there in a daze, pitying myself, when a dark object came darting out of the hanging valley where the waterfall used to flow. It came hurtling at high speed in my direction.

It sent my heart thumping. I took cover, ducking down against the bank. I sneaked a peek to find the creature hovering an arm's length away. It was a honeybee.

It landed and crawled over to me, raising up on its rear two pairs of legs, exuding a globule of nectar from its mandible.

I drank my fill and patted its furry head, and sent it on its way. The Dusters, at least, would soon know I was back, if any Dusters remained alive in this shattered world. At least there are some bees left in this place. How did they always manage to find me so quickly, no matter where I roamed?

I climbed back into my throne of dried mud and resumed my moping.

***

Hours passed and still nothing happened. I felt a little miffed that no one but that one bee had come around yet to find me. If they were so desperate to have me back, you would think they would put a little effort into finding me.

I was more than ready to fade. I couldn't wait for my soul to get sucked back to Brynmawr and that lonely futon in the attic.

The skies remained eerily devoid of mantids and dragonflies. Every other time I had come to the pitted plains I had always seen scouting parties of some sort. That did not bode well. Did that mean I had come too late? Had they all been exterminated? Was the war with Penult already over?

I was hungry again and having already eaten my last crumb of Duster food, I rounded up some stray bits of root left over from weaving my hoodie and jeans. Some of them had already beginning to disperse, dragging themselves across the mud flats like inchworms, while others writhed in place like half-dead eels.

I gathered them together and conjured myself a pulled pork sandwich, extra spicy on a sourdough roll. It wasn't bad. The aftertaste was a bit earthy but it hit the spot. Maybe next time I should rinse them off first. But it was nice to know that I still had the knack.

A beer would have hit the spot right then, but I didn't have Lille's skill for flavoring liquids. The best I could do was a paper cup of pond water that I managed to tinge kind of amber. No bubbles though. And it tasted like stagnant water.

"Come on, Zhang!" I shouted into the hollow. My voice reverberated back. "You wanted me. I'm here. Show yourself! What the fuck?"

In the other world, the 'real' world, Wendell might have heard me. He stashed familiars as spies everywhere I went, not just in that black credit card but every leaf and dust bunny that drifted by in the breeze had to be viewed with suspicion.

I was more than ready to go back now. I had seen enough. There was nothing for me to do here. If Karla hadn't come by now it probably meant she hadn't crossed. Karla insisted that all Hemisouls could will themselves to Root by manipulating moods. That might be true for some people, but the reverse was most definitely not the case. Fades were always unpredictable. The Liminality decides when it's time for you to go back.

The silence of the hollow was interrupted by a low rumbling. I looked out past the bluffs to see a large dust devil spinning out over the plains. This was no ephemeral whirlwind. It was stable, like an F4 tornado, and like the Horus, but a fraction of their height and breadth. It hovered in place over what had been the river valley and outflow plain.

I got up and plucked my sword out of the mud and walked out towards the bluffs for a better look. When I reached the edge of the broken ground, I climbed a little ways up a pile of scree. There were people out there, hundreds of them, tromping towards the whirlwind.

I left the hollow and went after them. Could they be refugees? Survivors of the cataclysm?

It was difficult keeping my bearings climbing up and down these ridges and rifts, but as I topped each ripple the whirlwind provided a guidepost.

High above the column of marchers I spotted something winged and dark, silhouetted by the low-hanging sun. I stood and stared for a long moment, unsure whether to hail them or to hide. But as it swooped about, I saw that it had the wrong shape. This was no mantid or dragonfly. I dove for cover in a cleft.
Chapter 15: Kitt

The winged creature cast long shadows over the rumpled terrain. I kept low, tracking it from beneath an overhang of frayed roots. Six wings, I counted. This was no insect. It had to be a Seraph, strapped into one of those multi-winged flying contraptions like the one I had seen in the Deeps.

Silhouetted against the glare of the setting sun, three pairs of wings beat in a graceful, loping rhythm. Yet somehow his arms stayed free, allowing him to carry a strange kind of crossbow-like weapon, sprouting multiple shafts and with no drawstring.

The Seraph hovered over the marchers, keeping pace as they swarmed towards the giant dust devil at the base of the valley, a miniature version of the Horus, only a fraction of its height and breadth, and so translucent I could see through it to the landscape beyond. It didn't seem to be doing much damage. It was just blowing dust around. It could not have been the cause of all this destruction.

The marchers' bodies were afflicted with grotesque distortions. Each of their left arms was misshapen—variously swollen, elongated or tapered.

A scattering of men with normal limbs guarded the flanks and tended stragglers. They had ordinary longbows and quivers lashed to their backs and they carried short staffs tipped with spikes and barbs. These had to be Hashmallim, the lower rank overseers of Penult.

Unlike those in the Deeps, these marchers were not pilgrims or refugees. They had to be soldiers. They were inhumanly disciplined. Not a word was spoken among them. They were uniformly and absolutely focused on their task. Where were they headed and what were they up to?

I chose a route that would angle me closer, gradually converging towards the marchers. My path kept to the deep gulleys between the wave peaks, deep enough to hide a small house. The ground, a mix of rubbled stone and severed roots, was rough on my bare feet. But I didn't care. It was only flesh.

I poked my head up, once in a while just to make sure I was still on course. I spotted another more distant whirlwind on the horizon, guiding, I assumed, another contingent of marchers.

The Seraph descended to confer with his Hashmallim, before flying off in the direction they had come. I was close enough now to hear the marchers' grunts and snorts. I pulled myself up to the lip of the groove and was startled to find them in the very next gully. They too had edged closer to my position.

I crawled over the top of the rise and settled into a crevice tangled with loose and inert roots. From here I could watch them without being noticed.

Their grotesque deformities repulsed me. They had to be product of extreme flesh weavers. They were naked, but armored with overlapping plates of exposed bone that protruded through their skin, helmeted with mats of hair, studded with more knots of bone protruding from their skulls. Their modified appendages resembled tentacles and elephant trunks more than human limbs.

"Ugly bastards, ain't they?"

The voice, feminine and with a mild Midwestern American drawl, came from nowhere. I almost knocked my head against a boulder flinching away.

A young woman in cargo shorts and a photographer's vest straddled the cleft, hands on her hips, showing no concern for concealing herself.

"Get down! They'll see you."

"Nah. It's cool. You can come on up out of your hidey hole. The Seraph's gone and the Hashmallim all went forward. These drones won't come after us without orders. They don't let them use any initiative."

"Who ... what ... are they?"

"Cherubim," said the girl. "Volunteers, the Seraphim will tell you, but we know better. They're slave soldiers. Brainless. Soul-less. This is a patrol unit. They travel in packs of forty nine. Seven squads of seven. See their arms? There's four kinds here. Two Slingers, a Boomer, two Slashers and two Bashers per squad."

I could easily match each of her descriptive nicknames with a different type of freak. The Slingers had one normal arm and one whip-like appendage that ended in a pouch. The Boomers had a hollow and flexible snout in place of an arm. The Slashers were clearly the ones with arms ended only in a curved blade while the limbs of the Bashers terminated in bony, fist-like bulges.

"There's other kinds too. But these are your run-of-the-mill grunts."

"What's with the Boomers and that ... trunk thing?"

"They shoot stuff. Rocks. Whatever. Don't ask me how but they're super accurate and forceful. Boomers they use mainly to pick off Dusters on those flying bugs of theirs."

She reached out her hand to help me up and out of my hiding place. She had sharp features and jaunty eyebrows. Her arms and shoulders were pretty jacked for a girl.

"My name's Kitt, by the way."

"I'm James."

She stared at me, squinting, for the longest time. The situation was starting to get a little awkward. "You're not ... 'the' James ... are you?"

"The?"

"Moody?"

"Yeah, that's me. That's my name."

Her eyes popped wide. "Holy shit! You're like a celebrity."

"Get out."

"No, really. Luther and Olivier talk about you all the time."

"How's Olivier doing?"

"Great. He's like Luther's right hand man."

"What happened to the other guy? What's his name?"

"Harvald? He ... uh ... didn't make it out. Went down with the ship, so to speak. He was in the city when it fell."

"Sorry to hear. He was a bit of a jerk to me, but ...." I thought better of speaking ill of the dead. "Well, I should just shut up."

"Penult hit Frelsi first, so we had some warning. Luther and Olivier took a bunch of refugees underground. So our losses weren't too, too bad. Unlike ... Frelsi."

"What happened?"

"They tore down the whole mountain is what happened. The Frelsians never knew what hit them. If it wasn't for the Dusters they would have been completely wiped out. We tried to help from Luthersburg, but we never had a chance. They tore into us just as hard."

"So ... you guys basically lost. The war ... it's lost."

"Not quite," she said. "Not yet anyhow. Word is ... the Dusters are regrouping with their Old Ones and what's left of the Freesouls under Master Zhang. Olivier wants us to join up somehow, but Luther's not crazy about the idea. It's not clear how we would do it. The resistance has been driven way the heck up the valley."

"Zhang's the one who wanted me here."

She looked me up and down, admiring me like I was some kind of hot, new sports car or something. It made me feel real awkward.

"Shit yeah! James Moody. I heard stories about you. To think I took you for a newbie."

"Yeah, well I kinda feel like one. It's been a while. I'm not used to being here anymore."

"Well, good for you! Managing to stay away for so long. That can only be a good thing. Too bad you had to come back and see the place like this."

"Yeah. Everything all torn apart kind of sucks."

"I should take you down below ASAP. They got falcons and condors patrolling all the time. They go after anyone they see on the surface, doesn't matter who. They don't bother us down below because that's where they want us. Penult wants the surface for themselves."

"So what are you doing up here?"

"I scout for Luther. Me and the other scouts, we spend all day out and about checking on things. We're always back by sundown. 'Cept when we're not. If you want I can take you to the new bubble. I'm pretty much good to go. Finished my rounds a while ago. I was just waiting for the sun to dip a little lower."

The idea of heading down into those stinky tunnels did not appeal to me in the least. But I knew how to keep myself safe down there. This Penult thing was a whole new ball of wax. I would need time to figure out what was what.

"Um, sure," I said. "That would be great. Any chance there's a guy a name Zhang down there. I'm supposed to meet up with him."

"Zhang? You mean Master Zhang?"

"I guess."

"He and Yaqob are leading the resistance. They're up the valley at New Axum with their armies."

"They're still fighting ... on the surface?"

"Oh yeah. And they seem to be holding up quite well. They control both valleys and the head waters. The Pennies only took the plains and the foothills. Their offensive stalled about a week ago and ever since it's been a spitting contest."

"Cool," I said. "Well, that's certainly good to hear. If I wanted to see them, is it safe?"

"No. Nuh-uh. But we might be able to get you there at some point. Luther's planning on sending a contingent. We caught a Seraph a while back and we've been keeping him down below in a pod. But Master Zhang wants us to do a prisoner swap for Victoria. You know Victoria?"

I nodded. "The Weaver."

She looked at me funny. "Not just a Weaver. That's like calling Usain Bolt a jogger. Heck, I'm a Weaver. Victoria's ... special. But anyhow, she got taken when the Pennies hit Frelsi. Luther's not crazy about getting her back but Yaqob and Zhang keep pressuring him to give up his Seraph. Zhang, especially, is real anxious about getting this done."

"Victoria for a Seraph? This guy must be special, too."

Kitt smirked.

"Well, he certainly seems to think so. The bastard's full of himself. Not the kind of person you would think would ever end up in Heaven. Not that I'm saying Penult is supposed to be Heaven."

"Doesn't sound like an even trade."

"You don't know the half of it. He's a real loser. Snooty fucker. Good for nothing but insults."

"But the Pennies want him back?"

"Yeah. Go figure. They leave no soul behind, I guess. Or whatever."

We watched the patrol of Cherubim disappear towards what was left of the foothills that had flanked the massif that had harbored Frelsi and several other ancient and forgotten cities that had been founded by the Old Ones.

"They'll split into sevens when they reach the hills. There's still lots of half souls hiding out in the woods and stuff. The Seraphim won't rest until every last one of them is exterminated or driven underground."

"Why do they care so much?"

"Because they think we're pests. Human cockroaches. In their eyes, Root was broken. They think they're fixing it."

"Broken?"

"Well, yeah. Because Root was always supposed to be a kind of sorting bin, not a final resting place. Souls who come here were either supposed get taken into the Deeps or returned to life. We're not supposed to be sticking around long term."

"Says who?"

"Says them. Whoever they are. They're no angels, I'll tell you that, if the one Luther's got is any indication." The sun was hovering just above the horizon. "Come on!" She flicked her chin and a shock of dark hair flew across her face. "It's quitting time. I'll show you the way down."
Chapter 16: Below

As far as I could see across what had been the pitted plains I could see no end to the destruction. The ripples were arranged in overlapping circles, mounding up wherever two waves had met. At the center of each circle stood a patch of intact plain, standing tall over the collapsed ground surrounding them.

"Man. What kind of bomb does this?"

"No bomb. Crackers," said Kitt.

I grew up in Florida where a cracker meant a native Floridian of the redneck persuasion. White trash, in other words. Somehow, I don't think that was what she meant.

"See that pole over there?"

She pointed at an intact chunk of the original plain that had remained standing after the land surrounding it had collapsed. Atop it stood a slender tower buttressed at the base with spindly legs. It looked like a cross between a totem pole and a macrophage—those lunar module like virus particles that attack bacteria.

"The Pennies drive these things into the ground. When they're activated, they send these huge ripples spreading all directions. Cracks the ground wide open and stirs it all up and the damage gets worse the farther out you go, peaks at about a mile then fades. It brought down the city right on top of our heads."

"But how?"

"I don't know. Our Seraph prisoner calls them harmonic dissonance engines. No one knows how they work. Maybe ... magic?"

We struck out across the rubble. More dust devils popped up, forming an arc around the base of the valley. I could only assume that each was associated with another group of those strange cherubic soldiers.

More Seraphim had appeared in the sky along with some larger, more angular contraptions, too slow and clumsy to be mantids or dragonflies. Other than that lone honeybee in the hollow, the only flying insects I had seen so far had been dead on the ground.

Kitt saw me staring. "They won't bother us. They're busy sealing off the valley."

We came to the base of one of the intact islands, whose walls were draped with sheets of tangled roots. She pulled back a flap and slipped behind it.

I followed her down a deep and slanting cleft so narrow we had to turn sidewise to squeeze through. At its base, we found ourselves in a dark chamber dark lit only by the occasional bead of light passing down the length of some of the intact roots. Several narrow tunnels branched out from this node.

"These little tubes are Reaper-proof," said Kitt. "Too small for them to squeeze through. But we gotta watch the bigger junctions. That's where they like to sit and set ambushes."

She led me into a tunnel the diameter of a truck tire. On hands and knees, we continued down a gentle spiral. When it too, leveled out, Kitt knifed her arms into the wall and we crawled into a tangle of unconsolidated roots as dense as a mangrove forest. We bushwhacked a good fifty yards or so before we broke through to one of the big, smooth-walled tunnels that I knew from my early days in Root.

These were Reaper superhighways, their tops bristling with the stalks of long-harvested pods, well lit by with glowing conduits shuttling globular beads of colored light in cryptic patterns.

The patterns seemed coherent. I suspected they conveyed information via some code, but to whom and about what no one could ever tell me. I doubt it could be the Reapers messaging each other. They were way too dumb.

We came to a place where the big tunnel had collapsed and twisted shut. Several impromptu bypasses had been torn into the root matrix around it.

We clambered over the bypass and continued onward. The tunnel here was dark and still, as if the damage had interrupted the transmission of those light-borne messages.

The darkness here was absolute. We stumbled along. I bumped my head against an occupied pod, eliciting groans from its occupant. Kitt didn't bother to rescue him. She took my hand and pulled me through another weak spot in the tunnel wall.

We passed through another loosely consolidated section, this one dimly lit by roots that gave off a static faint, blue glow, like those phosphorescent jellyfish. We made our way towards a huge black dome, one of those hollow tumors or 'bubbles' in the root structure, some created by natural processes, others engineered by master Weavers. An enormous one of Luther's creation had housed the original Burg and Karla had resided in a much smaller but Reaper-proof chamber when I first met her.

"What happen to the old Luthersburg? Crackers wreck it?"

"No. It was gone long before that," said Kitt. "It was left undefended when we moved up to the surface. A bunch of Reapers broke in and destroyed everything, gobbled the stragglers."

"I thought these things were Reaper-proof."

"They generally are," said Kitt. "But they need tending and mending or else they get weak spots."

"Like fences with goats. I know what you mean."

She pressed her palm against a dark spot in the wall and a hole appeared. The roots separated, dilating until it was large enough to step through.

"I have to warn you, things are kind of rough inside. We haven't had a chance to weave it up good and pretty."

The interior of the dome looked like a construction zone for a movie set. Roots were being shaped, crudely in some cases, into the general outlines of houses and buildings with walls that were lopsided and warped. Only a few had finished exteriors of clapboard, stucco or stone.

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

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

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

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

"Well, duh. Of course. He's gonna want to see you. I mean. You're 'the' James." She winked.

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

"Hey! That ... that looks like...."

I took off running.

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

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

"Lille! They're being stubborn again. They refuse to turn green."

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

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

"What are you gawking at?" said Bern.

"Look behind you, dear."

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

"James?"
Chapter 17: Old Friends

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

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

"Cool. Tell him I'll drop in later."

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

Lille reached over and pinched me.

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

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

"Oh my! So sorry to hear. A shame you've had no chance to enjoy your freedom."

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

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

"I noticed."

"Losing badly too, I must say."

"What they did up there ... it's really awful."

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

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

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

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

"So how have you been, James?" said Bern.

"I'm ... okay."

Lille and Bern shared a glance.

"And Karla?" said Lille. "How is she?"

"She's missing."

"What?"

"I got up the other morning and she was gone."

"Where did she go?" said Lille.

"I have no idea. She just ... disappeared."

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

"There has to be more to this story," said Lille. "Young women don't simply vanish."

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

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

"Exactly!"

"So you had a little spat," said Lille.

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

"Oh no. That doesn't sound good."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I can't rule out the bad stuff."

Lille shared another glance with Bern, their bows creased.

"Are you hungry?" said Lille. "We've already had our dinner, but—"

"I'm fine, actually. I fixed myself some ... roots. A bit muddy but they were good."

Lille gave me a cockeyed look.

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

"I should probably go and see Luther."

"Oh, the old man can wait. He's busy grilling his scouts."

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She's not the same you know," he said, his voice hushed.

"Lille?"

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

"But she seems like the old Lille to me."

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

"My mother was worse. Way worse. She didn't even remember me."

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

"Do you guys know anything about the Friends of Penult?"

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

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

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

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

"You're sure it's not?"

"Yes," said Bern. "I'm sure. Don't ask me how. But I'm sure."

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

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

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

"Nah, I've been here a while. A lot longer than I expected."

"You'll visit again soon, I hope?" said Bern.

"Bern, don't wish the boy ill."

"I'm just thinking, with Miss Karla gone and all, maybe...."

"Perhaps she's already returned and waiting for James at home."

"Do you think?" I said.

"Of course!" said Lille.

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

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

"She's done with life, she says. She wants us to be Freesouls."

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

"It's the Weaving," said Bern. "The magic. You can't have that on the other side."

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

"Who told you that?"

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

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

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

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

"Thanks to Kitt," I said.

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

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

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

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

"I'll give him sensitive."

"No Bern. You don't want to get on Luther's bad side again."

"Who is this guy?" I whispered.

"He's a member of Luther's war council," said Lille.

"Luther has an army now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Count me among them," said Bern.

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

"No, thank you," he said. "I'm actually here to see Mr. Moody."

Lille paused. "Oh?"

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

"Honor?"

"I'm afraid it's urgent that you accompany me."

"You'd best go, James," said Lille. "We don't want Master Luther to throw another tantrum."

"Patience is not the man's best attribute," agreed Bern.
Chapter 18: The War Chamber

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you going back up top?"

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

"Where do you live ... back home?"

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

"Any idea what Luther wants from me?"

"You're in his bubble. That's enough reason to want to see you."

"Mr. Moody is an honored guest," said Mr. Meredith.

"Whatever. Later guys." She strolled off with her bread.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Karla wanted me to come and see. And then she ... disappeared."

"And so this makes you ... sad? Is that why you're here?"

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

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

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

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

"Wait. Don't you even care? What happened to her?"

"Why should I?"

"She's your own grand-daughter."

"So? She never cared for me. Her parents turned her against me from an early age. I was the freak of the family. Once she got older, she blamed me for their father being the man he was, as if I could control what became of him."

"But you must care about her even a little bit. You gave her shelter once."

"Of course. I am not going to turn my own grand-daughter away to become Reaper chow. A grandfather has certain obligations."

I couldn't help but stare at the guy embedded in gel. He seemed more bored than distressed. I wondered how and if they let him to go to the bathroom, or if creatures like him even had to worry about going potty.

He was human enough. His body might have been sculpted by Michelangelo. He was not overbuilt, yet every muscle in his body was perfectly defined and fully developed. He had no wrinkles, no blemishes, no head hair, body hair or eyebrows.

Luther caught me staring. "Isn't he a pretty one? What we have here before us is a genuine Seraph. Petros is his name. He hails from Crete. He lived on Earth in the early twentieth century and passed into Penult during the Second World War. We captured him as he and his Cherubim attacked my city on the plains."

"What are you going to do with him?"

"That ... has yet to be determined. We hoped he would agree to consult with us ... but ... he has proven incorrigibly stubborn. A ransom is out of the question because his so-called 'brothers' refuse to speak with us. They murdered one of our envoys. Poor Alec escaped only by the skin of his teeth. But Master Zhang is hoping we can trade him for one of our own."

"My brothers will come for me," said Petros. "You will meet your ends in these caves. In time."

"Your brothers are too busy," said Olivier. "I hear our friends are making a stand up the valley."

"Mere pests." Petros sneered. "Their eradication is inevitable."

Olivier stood and prodded the gel with his thumb. "Considering the casualties they inflicted against your first wave, and the fact that they retain much of their strength, I'm not so sure. I predict a protracted stalemate."

"We will prevail in the end. Our might is infinite."

"See this young man?" said Olivier. "He's the one who took down your last Horus and opened a channel from the Deeps. Now you have the likes of him to contend with."

"And ... he brought my grand-daughter back from death," said Luther.

"Nonsense," said the Seraph.

"It's true! Tell him, James," said Olivier.

"Actually, I thought it was your will-bomb that did it," I said. "I was just a bystander."

"Ah, but you were the catalyst," said Olivier.

"None of it was any of your doing," said Petros. "So don't fool yourselves. We know the interface to be faulty. It has failed us before."

"No use arguing," said Luther. "Mister Petros will believe whatever Mister Petros wants."

Luther sighed and caressed the Seraph's brow. "Oh my dear Petros, whatever will we do with you?"

"How'd you catch him?" I said.

"Ubaldo here took him down, knocked him right out of the sky," said Olivier. "Unfortunately, he lost his mantid in the process."

The lone Duster in the room did not react. He was younger and less weathered than Yaqob, but he had the stoic demeanor of someone who had awakened from the Long Sleep – an Old One.

The Duster looked at me like a crow eying a squirrel. "I'm sure you've seen these Dusters do their thing with their wooden rods ... their scepters," said Olivier. "They conjure these whirling blobs of plasma, like flying bolos of stickum. Wreaks havoc with wings."

Luther bounded up from his chair, limber and energetic for a man who was wheelchair-bound in life. "Have you seen their fantastic contraptions?" He strolled over to the six-winged flying machine they had captured from the fallen Seraph.

"It took us forever to clean the mess off, but the mechanism behind this apparatus absolutely defies physics. Once it is strapped on, a simple squeeze of the shoulder blades is amplified a hundredfold to beat three sets of wings in succession through one complete cycle. This makes Da Vinci's work look like the doodlings of a dunce."

"How is that even possible?" I said.

Luther raised his eyebrows. "Magic?"

"Science," said Olivier. "The material they use to line the wing joints stores energy better than any spring. We've tried our best to replicate them but ... no dice."

"Maybe James could help us," said Luther.

"Me?"

"You do have a reputation ... as a Weaver."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up. I don't really have much control over what I do. It sort of just happens. Usually when I'm under stress. Unless, of course, I freeze up."

"Stress? That can be arranged," said Luther.
Chapter 19: Wings

Olivier brought me into an adjoining room where they had stashed a collection of war material taken from the forces of Penult. There was a cracker column, sliced open down its length, revealing an intricate network of channels and ducts. A root cannon, flared like a blunderbuss had a bulbous base fed by diverging pipes that were apparently meant to tap into the root system below, reloading in place, shaping shredded roots into whatever property they needed in a shell—density and mass, high explosiveness, toxicity. Two sets of wings—one crumpled, one intact—completed the collection.

Olivier showed me one of the wing joints, a dense agglomeration of intertwining rods and ratchets and cogs.

"This one's the real deal. We can copy all its parts, but we can't get the damned thing to work. Want to give it a shot?"

"Not really."

Olivier cuffed my jaw. "Oh come on. See what you can do. If we make any progress at all then it's all worthwhile."

He dragged a stool over for me to sit on. The table before me was crowded with at least a dozen failed replicas of the wing mechanism.

I touched the real one. The material was waxy and slick. I twisted one the rods and the whole mechanism responded in force, throwing my hand back into my face. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction? In this case, the reaction was opposite, but far from equal. The stuff responded to perturbations with an almost spiteful vengeance.

I tried the same with one of the replicas and it was no more springy than a rubber band.

"Gosh. This thing is like magic."

"Which, according to Clarke, any technology sufficiently advanced is indistinguishable from."

"Has Petros given you any clue what makes it go?"

"As if he would help us. He was begging Luther to take his life today."

"Isn't he already dead?"

"On Earth. Not here."

"So where would he end up? The Deeps?"

"No. Not someone like him."

"Then where?"

"Some other realm the likes of us will never see, most likely. Lethe. Limbo. Whatever is out there."

"I'll never get my head around this afterland business. Why so many places? What's the point?"

"Don't look at me. You're talking about something way above my pay grade," said Olivier. He picked up the real wing joint, taking care not to touch the business end.

"The key to fine weaving is getting a feel for the properties of roots. Their size and shape and number can be modified without limit."

"But this isn't like making a napkin into a leaf," I said. "Nothing like this exists on the other side."

"No, but it exists right here, right in front of us. We just need to find a way to grok it."

"Grok?"

"I guess you never read Heinlein. It's a term from the sixties, not widely used anymore but I find it appropriate in describing masterful weaving. It means to understand something inside and out, intimately and intuitively."

"Why bother?"

"Because ... Penult has the edge on us right now. We need to even things up." He slid the salvaged wing joint over to me. "Keep this close to you. Play around with it. Get to know it. I'm hoping you'll have better luck than me. In fact, I'm counting on it."

"Why do we need wings? We have ... bugs."

"It's not about having wings. If we can figure out how they do something simple like this, maybe we have a chance to figure out how they do the other stuff. The root cannons. The cracker columns. Then we have a chance of making this a fairer fight."

I just stared at the thing, but Olivier scooped it off the table and placed it in my hands.

"Lights out in one hour. Here. Take it with you. It's yours. Just make sure you handle it with care."

***

I sat for a while in the dimness of Luther's little museum of captured Seraphic tech. The stuffy air and the way the walls closed in overhead and merged into the ceiling made me feel claustrophobic. I couldn't stand the lighting in the place, washing everything in a yellow pall that could have originated from a jar of piss.

I went back into the main room where Luther was having a heated discussion with a group of residents dressed in shaggy wraps and breech cloths—newbies at weaving from the looks of it. They didn't even notice me enter.

I went to the entry and placed my palm over the hole. Nothing happened. I just stood there feeling foolish until the aperture flew open to let in another group of people dressed in rags. We stood and stared at each other through the hole until I hopped through and strode off across the plaza.

The light under the big dome was easier on the eyes, and the air, if not fresh, was fresher. At least it moved. I carried the wing joint by the broken spar that had connected to the foremost set of the Seraph's wings. I handled it like it was a bomb, taking care not to bump it.

By the time I reached the cabin, the lights overhead had begun to dim, simulating dusk. I found Bern and Lille sitting on the porch in their bed clothes.

"See? I told you he would be back tonight," said Lille.

"Call me surprised," said Bern. "So did the interrogation go?"

"You were right about Luther toning down his act. It's amazing how normal he can be when he tries."

"He's been trending that way ever since Victoria put him in his place," said Lille. "It's as if something snapped inside of him."

"To tell you the truth. I miss the old Luther," said Bern. "He was always good for a laugh. You never knew what he would do next."

"He still has his taste for flamboyance," said Lille. "He's just a little more subtle about it."

I noticed a lumpy mattress and pillow with a fuzzy blanket set against the porch rail.

"Is that all for me?"

"Yes," said Bern. "Sorry to make you sleep out here, but it's a mite too cozy inside at the moment. Lille and I actually make our bed on the kitchen table. Once we finish the expansion we'll be able to offer a proper guest bedroom."

"Oh, this is more than fine," I said. "I don't even need a bed, really."

"There's a towel with toothbrush and soap by the basin on the front walk. Those are yours, freshly woven. Feel free to put on a glow, though I'm afraid there's not much to read but the local rag. If you're still around in the morning, we'll break our fast together. How does that sound?"

"Sure. If I'm still here. I'm surprised I've lasted this long. I mean, this must be a record for me."

Lille latched onto my gaze and wouldn't let go. "It must mean you are taking it hard on the other side. Losing a love isn't easy."

"I ... suppose. But I don't know for sure ... that she's lost."

"Not knowing what happened only makes it worse."

"Well, I'm bloody knackered," said Bern. "Come on, dear. Let's not stir the boy up this late."

"Good night James," said Lille, as she pecked me on the cheek.

"Don't let the Reapers bite," said Bern.

"No worries James," said Lille, chuckling nervously. "No beasties have broken into the dome since they added the extra layer to the outer shell."

As they retired to the interior of the cabin, I leaned back in the wicker chair my nerves all abuzz. It had been a confusing and disorienting. It had been so long since I had been back to the Liminality and then I get here to find everything all upside down and people expecting big things from me. I should have stayed back in the hollow, the only place so far where things had stayed pretty much the same. Who knows? I might have faded back by now if not for all of this extra stimulus.

As I sat there, things just got quieter and quieter. The community shut down once the lights went out. There were no radios or televisions here, no musical instruments, though I could hear someone singing softly in the square, faint laughter from an adjoining hut, the muffled moans and outside the dome the collisions and groans of Reapers on the prowl.

I wasn't the slightest bit sleepy. I rarely ever felt fatigued in the Liminality. Some people are creatures of habit, I suppose, and liked to crawl into a bed every twenty-four hours. Not me. I generally listened to my body. But it was pitch black under the dome now. I could have made something glow but was the point? What was there to see?

So I laid down on the mattress, after first making sure the wing joint was secure on an end table. It wouldn't do to have that thing fall onto the floor. I crawled under the blanket, not bothering to remove my clothes.

I never expected to fall asleep, but I did, after a fashion. I dreamt, or at least I thought it was a dream. It resembled one of those visions I had been having lately, head hopping and hovering near strange men I had never met, except this time I was cruising through the Singularity. It was even vaster than I remembered spanning a massive network of realms nested and linked by bridges and membranes. The whole structure was there to see but too huge and intricate for my imagination to grasp. These were the after-realms spread before me for me to see, but I was scared to take it all in. I just wanted to crawl up in a corner and hide my head.

And then I was back in the world of the living. I thought I had faded, but I was not in my own head. I was still cruising the dream space, flitting between souls, hopping from household to household, skipping down highways from driver to driver, lingering just long enough to absorb the essence of these strangers and to recognize that they were indeed people I had never met.

Me and my consciousness crossed the entire UK coast to coast, north to south. But I was a passive observer, at least consciously. My soul on autopilot seemed to know what to do, where to go. Though I had a feeling it was being actively assisted by that continuum of souls of the Singularity. Whatever. I just settled back and enjoyed the ride.

And then like a Tiger spotting easy prey, it (they? we?) pounced, swirling into a girl walking down a sidewalk in some unidentifiable city-scape. I had lost track of where we were geographically. I would have been paying closer attention if I should have realized what they were up to.

Because this girl was Karla!

***

She was carrying a bag of groceries. She was calm and collected and in no big rush. She was thinking about ice cream. She had a pint of strawberry ice cream in that bag and she wanted it.

My heart bounded with the knowledge that she was alive and free and seemingly unharmed. I must have yelled out, because the next thing I knew I was looking up at Bern's craggy face illuminated by a glowing hunk of root, shaped into a crude lantern.

"What's wrong? Having nightmares."

"I saw her! I saw Karla."

Bern smiled faintly. "Dreams. They are quite vivid down here, aren't they?"

"I'm not sure this was a dream."

"Of course it was. What else would it be? You were sleeping, weren't you?"

"I'm ... not sure"

Bern went back inside and I laid there in the dark, staring into the utter blackness, trying to calm myself down enough to get back into that dream state so I could catch another glimpse of Karla, make sure it was really her and maybe figure out where she was. But getting my head back into that space proved elusive. I felt nothing, saw nothing, dreamed nothing. Nothing ever came easy for me.

***

Morning came. The dome brightened. I still had not faded, much to my chagrin. I heard dishes clunking inside the cabin. Lille came out onto the porch with a steaming mug. She reached over me to nudge the wing joint aside to make room for the mug on the night stand.

"Careful!"

Too late. Her hand brushed against the wrong knob and the joint leaped into action. Her arm flailed back and the mug smashed against a corner post. The joint slammed into the cabin and embedded itself deep in the fibers.

As something clear and hot but smelling of coffee dripped down the wall of the cabin, Lille stood and blinked at me, holding only the handle of the mug.

"What in bloody hell?" said Bern, bursting out the front door.

"No worries," said Lille. "I can weave another mug. Bring you another cuppa."

"What is that thing sticking in my wall?"

Bern came over and squinted at the wing joint.

"Don't touch it!"

"Don't you worry. I'm not coming any closer than this."

"It's from one of the contraptions the Seraphs use to fly. Olivier help figuring out how to reverse engineer it."

"Whatever for? What good are wings in these tunnels?"

"I guess he just wants to know how they do it."

Bern ran his hand along the post, examining the crack that the flying mug had inflicted."

"Nothing personal, James, but if you don't mind, can you do this work somewhere else? I've rebuilt this cabin one too many times as it is."

"I never should have brought it here. I should have left it in the palace."

Bern sighed. "So how do I extract it from my wall without it bashing in my brains?"

"There is a way of picking it up that's safe. You just can't touch that one knob or else it packs a massive kick."

"Then you pick it up the safe way, and please get it out of here."
Chapter 20: Expedition

After breakfast, Bern and I carefully extricated the wing joint out of his wall. I took it and wandered off to the far edges of the bubble where the ground was flat and open and devoid of shacks. I wasted the morning sitting cross legged, staring at the gizmo and conjuring faulty replicas. If nothing else, I got in some good meditation.

The occasional curious person would wander by to see what I was doing. Some were newbies who had never seen the surface. The population of this latest iteration of the Burg was only a fraction of the previous settlements. The crackers had inflicted hundreds of casualties and many of the survivors had stayed up top with the resistance.

A ripping sound drew my attention to a huge slash that had appeared in the side of the dome. I hopped to my feet, half-expecting a Reaper to come busting through, but instead, it was a party of scavengers. They were a rugged and swarthy bunch, returning from the tunnels with sacks laden with lost things—wallets, keys, reading glasses—little of use in this realm. But Luther made them go out every day to scour the tunnels. There were treasures to be found for sure. That was how I found my sword.

They were a raucous bunch, recounting to each other a close encounter with a grizzled Reaper. They tossed me glances as they sauntered on by but did not pause to even say hello.

Alone again, time ticked on. The dome's glow peaked. I was itching to get back to the living world. I was beginning to wonder if something bad had happened to me on the other side.

I couldn't have been murdered. If I had, being this close to the Core, my soul would have been shunted directly to the Deeps. Only those who died when their souls were beyond the Core's influence got to stay behind in the Liminality as Freesouls.

The Frelsians had discovered this loophole. I had to wonder if Karla had gone off to seek that existence without me. It was what she wanted more than life. I wondered what I would say to her if she showed up in this place right now. But not knowing her fate, I didn't know what to feel. Grief? Betrayal? Anger?

The wing joint revealed none of its secrets to me no matter how intensely I stared at it, which way I turned it or tried to think through its mechanisms step by step. I was just doing my due diligence for Olivier, going through the motions, not really expecting to get anywhere. I littered the ground around me with my attempts at replication. None came close to doing what the original could do.

I was about to give up and return to the cabin when Kitt came striding up to me from the settlement, a courier bag slung from her shoulder.

"Any luck?"

"Nope." She nudged the joint with the toe of her boot.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, not if you're interested in keeping your leg."

"Looks like it would be easy, doesn't it? I mean, it's just a hinge, right?

"This is way more than a hinge," I said. "This thing is an engine. This is what makes those wings go."

"Sure would be nice to get me a pair of Seraph wings. I could cover a heck of a lot more ground on patrol."

"Yeah, well. Don't hold your breath, unless you want to shoot down another Seraph."

She stood there brooding with her lips pursed. "Luther wants to see you again, by the way."

"What for?"

"The usual. Keeping tabs. You know how he is. Ever the micro-manager."

"When does he want to see me?"

"The sooner the better. Now would be good. He's no fun when he's anxious." She turned abruptly and strode off towards the gash whose edges writhed with roots attempted to heal.

I called after her. "Take care up there. Be safe." I picked up the joint, clasping it by the sides, one of the safer ways to handle it, I had found.

I walked back to the settlement to find Bern again struggling with his garden. At least his would-be zinnias were looking a little greener and leafier today.

Lille was outside working on the exterior of the cabin, fussing with the texture of the faux stucco. She gritted her teeth as she wielded the wooden spoon she used to focus her energy.

Bern saw me approach. The instant he shifted his attention to me, his zinnias wilted. He threw down his trowel in frustration.

"Any luck?" he said, staring at the wing joint.

"Nah," I said. "But Luther wants to see me again. Mind if I leave this here?"

I set the wing joint down along the edge of the garden. Bern looked a little worried, but he bent down and picked up his trowel, pointed it at the device, turning the patch of roots surrounding it Day-Glo orange.

"That should ensure that no one stumbles into the darned thing."

"Come back when you're done and I'll have some lunch ready."

"Sounds great," I said.

I crossed the garden to the lane that led to an ever-increasing density of small houses to the village square, whose cobbles were only implied as faint indentations on a plaza of flattened root. Most of the structures flanking the square were crude. Many lacked ceilings and most had walls of unconsolidated root, still in their natural gray state.

At the palace, two German shepherds sat on their haunches, flanking the aperture, watching me approach.

One of them growled while the other ran up to me and sniffed my knee. Satisfied, it ran back and returned to its post.

I hesitated near the threshold. My palm print again didn't work. I tried knocking but the walls were soft and my knuckles could conjure only the faintest of thuds.

I turned to the dogs. "So ... can you guys ... uh ... fetch your master?"

The dogs stared at me like I was a fool for attempting to converse with dogs. The aperture suddenly widened and Olivier ducked his head out.

"Hi James! Come join us. We're sitting out in the courtyard."

I followed him out into a roughly hexagonal space nestled among the six connected blobs that formed the chambers of his palace. A patio set up café style looked out on to a wall on which holographic landscapes appeared and dissolved at regular intervals, cycling through alpine scenes, the Italian coast, tropical beaches.

Luther sat at a round table, nursing what looked like a glass of dirty water. Two burly young men sat on either side of him. One looked sleepy, the other nervous.

"James, this is Tyler and Detmar," said Olivier. "Lieutenants of the watch."

The young guys burst to their feet and bustled over to shake my hand, the sleepy one suddenly alert. I was a little taken aback by their eagerness.

"They will be accompanying you on the expedition."

"What expedition?"

"To the resistance front, of course."

"Wait. What?"

"You and Olivier are to lead a relief party, to bolster the resistance and perhaps deliver Petros into the custody of Master Zhang. We are still working out the details."

"Wait a minute. Who says I'm going anywhere?"

"You are here at Master Zhang's request, are you not?"

"I'm here against my will," I said. "I never wanted to come back. But ... Karla—"

"Go ahead. Blame it on my grand-daughter. The fact is you are now here and the resistance needs you ... more than we do. We've put together a contingent of eager volunteers and are attempting to arrange for your safe passage. It all depends on whether there is to be a prisoner exchange."

"What if I don't want to go?"

"Don't be silly, James. It's a waste of your talents to dawdle down here in the underground."

"What about you? Why don't you go?"

"My people need me. They've chosen this existence ... and we have much work to do to make this place achieve its potential. The underground has always been my salvation. It is meant to be. It was a mistake to leave."

I felt lost. I had no appetite for the surface, but I didn't want to stay down here either. I didn't want to go anywhere but home. To life. But until I faded, what else was I to do?

"So ... the resistance ... how are we supposed to get there?"

"We walk," said Olivier. "Unless you can whip up a couple dozen pair of wings for us by tomorrow."

"How goes the engineering?" said Luther.

I shrugged. "No progress. I have no clue what makes the thing work."

"A shame," said Luther. "I tried getting Petros to help. Tried everything. Kindness. Torture. Everything in between."

"Just because we don't understand something doesn't mean it can't be understood," said Olivier. "Maybe some of it is beyond our ken at the moment. Doesn't mean it's unfathomable."

"Have you tried to make one?"

Olivier shrugged. "I'm more of a tinkerer. Someone makes it, I can tweak it. This stuff is beyond me."

"No worries," said Luther. "You've both done your due diligence for the cause. Not that we need wings down here anyhow."

"Tyler and Detmar both have military experience," said Olivier. "One of our scouts, the one you met. Kitt. She'll be joining us as well. It's not much of an army we're sending. A token, really. A show of solidarity with the resistance."

I just smiled and nodded, playing along for now.

"We'll see how long I stick around. I'm way overdue for a fade."

"Yes, we know. You said that yesterday," said Luther. "Until you do, we shall go ahead as planned. And if you do, we simply await your return. You are worth waiting for, James."

I stared back at him, my stomach gone all topsy-turvy. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but it seemed that my destiny had fallen into the hands of others. I felt like I had tumbled into a river and been swept away by a current. I wished to God to fade and never come back.

***

I did not fade that afternoon. Evening came and still I was stuck in the Liminality. I sat with Bern and Lille on their porch, awash in the faint glow of some activated root clumps. Bern pulled brought out a deck of cards and they tried teaching me how to play canasta, but my heart just wasn't into it.

"A meld in this game is three naturals or two naturals and a wild card," said Lille.

"Guys. I really don't feel playing right now."

"If we had a fourth we could play Spades," said Bern. "Personally, I find it more exciting with all the bidding and the setbacks."

"We could ask John to come over," said Lille.

"Guys. Please. Not tonight. I really don't feel like playing cards. I'm sorry."

"What's wrong, James?"

"What's going on with me? I should have faded. Is it possible ... I'm dead?"

"Doubtful," said Bern. "You might be in a catatonic state over there but these bouts of visitation are self-limiting. If you get too dehydrated or undernourished and your body will pull you back over. Sometimes I go a week between returning. I often find myself in the infirmary on intravenous."

"There's an advantage to being comatose," said Lille. "I'm not even aware of when I return. It's just like being asleep."

"So ... uh ... this expedition of yours ... when does it kick off?" said Bern, as he collected and pocketed the cards.

"Not sure. They said they'd send word when they're ready."

Bern seemed agitated. "Honestly, Lille, are you committed to staying down here? I've been thinking, maybe we should join this little expedition of theirs."

"Join the resistance? You can't be serious darling. What would they want with the likes of us?"

Bern shrugged. "Will and Dorothy have signed up to go. They're not exactly warrior types. I'm sure they would find some use for us."

Lille took in a deep breath. "I have to admit, the idea being out in the open air again appeals to me."

Bern looked at me with longing. "Would you put in a good word for us, James? Let them know that we'd be good to have along. I'm handy with small repairs, as you know. And Lille ... Heaven knows the magic she can do with a bit of root and conjured spice."

On our plates were the remnants of our meal—several heaps of slightly tenderized root—a masterpiece of culinary magic. It didn't look like much. One pile was purplish, another sort of pink, the third grayish green. And the mouth feel was akin to biting into a soggy mop. But the flavors were amazing, complex and artfully blended. To top it off, the clear liquid in my mug tasted exactly like freshly squeezed and briskly tart apple cider.

"If you guys want to come along, then go for it. My understanding is that no one is going to stop you. They're taking any and all volunteers."

Lille and Bern looked at each other. The smiles on their lips grew broader.

"What do you say Lille? Up for a little adventure? Could we handle yet another move? Another cottage to be built from scratch? What will this be? Number nine?"

"I must say, once you've been up top, the underground just isn't the same. I don't think it's even a question, dear. It's time to start packing."

"So how soon did you say we are leaving?" asked Bern.

"I didn't. Like I said, they're waiting to get the all clear from Zhang. They're trying to arrange us safe passage because we'll have a hostage with us."

"Safe passage? This is sounding better all the time."

"It's not guaranteed," I said. "They're still negotiating."

"Regardless. We had better be ready to go. Come Lille. Let's pack our things."

"Are you okay to travel on that bum leg?"

"It's never stopped me before," said Bern, grabbing his cane and lurching away from the table.

Lille bustled into the cabin and slid a tweed-covered suitcase out from under the kitchen table that doubled as their bed.

"Worse comes to worse, we travel at night," said Bern. "You see, the Cherubim go dormant after sunset." He gathered his tools the pegs that held them along the back wall of the porch. "Have you ever seen a Cherub up close, James? Ghastly creatures. Did you know they incubate them from regular folk?"

"Incubate?"

"Cherubs are made, not born," said Lille. "Their flesh is broken down and reshaped in cocoons. The Dusters found some of their chrysalides washed up on the beaches. The Seraphs press into service whomever they need from the citizenry of Penult, modifying them into walking, breathing weapons."

"No soul. A minimal brain," said Bern, as he stuffed a sack full of implements and lashed it to a pack frame. "Only the basics they need for following orders."

"Sound like anyone we know?" Lille winked at me. Bern whacked her gently with the butt end of his cane and kept on packing.
Chapter 21: Breakthrough

I had nothing to pack and I was only getting in Lille and Bern's way on their small porch, so I grabbed a glass of what I thought was cider, made a cold torch from a swatch of glowing roots and wandered out in the garden to twiddle around some more with that blasted wing joint.

The cider turned out not to be cider. It was some kind of wine, red and rich, undoubtedly reconstructed from some memorable bottle from Lille's past. It hit the spot and affected me just like real wine, perhaps because it was real wine, only clear.

I managed to weave a couple more replicas and they turned out looking great, but they were no more functional than any I had woven before. Some of the mechanisms were even quite springy. I was making progress in the right direction, but we weren't looking for springy, we wanted explosive.

I kept at it until my replicas littered the garden, looking like a bunch of miniature abstract sculptures amongst the wilted zinnias that were already reverting back to roots. The replicas were quite pleasing to the eye with all their knobs and curves, but ultimately useless.

I became exhausted to an extent I had rarely experienced in the Liminality. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was all my mental exertion. Whatever the case, I was feeling drowsy and sluggish. I got up and waddled back to the porch.

"Hey guys. I might try and hit the sack."

"So early?" said Bern, adjusting the straps on his already overloaded pack frame.

"We should let the boy rest," said Lille, who was systematically miniaturizing their possession one by one and arranging them neatly in the tweed suitcase. " He's had a long and tiring day. We can finish up our packing inside."

Bern helped her drag the suitcase into the cabin.

I plopped down on the mattress and peeled back the covers.

"Hey ... uh ... guys?"

Bern popped his head around the door frame.

"Yes, James?"

"If I fade before the morning ... it was real nice seeing you both."

"Goes without saying," said Bern. "It is always a pleasure to have you with us."

"Sweet dreams, James," called Lille.

***

I conked out quickly. Dreams soon overtook me. The visions that came early in my slumber I'm pretty sure were simply dreams. Playing out back behind my old house in Fort Pierce. Mom and dad carrying dishes out onto the picnic table on the deck.. A birthday party with just the three of us. I couldn't even tell whose birthday it was. Was it mine? Did it matter?

And then there I was on a long strand of windswept beach, only it didn't feel like Fort Pierce anymore. The sand stung my face and drove salty grit into my mouth. I had wings strapped to my back and the wind threatened to blow me over. Like an idiot, I spat up wind and the saliva splatted right back into my face. Things were getting too real. I was crossing some kind of threshold.

I recognized this feeling now and it excited me. This was the Singularity calling. I directed every ounce of my will towards extracting another vision of Karla, some hint of whose city streets she could have possibly been strolling in my last fleeting vision of her.

I repeated her name over and over like a mantra. I erected an image of her in my brain, tacking together memories like a collage. Her sharp but elegant nose and chin. Those intelligent eyes. That slender waist. Subtle but pretty breasts. Slim but well-muscled legs. The nooks and crannies that delineated her collar bone and shoulder blades.

But it was all for naught. The Singularity did not respond to my bidding. Instead, I was yanked off the beach like a newbie paraglider being towed by a power boat twirling out of control.

I was back under the dome, zipping from head to head, then outside in the tunnels from pod to pod, feeling the fear and joy of those new to Root, to the simple minds of the Reapers, though their intellect was greater than I had ever imagined. They too could feel fear and hope and anger. They too had souls, simple ones, but souls just the same.

I burst out onto the surface, passing through armies of cherubs with heads even more barren than the Reapers, to a surprised Seraph who shunted me away as if I were a gnat, to stragglers and squatters huddled in hiding places across the plains and hills, to the distant mesas far up the river valley, where the resistance was making its last stand.

I kept on going, crossing an ocean, passing from ship to sleek ship powered by the same engines that drove the wings of Seraphim, with incubating Cherubim lining the decks shoulder to shoulder like 18th century slaves, a single Seraph strapped in its heart, powering batteries of cogged turbines with simple flexes of his shoulder.

And my mind dove into those engines, to the impossibly responsive material that amplified every action a hundredfold or more, deeper and deeper, smaller and smaller, until I could see the very nanomolecular structures that made the engines work, a series of conical and collapsible nanotubes melding carbon and silicon and nitrogen in ways I could instantly understand even though I had resisted my mother's attempts to teach me chemistry back in my home schooling days.

I saw exactly how the damned things worked, and why a sidelong force had no effect while a head-on collision gave back a thousand-fold what it received. Someone, something was helping me see through the magic. I was not alone. I was being guided. I was not alone. Billions of souls shuttling through the Singularity beside me, most on their own errands and missions. To some others whose identities remained obscure, I was the mission and they were my guides.

They whisked me away from the boats and pressed on across the sea, to the windswept beaches where I left my dreams. But my excursion did not stop there. I continued on across a gleaming desert to hills studded and riddled with temples and villas and grottoes almost too brilliant and white to gaze upon.

Again I hopped from soul to soul, all Freesouls now, though I could sense that their only difference from Cherubim was their level of consciousness. There were Hashmallim here and many suspicious and inscrutable Seraphim and categories of these so-called angels I had yet to encounter. This was Penult and as I climbed up into its hills, the mansions grew ever more extravagant, the minds ever more private and immune to the Singularity. I homed in on one head, drawn to it like a meteor to a planet and slammed into its thoughts.

I had never known a mind so placid and content, with all worries and anxieties delegated absolutely and unapologetically to other souls. My mind had never approached such a state once I abandoned infancy. And yet here I was infesting it, forcing it to consider a possibility it had never entertained.

My target screamed in fury, both internally and externally. It mobilized a cyclone of feelings awash in every hue of outrage and shock and righteous fury. I felt my grip loosen and I was blown away like a leaf in a gale.

The Singularity shattered into fragments of dream, confused and jumbled like a disorganized nightmare. I awoke sweating on the mattress on the floor of Bern and Lille's cabin, with my hosts staring down at me with concern in the yellow glow of the faux candle in Bern's hand.

"James? Is everything alright?"

"Whoa!" That was all I could say.

"Bad dreams again?"

"No, not dreams."

I hopped up from the mattress and went to the window of the cabin. "When time do the lights come on in this place?"

"Soon, I would expect," said Lille. "If you want we could put out some more candles."

"Could you? I'm going out into the garden. I ... I have an idea. And I don't want to lose it."

***

Hours, I plugged away in a circle of candle light while the artificial sky of the bubble steadily brightened strand by strand. Luther had even created a patch of brightness that migrated slowly across the dome, the way a sun might. It was nothing compared to the perfect illusion of the original Burg but it was a start. I never realized how hard Luther had to work to create his simulacra.

Two dozen replicas of the Seraph's wing joint were strewn before me, perfect copies of the knobs and arcs, cogs and ratchets of the original. One by one I dove in and applied my vision of the nanomolecular pattern I had witnessed via the Singularity to the critical surface, and one by one I created a functional engine.

I knew I had the problem licked when the first one I tested slapped my palm back so hard it raised a blood blister. Thereafter, I tested them with a tiny strand of root no wider than a grass stalk. Brushing them with a feather's touch was enough to get the joint to cycle through its entire range of motion, lifting its appendage vertical before pumping downward with power. Now I saw what such an engine could do with a wing.

As I reached to create engine number twenty-five I noticed that I could barely see my fingertips. The fade! It was finally starting to happen.

"Bern!" I shouted.

He came running out of the cabin.

"Is everything alright?"

"I'm fading. I don't know when I'll be back, if ever. Say bye to Lille. Thanks for everything. And ... you need to get these to Luther and Olivier. But be careful, touch them wrong and they have a nasty kick. Tell Olivier that I ... I—"

But I was already gone.
Chapter 22: Awakened

I did not wake up on that futon in Fiona and Britt's attic. Dazed and befuddled, at first I didn't know where I was, all tangled in sweaty sheets surrounded by clicks and beeps and the competing murmurs of multiple televisions and conversations.

But this was a hospital, of course. The sun poured through a window framed with ivy. I recognized the worn and variegated brick of the building across the street. Karla and I had bought cappuccinos from the outdoor café it housed at ground level. It was the same medical center we had come to visit Renfrew.

I was alone in the room, with an IV in my arm, all wired up to a heart monitor. A nurse bustled by the open door, glanced and did a double take.

"Mr. Moody! You're awake. How lovely."

"Why am I here?"

"Because your friends found you unconscious," said the nurse.

"So? Maybe I was sleeping."

"You were basically ... comatose as far we could tell. Unresponsive to any stimuli whatsoever." She came over and slapped a blood pressure cuff on my upper arm.

Jessica bopped into the room, a magazine tucked under her arm.

She beamed when she saw me. "James?"

"Why the heck did you bring me to the freaking hospital? I'm fine."

"We were worried. We thought you might have OD'ed or something."

"On what? You know I don't do that shit. Anymore."

"We couldn't know that for sure. You were convulsing at one point. We had to call the ambulance to take you."

"Be right back," said the nurse. "Everything looks good, but I'm going to fetch the doctor."

"Thirsty? Can I get you something to drink?" said Jess.

I waited for the nurse to leave and lowered my voice. "Jess. Of all people, you should know better. You know what happens when the roots take me."

"But James, your blackouts were never like this. Your heart rate dropped to forty beats a minute. Your blood pressure fell dangerously low. You were barely breathing. The doctors were convinced it was a heroin overdose but the naloxone did nothing. You were out cold for two days solid."

I waited for the cobwebs to clear from my head.

"Is Karla back?"

"No."

"Any word from her?"

"Nothing."

"Damn!"

"So you were in that place? The ... before ... after ... life place."

"Yeah. This trip ... was a doozy."

"So how are things over there?"

"Terrible. It's been invaded."

"By who?"

I just shook my head. "You wouldn't understand."

"O-kay." The look on her face told me she had mixed feelings about pursuing the topic any further. I was more than happy to drop the subject.

"So ... no news about Karla?"

"No, but—"

"Did you tell anyone she's missing? Did you tell the police?"

"You told us not to, but Helen—"

"Helen did what?"

"She placed an anonymous report."

"She did what?"

"We had to do something. And the thing is, they traced her call and showed up at the house."

"Crap."

"But maybe they can find her."

"I guess, but—"

"So the interviewed us. Collected some of the things she left behind. They'd like to talk to you as well, when you're feeling better. But that was that. They said they'd be in touch."

"But I can't talk to them! I'm here illegally."

"We gave them your assumed name. No worries, right? You have a matching passport."

"A fake one. But ... what's done is done." I sighed. "So how's Ren doing?"

"Um ... well ... he's down the hall, actually. They re-admitted him for complications. His lungs were more damaged than they thought. He's got a touch of pneumonia now. He's actually just a few rooms down the hall from you. They were going to make you roomies but he needed some special equipment. So he's in the ICU. But I should mention, Fiona says there were some strange messages on her answering machine. And someone left a note under the door. Just a phone number and a name."

"Who?"

"Wendell Frank."

***

The other ladies piled into the car and drove over to see me as soon as Jess informed them about my awakening. I made damn sure Fiona didn't leave the house without bringing Wendell's note and my cell phone and charger. They fussed over me like I was some invalid.

The NHS neurologist was reluctant to release me even though the tests had failed to reveal anything wrong. That was no surprise to me, but they insisted on keeping me for observation one more night.

I was anxious to talk to Wendell, but I had to wait until I was alone. The ladies were in no hurry to leave. I was patient with them, even ate my dinner in front of them all because Helen refused to leave until she had visual evidence that I had taken some nourishment.

I encouraged Jess quietly to clear them out of my room so she feigned exhaustion and got Fiona and Britt to take her home. Helen stayed behind, but she moved down the hall to sit with Ren. They hadn't been gone five minutes before I slipped out my phone and gave Wendell a ring.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the wonder boy."

"Got your message. What do you want?"

"Same, same. Go see Zhang. He's waiting."

"I did go back."

"We know. But you went to see that Luther guy. What the fuck?"

"Zhang's not even in Frelsi. They tell me Frelsi doesn't even exist anymore. Zhang might even be dead."

"Zhang's not dead. I mean, well ... yeah, he's dead. He's a fucking Freesoul. But he's still in the Lim. And you need to go back and go find him."

"But ... I just got back here."

"Fine. Take a break. But you need to head back as soon as you can. And next time you go, you need to find go Zhang. Shouldn't be that hard. But listen, you crossed over. That's a big step in the right direction. So we'll ease up on the heat a little. As long as you keep making progress. At least now we know you can take a hint."

"Heat? Sturgie. The fire? That was you?"

"Not me personally. My people."

"What the fuck? Sturgie was a friend!"

"Got your attention, didn't it?"

"You almost killed Renfrew, too."

"Guess we gotta try a little harder this time."

"You're an asshole. You know that?"

"Hey, I told you not to dilly-dally. I told you there would be consequences if you did."

My face was hot and I was bursting with rage. I could barely talk.

"And Karla?"

"What about her?"

"Did you ... take her? Off her?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"She's gone. You have anything to do with it?"

"Not us, no. But frankly, that might have been the next step if you hadn't cooperated."

"Then who did?"

"How the fuck should I know? Wasn't us."

"Find her. I know you have the ability. I'll cross back sooner if you find out where she is."

He chuckled. "Kid. You know things don't work that way. You really think us finding her is going to put you in a better frame of mind?"

"So you're lying. You did take her."

"Fuck no. Why would I lie? But honestly, come to think of it ... maybe we should find go and find her, if only to make sure she stays away from you. You might not think so, but I have principles. I wasn't gonna mess with your girl but since she's already been messed with. Why not?"

"Fuck you! Then I'm not going to see Zhang."

"Fine. Then we take her out. How's that for incentive?"

"You do that and you know there's no fucking way I'm ever doing anything for Zhang or any of you assholes."

There was a long pause. I could hear clinking glasses ... music ... some kind of jazz ... in the background.

"Okay. Then you listen to me. Once we find her, you can forget about ever seeing her again."

My stomach imploded. "But why?"

"Because this is how we make it work. If you do what I ask, I'll guarantee she doesn't get hurt. How's that sound?"

"What?"

"You do your job. We keep her safe. But she's out of your life. Forever."

"That's bullshit. She doesn't even want to be alive. She wants to be a Freesoul."

"We find her. We make sure she doesn't. But you never see her again."

"How will I know she's okay?"

"We'll show you. Pictures or something. We'll prove it to you. We'll give her a good life. We have places. Nice places to put people away but take care of them."

"What the fuck?"

"You want her alive or not?"

I could not find any words.

"Fine. Then we kill her. Send her back to the Deeps."

"No!"

"Then we have a deal?"

My heart was thumping hard. I was sweating like an Ebola victim.

"Yeah. Go find her. Keep her safe. Please. I'll go see Zhang ... as soon as I can."

"Deal!" He cleared his throat. "So ... uh ... any idea where she might be?"
Chapter 23: Search Party

When I hung up the phone I felt as my vital organs had all been rearranged. I felt more discombobulated now than when I had just woken up from my two day coma.

I couldn't be sure that Wendell didn't already have Karla despite my visions. I couldn't trust that the glimpses of Karla I had garnered through the Liminality were even real. And keeping her alive under Wendell's care? She might perceive that as a betrayal of her wishes. In her frame of mind of late, forcing her to stay alive might be her worst conceivable torture. But if she was miserable, would that not force her to the Liminality where I had a better chance of finding her?

No path seemed right. No outcome seemed favorable. But getting Wendell involved at least gave me some assurance that I would actually learn what had happened to her. Not knowing her fate was the worst part of all this.

I felt so awful after that call that I could almost feel the roots come swarming in the periphery of my senses, ready to take me back. I guess that was the point of Wendell's manipulations.

But my soul wasn't quite ready to return to the Liminality. The little bit of hope that kept my soul moored was that Karla might still be free of Wendell, roaming some city on her own like the girl in my vision. How long could she stay free? That was the question. Clearly, it was only a matter of time before Wendell's people found her and put her away.

***

The hospital released me the next morning, but Renfrew remained stuck in the hospital. Jess brought me home and I spent the afternoon sitting in the attic, staring out the window. Helen had to beg me to come down for lunch. Needless to say, my mood remained ripe for a visitation. The only thing that kept me here was the urge to spite Wendell.

But what was the point of carrying on here if I would never see Karla again on this side of life? I had no doubt that Wendell had the capability to carry out his threat. All he cared about was keeping me miserable.

My only hope was to go out and find her myself, before Wendell's people got her. It was a rather hopeless hope but it was all I had left.

Helen finally managed to coax me down the attic stairs for a snack. Spread on the table were cookies dipped in chocolate, a bowl of fresh strawberries and a platter of lemon tarts. I looked at these goodies as if it were a bunch of sheep's eyes and spoiled tripe. I did not partake.

"Why so glum?" said Helen. Jess caught my eye and held my gaze. Of all the ladies, she had the clearest understanding of what was going on with me.

"We can go find her ourselves," said Britt.

"A road trip! Any idea where she might have gone?" said Kitt.

"It has to be the father," said Helen. "First Isobel, now her. Who else would take them both?"

I didn't say a word about Wendell. In fact, I did not say a word, period.

"Glasgow," said Helen. "That's where he and his lot were setting up his base of operations. What a place for a bunch of super Catholics to end up. Scotland, of all places. What were they thinking?"

"Like the old Irish missionaries. That's what they're thinking," said Fiona. "That they are one and the same."

"I bet the Scots don't fancy that," said Helen. "Anyhow. Let's go! I'll pack some goodies to take. It will be good to get out of town for a bit. It's been ages since I've been on a holiday."

"What about Ren?"

"Oh, he'll be fine," said Helen. "This will force him to spend more time with his brother. Our neighbor is looking after the goats."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," I said. "I don't want to put you all in harm's way. I mean, it's dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

"Karla's father. He's ... a threat. And ... not just him."

"It's true," said Jess. "These Sedevacantists. Izzie told me that they're heavily armed. They practically have their own militia."

"Not a problem," said Britt. "I served three years in the SAS. Helen can stay back with Fiona. Us tough gals can help the lad."

"Tough gals?" said Fiona, cocking an eyebrow.

"You don't think I'm tough enough?" said Britt.

"You, maybe. But Jess?"

"What? How am I not tough?" said Jess, gaping in mock indignation.

"You're a girlie girl like me," said Fiona. "Yes, you worked on a goat farm but ... I can't see you fighting anyone."

"Why should you two have all the fun?" said Helen. "What are me and Fiona supposed to do? Stay home and do needlework?"

"I suppose we could close the gallery for a week or two," said Britt. "Declare a holiday."

"That settles it, then. We all go!" said Jess. "I'll go online and book us some train tickets to Glasgow."

"A search party!" said Fiona. "This is going to be so much fun."

"Fiona! Please! Be serious," said Helen. "There may have been a kidnapping."

But Fiona could not hide her excitement. She was practically buzzing with thrill. As for me, I had serious doubts whether this was a good idea but I did not have near the energy to blunt their momentum.
Chapter 24: Flying Lessons

I dragged myself back up the attic stairs and crawled back into my shell, curling up on the futon while the ladies banged around downstairs, putting away pots and pans, packing their stuff. I didn't have much of my own stuff to pack beyond a change of clothes and a tooth brush, so I just stayed and wallowed in my little stupor.

When they called me down for tea, I ignored them at first, pretending to be asleep. But after some cajoling from Helen and a kick in the pants from Britt, I made my way downstairs for some finger sandwiches and a salad with olives and pickled artichokes. I didn't think I was hungry but the first bite proved me wrong. I polished off a bunch of the little sandwiches and an extra helping of salad.

Helen squinted at me over her tea cup. "You might want to shower before we go, hon. Your hair is sticking up every which way."

"Sorry. I haven't been feeling well."

"Understandable. But now's the time to pull yourself together. Today we do something positive about the situation!"

"Hear, hear!" Britt raised her mug and clinked it against Helen's.

"Wait ... we're going today?"

"You have exactly one hour before we're off to the station."

I slid back my chair and made my way back to the attic to get my shit together. I felt so damn heavy, like a deep sea diver slogging down the middle of the Marianas Trench. Even the simplest actions had become cruel ordeals. This was not my usual brand of blues. This was something deeper. Was it ... grief?

I slammed the door to the bathroom and peeled off my sour, slept-in clothes, and set the shower on scald.

***

The hot shower helped my mood a bit. I was still plenty sluggish and humorless but at least it got my blood flowing.

We left the house to walk to the train station. Helen carried an overnight bag slung over her shoulder, Fiona and Britt their matching Jan Sport packs while Jess dragged a purple and flowery carry-on with wheels. I carried a plastic Boots sack with my last fresh pair of undies and a sweater. I decided to leave my dirty clothes behind. After all, I still had that ivory credit card burning a hole in my pocket.

The ladies walked four abreast down the pavement, arm in arm, singing nineties pop songs. I followed a couple strides back, silent. I was regretting letting myself get talked into this excursion. But how could I say no? They all knew and loved Karla. They were eager to help.

I didn't really believe going to Glasgow would accomplish anything. The chances of Karla being there, and the chances we could find her, were impossibly slim. But at this point I didn't dare dampen their morale by voicing my reservations. I remained compliant like a leaf in the breeze.

When we reached the station, we staged our gear while Helen dashed off to buy soft pretzels for everyone while Fiona and Jess went to use the wash room. Britt and I stood watch over the bags.

I leaned against a vending machine and stared out across the platforms, scanning the station crowd for the usual suspects – those solitary young men who stood apart from the crowd. There was always one in every station, and I found him quickly, a guy with a scraggly beard leaning forward on a bench, expressing no interest in any train. I wondered what these guys thought of me.

I spotted a crumpled religious tract someone had tossed at a waste bin and missed. A piece of my will possessed it, unfolding it remotely, refolding, reshaping, reconfiguring it molecular structure until it became a sort of origami hummingbird, hollow within, but fully functional and sensual. I blinked and for a second I was down on the station floor looking up at myself through Billy's eyes.

"Go!" I mouthed without voicing.

I set Billy loose to follow his whims which were my whims I supposed. But no strings attached. No duties, no responsibilities. Billy was a free bird. No one noticed him flutter off and out of the terminal except the scraggly-faced loner across the tracks.

"Time to board!" said Britt, glancing at the departures display as the others returned. I was slow in reacting. Jess had to drag me away from the vending area. I could already feel the roots begin to prowl the periphery of my consciousness. I was not long for this world.

The ladies took facing seats sharing a table. I sat across the aisle by myself. The train left promptly. We had barely left the station before the roots came and took me.

***

Back in Bern and Lille's subterranean garden, I lay sprawled between rows of thick green stalks studded with knobby buds resembling miniature cabbages. Brussels sprouts? Whatever happened to the zinnias?

There was a kid sitting at the corner by the fence, rocking back and forth on a stool. Upon seeing me, his eyes popped. He leapt to his feet and knocked over the stool. Slipping through a gap in the fence, he took off running towards the main settlement.

I was naked as usual, but Lille and/or Bern had anticipated my returning to this very spot and had left me a nicely folded stack of my preferred attire in the afterlife: a pair of black Levi 501s complete with an authentic-looking label, a blue Hanes pocket T-shirt and a grey hoodie.

I was zipping up my jeans when Lille stepped out of the cabin. Two tweed suitcases, an overloaded pack frame and several cloth sacks were piled together on the stairs.

"He's back!"

Bern limped out behind her, beaming. "That didn't take long." His smile quickly vanished. "Must be bad news."

"No word from Karla?" said Lille.

I shook my head.

"So what do you think of our garden now?" said Bern. "Coming together nicely, is it not?"

"Looks great," I said, as I slipped on the T-shirt. "But I thought you guys were leaving."

"Just killing time. We have to keep the old skills honed, don't we? Turns out the zinnias were the problem, not my weaving. I just didn't have a good feel for zinnias, I guess."

"But with Brussels sprouts, he's a savant, a veritable vegetable whisperer. Go figure," said Lille. "In any case, they made a nice addition to our stew. Hungry, James?"

"Actually ... uh ... I just ate."

"That was there, this is here, silly," said Lille. "Different realm, different body. You have two mouths to feed, remember. Even here we benefit from some nourishment now and then."

"For the pleasure alone, if nothing else," said Bern.

The young man who had fled from the garden reached the edge of the main settlement. He turned a corner and vanished into the heart of the Burg.

"Who was that kid?"

"Oh, that's Trent. Olivier sent him to look out for you. I suspect he'll want us to be on our way. But first you'll need to have your flying lessons. "

"Flying lessons?"

"They can wait till after supper. Come up on the porch and sit with us. Tell us what's going on in your world."

***

We were having our stew, when shouts from the settlement caught my attention. A huge and ungainly winged creature flapped out of the plaza and went swooping and veering over the settlement like a butterfly being chased by a swallow.

"I must say that was some pretty nifty weaving, James," said Bern. "They took your joints and installed them into four pairs of new wings. I believe that would be Mister Tyler taking one up for a spin."

"Wow. You mean they actually work?"

He flicked his chin towards the aerobatics display. "You tell me."

Tyler seemed to have trouble flying straight. He kept drifting to the right. At one point he soared into the ceiling and scraped against the bottom of the dome. He fell into a disconcertingly steep dive before recovering some lift and pulling up for a stumbling landing in the open space just beyond the garden.

"Luther has been raving about you," said Bern. "Sheer sorcery, he calls it. I suspect he would love to keep you here to help him make more toys. But what's done is done. The expedition is all set. There is to be a prisoner exchange."

"Safe passage?"

"That part is not so clear," said Bern. "The Penult side has been a bit evasive on that point. But they do want their Seraph back and have agreed to return one of ours."

"You get to fly with the scouts, James," said Lille. "The rest of us will travel on foot."

"Me? Fly? But I don't know how to use those things."

"Neither did Tyler a mere twenty minutes ago," said Bern.

"Better hurry up and finish your stew," said Lille. "Looks like we have a visitor."

Olivier came flapping over the garden, alighting gently between the rows.

He dropped a tightly wrapped bundle of tubular spars and shimmery grey membranes.

"Special delivery," he said. "Meet you on the plaza in ten."

***

I didn't dare unwrap the package by myself. I just slung it over my back and hauled it through the settlement drawing stairs from the residents. It was bulky, but much lighter than it looked.

The plaza was bustling with members of the relief party, assembling weapons and gear.

Olivier, sans wings, strode over to meet me when he saw me approach.

"I expected you to fly over here. Why else would I bring you wings?"

"I ... uh ... I don't know how."

"Sure you do. You just don't know it yet. It's as natural as breathing."

Kitt sidled over. "Not quite," she said. "I mean, we all crashed a few times at first. But once you do get the knack, it's like riding a bicycle."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," I said, laying down the bundle. "I don't even know how to unwrap this thing."

"Simple," said Kitt. She reached down and tugged at a knot in the very center. It sprang open instantly, rising up on slender spars, a cage-like array of struts, all six wings perfectly in position. "Now you just climb in and strap it on."

"Um. Maybe I should see how one of you guys do it, first."

"Don't be so shy! Jeez!" Kitt shoved me against the harness and started strapping me in.

"It's all in the shoulders, kid," said Olivier. "To take off, you just pinch your shoulder blades together."

Detmar, winged, alighted gently beside us. "Like this." His shoulders jerked and all six wings cycled through one beat sequence, lifting him gently off the ground.

"First thing that's important," said Kitt. "Make sure the wings are cinched tight, or else they might just blast off without you." She fastened the last strap and stepped away.

"Okay, now you try."

I flapped my upper arms like I was trying to do a chicken dance.

"Not your arms, use your shoulders. Your arms should stay free enough to carry something, like a weapon."

It didn't feel like a natural thing to do at all, but I did it. I squeezed my shoulder blades back. The mechanism responded instantly. The wings threw me forward and only the flexible spars prevented me from dashing my face into the ground. They caught on the faux cobbles, flexed and bounced me right back to my feet.

"Try and keep a good posture," said Detmar. "Like you are trying to balance a book on your head. Do not slouch."

I leaned back slightly and tried again.

Each pair of wings pumped in unison, each of the three sets taking their turn. They tossed me up into the air and I glided straight for Olivier, scraping my bare heels against his head.

"That's it. Keep at it, kid! Get some altitude."

I rose up higher and higher, hurtling straight forward.

"How the heck do you steer?" I shouted.

Olivier shouted back. "It's all in the shoulders. Twist one way or the other."

I twitched my right shoulder and careened towards a steeple under construction at the head of the square.

"Gently!" Kitt shouted.

Detmar took to the air and caught up with me, flying alongside.

"That's it! You have it. The trick is not to work too hard. Almost like you imagine the movement without actually performing it. The device responds to the slightest motions. It is amazing."

I soared high above the settlement. As the ceiling loomed, I relaxed and let myself glide. The wings naturally assumed a configuration that maximized lift and minimized the glide slope. The slightest breeze would have allowed me to hover like a hawk. If it was this exhilarating, flying around a cave, I couldn't imagine how it would feel out in the open air.

A dog came trotting out of Luther's lumpy palace and headed straight for Olivier. They seemed to converse briefly and then Olivier motioned for me to descend.

I did nothing but lean forward slightly and wings did the rest. I overshot my intended landing spot but I managed to keep my feet with the help of the spars. Kitt ran over to help me unstrap the wings. She was beaming.

"You did great for your first time! Looks like we got ourselves a squadron."

The dog was sitting tall beside Olivier, head cocked and panting.

"Luther wants to see you."

***

The dog escorted me to Luther's palace, trotting ahead, tossing occasional glances over its shoulder that creeped me out. Luther's dogs had a look in their eyes that was far too sentient for a canine, and too complex for a robot.

Luther had the unique ability to instill autonomous intelligences into clumps of woven root, far surpassing what I could do with avatars like Billy. He was god-like that way.

My canine escort paused at the portal and glanced up at me expectantly. Two other shepherd dogs were already guarding the entrance. This time the aperture responded to my palm and one of the other dogs followed me inside.

I found Luther sitting in his courtyard alone, the walls displaying scenes of foggy hillsides. Clouds of actual mist drifted across the space. He was dressed all in greys and blacks and he gave me the oddest stare as I approached, as if he were seeing me in a whole new light. I sensed, or at least projected from that look, a mish-mash of awe, jealousy, confusion and respect, maybe even a smidgeon of fear.

I pulled out a chair and sat down across the table from him. The dog laid down by his master's feet. "What's up?"

"Those joints you made. They're ... perfect. As good as or maybe even better than the originals. I expected some modest improvement other our attempts. Some enhancement of the functionality, some insight into the mechanism. An incremental gain. Instead Bernard brings me one dozen perfectly functional angelic engines. How?"

Voices echoed from the entry chamber. Olivier and Kitt had followed me to the palace.

"Um ... I'm not sure exactly. But I did have this ... this ... vision."

"A vision?"

"Yeah. The ... uh ... Singularity ... might have given me some help."

Luther's mouth dropped. He turned to Olivier, who took a seat beside us. Kitt remained by the door.

"Did you hear that? This one communicates with the Singularity on his own without the long sleep and without the need to channel through an Old One."

"I've been telling you, he's an old soul," said Olivier. "He may be young, but he's no de novo incarnate."

Luther sighed. "Now I wish you were not leaving us. With the skills you possess, we could do some amazing things together. But I already promised Zhang you would be coming. Might you ... return ... some day?"

"I don't know," I said. "I never wanted to come here in the first place. I have no idea what's going to happen to me next."

"You know ... I can help you. It may be I can find Karla's whereabouts ... for you ... for us. I still have connections with the family. If Edmund has his hands on her again, I could surely find this out."

"That would be ... great," I said, without a trace of enthusiasm. I had already resigned myself to several of the worst case scenarios regarding her disappearance. Even if she was still roaming free, it would not be long before Wendell found her and put her away for good.

"I worry that your passage may be challenged," said Luther. "Zhang's contacts with Penult could not guarantee your safety."

"We have a hostage," said Olivier. "That should help prevent any ambushes."

"They are a haughty and righteous bunch, these Seraphim. I would not put it past them to try to take Petros back by force."

Olivier shrugged. "Let them try. I'll be keeping their boy on a short leash. If they raid us, I take him out, send his soul to wherever, and that's that."

"If we travel mainly by dark we would have a better chance of avoiding trouble," said Kitt. "For whatever reason, they ain't very active at night."

"But now Reapers roam the badlands after nightfall," said Luther. "There is nothing to keep them in their tunnels anymore."

"We'll be fine," said Olivier. "Have a good core of fighters with us. Bunch of refugee types, too, but with James along, we should be able to handle things."

"Thirty-two," Luther glowered at the floor. "When you all leave, that is what I will be left with. Thirty-two souls plus ... whoever we can harvest from the pods. I have to say, there were far more quitters than I ever expected."

"They're not quitters," said Olivier. "Not everyone wants to live in a cave."

"But why expose one's soul to such risk? And how is a gaggle of cripples and claustrophobes going to help the resistance?"

"Not everyone needs to be a warrior," said Olivier. "There are others ways to help the cause."

"Never mind," said Luther. "Those who remain behind with me will get to reap the benefits of our work. We will make Luthersburg all it was before and more." He stuck out his chin defiantly.

"We'll refer more souls down to you when we can," said Olivier. "I'm sure we'll find some folks who are tired of living up there under siege all the time. At least we can tell them down here, it's safe."

"Alright! We are done here." Luther waved his hand at the misty images flowing across the walls surrounding the courtyard and they went instantly to black. "Finito! Nightfall approaches. You'd best be on your way before this one fades on you again."
Chapter 25: Outside

Olivier and I made our way across the settlement, wings packed and bundled and slung over our shoulders. I caught a glimpse of Bern's garden and was pleased to see a patch of perfect zinnias that only an hour ago had been Brussels sprouts. The door to the cabin was open, but I noticed that the tweed suitcases were gone form the porch.

We found the expedition party waiting for us at the far edge of the bubble, near the portal that Kitt had led me through when I had first come here. Olivier's assistant, Trent, kept watch over Petros away from the main group, the Seraph hobbled by shackles on his ankles and wrists.

"Got your wings? Awesome!" said Kitt sharing a high five. "Yo Det! Everyone's here. Let's get this show on the road."

"Hang on," said Detmar. He went up to the wall and pressed his ear against it.

"What's he doing?" I whispered to Kitt.

"Checking for Reapers. They sometimes like to pounce on us right outside the bubble."

Bern pushed through the group, rattling the pans and tea kettles that dangled from his pack frame. He presented me with a long bundle wrapped in chamois.

"My ... sword?"

"We tucked it away for you when you faded."

"Thanks!" I said, taking it from him. I had forgotten that I even owned a sword. Somehow the dang thing kept finding me no matter how much I neglected it.

Bern moved back to be with Lille, who was busy adjusting a young woman's footwear, fixing a bad weave job.

"Hey Bern!" I shouted.

He glanced back at me.

"Nice zinnias!"

He tossed me a wink.

"All clear!" said Detmar, and he slammed his palm against the dark spot in the center of the wall. The roots peeled back, revealing crisscrossed layers increasing in thickness and density out through the outermost shell.

Detmar and Tyler hopped through and took flanking positions as the rest of us rushed through the aperture.

"Keep it moving!" said Olivier as we rushed through the tunnel. "No stopping till we reach the surface."

Kitt kept at the head of the column. She knew all the routes topside, having made the climb every day since Luther had led his flock back underground.

We passed through tunnels narrow and wide, took shortcuts through the interstitial spaces and some smaller bubbles some other enterprising residents of root had used as encampments and settlements and subsequently abandoned.

A hiss and a groan greeted us at a juncture between two tunnels. We had surprised it and it drew back and lunged, arresting its charge when it realized how many of us there were ready to impale it with sharp objects. It backed off, slithering off into a side tunnel to let us pass.

Kitt stuck her tongue out and waggled her fingers at it as we passed.

"Chicken!"

Before long, we were charging up a ramp into a space where the fetid emanations of the tunnels mixed with fresh breezes.

"Nice. It's already getting dark," said Kitt. "That should keep the Cherubim off our backs."

"Weren't we guaranteed a safe passage?" asked a woman, pushing a small wheeled cart the size of a wheelbarrow.

"That was never confirmed, ma'am," said Kitt. "If so, that's great, but I wouldn't count on it."

Rumbles of displeasure passed through the group.

"Calm down, people," said Olivier. "We have the means to defend ourselves. You have to trust us."

We remained at the bottom of a deep crevasse. Kitt and Tyler climbed it first, securing lines and pulleys for hauling up the group's baggage. Thus unencumbered, all were able to negotiate the steep wall of shredded root and rubble without much assistance.

There were faint lights in the sooty-grey sky, specks or radiance that I could not be sure were stars along the smooth, un-cratered blotch of glow that passed for the Liminality's moon. For all I knew this could be just another larger bubble in the underground and these celestial bodies were just as artificial as those that Luther conjured across his domes.

The wind swept over the rumpled plains. Reapers roared in the distance. Those of us bearing wings undid their lashings and deployed them.

Soon Kitt and the boys were hovering over our little caravan as they regathered their gear and began plodding across the dark wastes. I lagged behind, still struggling to get my wings strapped on properly.

"Yo James. Get your ass up here," said Kitt, circling back.

"I'm working on it."

She landed beside me and helped get the cage-like harness fitted across my chest.

"What about Olivier. Where's his wings?"

He's gonna stay grounded for now. Make sure Petros doesn't try any hanky panky."

"Who are we exchanging him for?"

"Beats me. Some Frelsian, I guess."

My wings finally on, I flicked my shoulders and away I went. I couldn't help but feel proud of myself for being the one who had weaved them. But then again, the credit really belonged to whoever came up with the original design for the device. Compared to them, I was just a mere counterfeiter.

She came flying at me and I flinched away, thinking she was going to slam into me and we would go tumbling in a mass of membranes and harnesses to the ground below. But she pulled up, nimbly and hovered before me like a hummingbird.

"Tyler's flying point to check for ambushes. Detmar and I will watch the flanks. How about you bring up the rear?"

"Um. Sure!"

I loved the idea of me being all the way back. I was a coward at heart, and had no interest in being the first among us to encounter trouble if I could avoid it. Of course, trouble could always sneak up behind us, but I tried not to think about that.

The 'moon' shed enough glow to reveal the overall lay of the land while many of the severed roots exposed in the upheaval blinked and flashed faintly, delineating the landscape in millions of tiny sparkles.

The ground party moved at a pretty decent clip over the rough ground, considering Petros was shackled and Bern was limping. Olivier was great at reading the terrain, even without the benefit of wings. He made sure they always took the path of least resistance, often diverging from our primary heading to favor ease of travel.

A dark blotch in the sky came hurtling towards me. I flinched away before realizing it was Tyler. Kitt and Detmar came in from the flanks to join us for a little conference in the sky.

"There's a formation of Cherubim smack in front of us," said Tyler. "Three, four hundred. They're all kneeling on the ground. No Hashmallim or Seraphim about. Didn't even look up at me when I buzzed them."

"That's how they sleep," said Kitt. "I don't think we need to worry about them."

"We could really fuck them up if we wanted to. They're sitting ducks," said Tyler.

"Nah. Leave them alone," said Kitt. "Just because we haven't seen them fight at night doesn't mean they can't."

"How about once the ground party gets by them?" said Detmar.

"I'd rather not," said Kitt. "I'd rather we kept a low profile. There's too many of them. Things could get out of control real quick."

"Fine. Then I'll go and warn Olivier," said Tyler, swooping down to the head of the column below. Olivier had already spotted them, it seemed, and was detouring the band into one of the dry channels of the broad and braided riverbed.

The relief party was in great spirits, all chatty and ebullient. Everyone seemed relieved to be out of the tunnels again and looking forward to the freedom they would find behind the lines of the resistance.

We crossed into the remains of the alluvial delta at the mouth of the main river valley. It was gashed with rifts, but some of the lower hills flanking the entrance to the valley remained. The table lands upriver, however, were barely recognizable. Most of the mesas had been leveled, towering pillars of stone reduced to jagged stubs poking through heaps of rubble. Every bluff that had harbored a Duster settlement was gone. The destruction had been systematic, because some of the uninhabited mesas remained.

When we turned into the valley, we found the river basin littered with the rotted out exoskeletons of ants, dragonflies, mantids, bees and the innumerable bodies of the Dusters who tended them.

A great battle was fought here and lost by the resistance. At first I thought at only Dusters had been involved until we came across the heaped carcasses of Frelsian-modified Reapers. The bodies of armored Frelsian warriors littered the flood plain behind then. Clearly, the Dusters and Frelsians had fought side by side.

It disconcerted me that I saw absolutely no remains of Cherubim on the battlefield but then it occurred to me that it was only the victors who had the ability to recover their casualties. Apparently they thought so little of their foes that they let them rot where they lay.

Tyler held us up from time to time and led us around several groups of wild Reapers who had come to feast on the remains of the fallen even though their souls had already passed on. Reapers were just facilitators that way, by no means the sole path to the Deeps.

As we skirted the edge of one of the few intact mesas, I thought I caught a glimpse of some dragonfly wings glinting against the vegetation dangling off the cliff rim like a bad hairpiece.

Below the mesa, some dark specks sprang out from the boulder caves and rushed towards the folks on the ground. I leaned into a dive and came screaming down at the head of the column.

"Attack!" I shouted. "On your right! We're under attack!"

Olivier looked stunned, but he quickly got his fighters in position on the flank.

I hovered just over their heads as the others approached. The attackers were sparse. Olivier send his staff aglow and sent a beam washing in their direction.

"Friend!" shouted a man as the people rushing at us came into the light. "We are friend!" They were unarmed and raggedly dressed – Hemisouls all, from the looks of them.

"False alarm," said Olivier, snuffing the beam.

"Sorry," I said, fluttering low.

"No. You did good, kid. You see anything like that, you tell us."

This would not be the last incident. Soon after, another small band of refugees hiding in a depression showed itself and joined our ranks. Every mile we traveled we picked up another handful. It wasn't long before the ground party had doubled in size from the addition of these stragglers.

Olivier waved his arms up at us, signaling that they were taking a break. The other flyers converged over the ground crew.

"You all can land," said Detmar. "Take a break. I can keep watch this time."

"Why thanks, Det," said Kitt. "I'll spell you in a few. I don't think we'll stay put long."

"Not a prob. I can stay up here all night. It's like ... floating."

The rest of us descended and unstrapped our wings.

"How are your shoulders holding up?" said Kitt.

"Fine," I said. "It's like Det said. It's easier than it looks. Like breathing."

"Yeah. As long as you don't overdo the squeezing. That's the trick. Just a flick of your shoulder muscles is enough."

We found Olivier chatting with a couple of battered-looking Frelsians – more Hemisouls from the looks of them. Only Freesouls got to wear the good armor.

"We're making good time," said Olivier. "Almost halfway there. We won't reach the lines before daybreak, but that was never the plan. We'll see how well our little non-aggression pact holds up once the sun is up."

Petros sat panting in the dirt, glaring up at us.

"This one's not used to walking," said Olivier, grinning. "He's getting some good cardio for a change."

I noticed Bern hovering at the edge of the group, peeking over shoulders.

"Hey! How's the leg holding up?" I said, as I unstrapped my wings.

"Super," he said, giving me a thumbs up.

I squeezed into the huddle and listened in on some war stories.

Most of these Frelsians had been cut off from the main party of refugees in the chaos of battle. Some were Hemisoul fighters who had faded back to life in the midst of battle only to reappear days later naked and far behind enemy lines.

Olivier clapped his hands. "Okay people, that's long enough. Let's get a move on."

Kitt and Tyler were already strapping on their wings when I made my way back to our landing spot.

***

We kept at it until the dawn glow began to brush the edges of the farthest hills. It was my turn to fly watch while the other scouts descended and joined the ground party, which now numbered at least a hundred souls. They had gathered under an overhang where the river had undercut some cliffs. Breakfast was underway from the looks of it. The only channel was no wider than a brook and periodically disappeared and reappeared beneath the sediments.

One nice thing about cooking with roots was the smokeless heat they could provide. They could burn as well, but flames were not prudent when we were trying to preserve our stealth. I was amazed and delighted when the odor of bacon wafted up to greet me. I wondered if Lille had anything to do with it.

I gazed back from where we had come. The Cherubim we had passed were on their feet and on the move now. The sight of them stirred a bit of panic in my chest, but they were so far behind us and moving so slowly there was no need for concern.

I circled about, scanning the valley ahead for more Cherubim. But in the dim light of morning, I found only empty wilderness. The crackers had somehow done less damage here. Only the occasional concentric rumpling indicated deployment of the destructive pillars.

There was some wreckage in one the streams winding through the riverbed. I dropped down for a closer look. I saw some kind of cart overturned in the channel. A long flared cannon-like cylinder lay shattered beneath it. Upstream lay a crumpled mass of cloth and tubular framing. It was the same kind of material that made my wings, but much larger.

I hovered around it, trying to make sense of what I saw. The wingspan was huge and there were multiple cages. This was apparently a multi-passenger version of my Seraph wings. Pods bristling with spikes dangled from the undercarriage.

Someone whistled back at the cliffs and I maneuvered around to see Lille waving at me.

I flew back and she handed me a bundle of something that looked like fried bread or naan folded over some greenish grey strips and a pale smear of something gelatinous.

"You must be starved, all that flying about. Aren't your arms tired?"

"My arms? I don't even use my arms. See?" I held up that breakfast sandwich or whatever it was.

"Go on and eat your food. I can't vouch for its quality. It is pretty much cooking by committee with this crowd, which never ends well."

I nodded my thanks and regained altitude, studying the terraced mountains that loomed over the head of the valley. I had been there before. That was where I awakened my first Old One, Mr. O. I wondered if that was where we were headed.

I took a bite of the sandwich and gagged. It tasted smoky and salty but the texture of the pale stuff was like cold, overcooked eggs. I shook the contents of the sandwich loose and munched on the bread, which wasn't half bad.

I spotted Kitt strapping on her wings. Soon she had soared up to join me.

"Your turn for a break."

"Nah, I'm good. I already ate."

"Olivier wants to see you. Better get down there."

So I sent myself into a gentle, spiraling glide, intending to impress everyone with smooth landing, but I stalled prematurely and fell back on my butt. Tyler and Det rushed over to help me out of my wings.

People gathered in little circles on the damp sand. I found Olivier next to Petros. He wasn't kidding when he said he would not let Petros out of his sight.

"Those Cherubim we passed are up and marching," I said.

Olivier shrugged. "Figured they would be. No worries. We're not sticking around long much longer."

"Did you want to see me about something?"

"Just wanted you down on the ground, kid. Don't want you to overdo it up there."

"It really isn't a problem. You should try it." I noticed his wings were still strapped to his back.

He shook his head. "Flying's not my thing, kid. Makes me queasy."

Petros chortled.

Bern found me and lowered himself onto the sand.

"Glorious out here, isn't it?" he said. "Nice to know that these bloody angels haven't ruined it all."

"Only because they ran out of crackers," said Olivier.

"Any respite you perceive is temporary," said Petros, smirking. "There is more to come. We won't rest until order is restored."

"Why are you doing this? Why don't you just leave us be?"

"Flaws must be corrected. No? Before this age, we had no army. We formed one out of necessity, recruited souls and found a way to get them here."

"You mean these Cherubs are volunteers?"

"Not exactly," said Petros. "But it is implicit in one's residence in Penult that you might be asked to serve a higher cause. Do you think I want to be here right now?"

"At least you got to keep your brain," said Olivier. These Cherubs seem to have no consciousness."

"All in the name of mercy," said Petros. "With no will, they feel no distress, no discomfort."

"Do they get it back? When the war is over?"

"Their souls have already moved on," said Petros. "We merely borrow their vessels."

"Moved on? To where?"

"To wherever they were destined. It is not for me to say. Places the likes of you will never see."

"Oh yeah? Don't be so sure about that. Some of us get around."

"Your souls are corrupt, bereft, ineligible."

"What makes you so different, Petros?" said Olivier. "Huh? I mean, you seem like a regular guy. You don't seem that special to me."

"I am vetted. I am pure. I am ... immortal."

"Immortal, huh? So if I ... say ... slashed your throat ... what would happen?"

"My soul would find its way to another vessel, perhaps in another, higher realm."

"The realms go higher?"

"Of course. The Liminality is but a way station ... in two directions."

"Cool!" said Tyler. "I want to go to Heaven. Problem is ... I don't think it exists."

"That is a problem," said Petros.

"I would say so," said Tyler. "Can't go to a place that don't exist."

"The existence of the Upper Realm is not in question."

"Whether it's a place you want to be another question," said Olivier. "I mean look at these poor Cherubs. They're fucking slaves."

"Nonsense," said Petros. "They sacrifice themselves willingly. It is a noble task."

"Then why ain't you a Cherub?" said Tyler.

Lille interrupted, showing me the roots she had gathered in her basket. "Look how lovely these are!" she gushed. "So well behaved. I'm saving them for later. Who knows if we'll find a patch half as nice."

Olivier got up and looked down the river valley from whence they had come. The ranks of Cherubim were on the move. They were a good mile away from the looks of it.

"We should probably get rolling."

"Stay," said Petros. "My brothers wish to meet you here."

"Here?"

"I have communicated. They are on their way right now with your prisoner."

"Communicate? How?"

"We have our ways," said Petros, who was smiling for a change. "So now we shall trade and send you on your way."

"Not here. Hell no. We're not doing any exchange here. I want us to be solidly behind resistance lines before we do any swaps."

Petros shrugged. "I can't see how it matters."

"I just don't trust you guys. You don't honor your promises."

"Nonsense."

"Listen. I was there in Luthersburg when we were given one full day to gather our stuff and evacuate below ground. Then, just as we were about to go, your Hashmallim led an all-out assault and smashed the crap out of us."

Petros dismissed this with another shrug. "A simple misunderstanding. I sincerely apologize on behalf of our Lords."

"So how can we be sure it won't happen again?"

"I am in direct communication with our Lords. You have been given free passage to perform an exchange of prisoners. This is now confirmed."

Kitt came swooping in, landing right beside Olivier.

"Battle formation coming up quick behind us," she said. "Cherubim, a thousand strong. The ones we saw last night plus reinforcements. Slashers and Bashers. With Hashmallim to guide them."

The news agitated Olivier. "Okay. We're leaving. Right now. Everybody up."

"No worries," said Petros. "These Cherubim will not harm you, unless you attempt to do me harm. I can see their orders."

"See?"

"Their orders have been communicated to me. We Seraphim are connected."

"Through the Singularity?" I speculated.

"No," said Petros. "A private channel. Created by us, available only to us." He tapped a lump behind his ear. "The Lords provide."

"He's got a mod," said Olivier. "Like the wings, only permanent." He climbed atop a slab of stone. "Get your asses moving people! Off your butts. Don't worry about washing the damn dishes. Leave them! You can make new ones. Dump any gear you don't need. We need to move fast. We've got Cherubim on our ass."

The gaggle of warriors and refugees rushed from the shelter of the overhang. Tyler, Det and I scrambled to get our wings while Olivier herded his flock back out to the riverbed.

The marching Cherubim had descended out of sight into one of the dry channels, but their presence was revealed by a low-hanging cloud of dust.

"Man, they're moving fast," said Tyler. "They're gonna catch up to us at this rate."

"Not if we do something to delay them," I said, cinching the straps across my chest.

"Like what?" said Detmar.

"No, you guys. No aggression," said Kitt, hovering just above our heads. "Least ... not until we complete the swap."
Chapter 26: The Basin

This time, I flew point, while Kitt brought up the rear, which was fine with me. She was closer to the enemy now, while I had only the friendly front lines of the resistance before me. My cowardly streak approved of this arrangement.

I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if I faded back to life while I flew. That would be fine with me. I was not crazy about being here. But what would happen when the roots eventually came to haul me back to the Liminality? Would I find myself naked and wingless, plummeting twenty stories to the riverbed? Maybe this wing business was not such a great idea for someone who was not yet a Freesoul. I didn't fly quite as high after that realization.

I kept about a mile or so ahead of the ground party, circling back regularly to see how they were doing. Olivier had his marchers moving at a pretty good clip now. The Cherubim on their tail had closed only a bit of the gap between them.

They travelled much lighter now, having shed much of their extraneous belongings back at the overhang. Having an army of brainless mutant warriors on their tail was a pretty good incentive to keep moving briskly.

The valley narrowed with every bend in the riverbed. As I swooped ahead of our ragged column scouting run, I was shocked to come upon a formation of Cherubim arrayed at the base of a side gulch, kneeling in wait.

It looked to me like an ambush so I zoomed back to warn Olivier. I made another awkward landing, coming in too fast and tumbling in the gravel at Olivier's feet, and wing tip caught Petros full on in the face before he could duck. He staggered back. Only Olivier's firm grip on the thick cord attached to his neck kept him upright.

I scrambled to my feet and shook off the dust.

"Fighters!" I said. "Around the next bend. Waiting for us."

"How many?" said Olivier.

"Two, three hundred."

"No worries," said Petros. "My brothers will let you pass."

"Yeah? And how do you know this?" said Olivier.

Petros ignored him. His gaze remained distant and unfocused. "My Lords are sending someone to meet us ... at the basin ... beyond the marshes."

"You talking to them somehow?"

There was a glaze over Petros' eyes. He seemed distracted.

Olivier sighed. "Nothing to be done but keep moving," he said. "Not like we take them on ... and there's even more Cherubim coming up behind us."

I nodded and flicked my shoulders intending to fly straight up, only my wings weren't on straight so I lurched to one side, barely avoiding smacking into Petros again.

Back on point, I came to grasp the full scale of our predicament. The Cherubim trailing us represented only a small fraction of the invasion force. Detachments massed at the base every tributary and side valley. We were running a gauntlet, surrounded on all sides by the enemy.

But the Cherubim lining our flanks kept still, their weaponized limbs loose and inert at their sides. Not a one glanced up as I flew over their heads. They were either disciplined to extremes or devoid of curiosity.

There was not much human about them beyond their shape. I saw no shelters or bedding. They built no cook fires, dug no latrines.

Their masters, in contrast—the Hashmallim and Seraphim who controlled them—camped in relative comfort. Their pale, silky domes clung to the ridge tops and cliff faces like the egg sacs of spiders.

A cluster of shattered pillars pierced the ground along the river bed. These 'crackers' had been destroyed before they could be fully deployed, my first indication that the resistance had enjoyed any success in fighting back.

Clearly, destruction of these devices had been a matter of high priority for the resistance. The ground before them was littered with corpses of Frelsian and Dusters warriors and their mounts—the carcasses of giant bugs and domesticated Reapers.

There were signs that the fighting had been recent. One of the Reapers still writhed and moaned where it lay.

It kind of bothered me that I saw no Cherubim corpses among them. Either they were super-efficient at recovering their dead or they simply hadn't suffered any casualties. But then again, the winners of a battle controlled access to a battlefield. To the victors go the spoils and the dead.

Up ahead the river cut through a fin of up-tilted bedrock that slashed across the valley. It formed a natural rampart behind which yet more contingents of still and silent Cherubim were deployed in a defensive formation.

The terrain would force the ground party to pass within spitting distance of them, but I didn't bother troubling Olivier with my concerns this time. If Petros wasn't right, there was nothing we could do about it. The folks on the ground would be sitting ducks. I kept my sword at the ready and hoped I could conjure something effective if something bad went down. I might be a coward but I had friends down there and I would not abandon them.

Tyler and Detmar came in from the flanks in support as they passed through the choke point. The stolid Cherubim did not even toss a glance in our direction as we filed through the gap in the ridge. They stared straight ahead, faces blank, feet planted in the ground like a human forest. They reminded me of those terra cotta warriors archeologists unearthed in China.

Up on the flanking ridges, a few Hashmallim and Seraphim ventured out from their precariously perched shelters to watch us pass. Something about their body language put me at ease. They acted less like mortal threats and more like folks sauntering out on a nice day to watch a parade.

Beyond the squeeze, the land spread out into a huge flat basin, ringed by mountains. Patches of marsh were interspersed with rocky hillocks clothed in arid scrub. It was an odd contrast of wetland and desert.

Olivier led his flock to the nearest high point and called for a halt. He signaled for us scouts to come down and join them.

Tyler volunteered to stay aloft while the rest of us landed. I welcomed the respite. A burn of fatigue had begun to set into my shoulders from using muscles and stretching ligaments that weren't used to being worked.

Olivier wore a broad smile. He seemed a bit less anxious. I slipped out of my wings and rubbed my shoulders. There were thin spots in my hoodie where some of the weaving was already coming undone and reverting back to roots.

"Just wanted to give you guys the lay of the land," said Olivier. "See that mountain over there? The one that looks like a Mexican pyramid? That's New Axum. Friendly territory. We're in the home stretch."

"Cool," I said. "Looks ... not too far. What do you think? Half a day's march?"

"If that," said Olivier. "Once we get through the marshes it'll be easy going. Flat and open land. Be nice if the resistance could meet us halfway but ... I'm not sure they want to stick their necks out. Looks like they got beat up pretty bad."

Petros knelt in a clump of dead and dry marsh weeds, his back straight, head tilted back.

"What's up with him?" said Kitt. The Seraph's eyes were closed. Sweat dewed his brow. He shivered and rattled his restraints.

"Some kind of trance," said Olivier. "He's been doing a lot of that. I think it's how he communicates with these Lords of his."

The Seraph's eyes popped open and drilled us with a penetrating glare.

"The wings," said Petros. "You must surrender them. All of them." His eyelids slammed shut again. His lips trembled.

"Say what?" said Olivier. "No fucking way."

"My Lords ... they did not realize you had captured ... so many. They belong to us. They must be returned."

"Captured? Wait a minute, those are ours. James made the joints."

"Not ... possible. My Lords ... demand ... their return."

"No way, no how! This wasn't part of any deal. The only pair we took was your own, and fine, you can have those back, but the others, we're keeping."

"No," said Petros. "My Lords ... require ... all ... of the wings. All ... of them."

"We ain't giving you shit if you keep this up. The deal was a prisoner for a prisoner. That is all. You can't alter the terms after the fact. If your guys want to renege, maybe we should just haul your ass back underground."

"No. My Lords ... need ... their wings ... back."

"What the fuck, Petros? You knew we were working on copying them."

"And failing."

"But James here managed to get it done." Olivier snickered. "I bet your Lords didn't expect a ringer to show up out of the blue, did they?"

"Ringer?" Petros pursed his lips and his eyes went cold and distant. His jaw quivered with strain. "The wings. My Lords must have them back."

"Pathetic! Look at them yank his strings! This ain't a man, it's a puppet. Well, you can tell your Lords to fuck off, Petros. They're not getting our wings."

"As you wish," said Petros, almost inaudibly.

Olivier glowered at the Seraph. "Listen. This had better not cause any problems. For your sake, things had better go smoothly at transfer time. How about you communicate that to your Lords next time you mind meld or whatever it is that you do with them?"

Petros only stared back at Olivier, his face betraying not a shred of emotion. Part of his humanity had slipped away. For the moment, at least, his Lords had rendered him little more than just another expendable Cherub.
Chapter 27: Condor

I floated on the breeze, allowing a tailwind to nudge me across the basin, just ahead of the ground party and only a little quicker than their pace. I kept my eyes on the sky and on the units of Cherubim arrayed in an arc along the higher terrain to our rear. There were so many of them! Now I knew how Petros could afford to be so haughty and confident about his side's prospects. The resistance was facing an overwhelming force.

The land rose gently beyond the marshes, giving way to an ever more arid landscape as we entered the rain shadow of the ring of terraced, blocky mountains that loomed ahead. Giant cacti and succulents replaced the fuzzy, white-glazed shrubs that filled the lower valley. Several side gulches emptied into this vast bowl, though their creeks had mostly gone dry.

Olivier kept his marchers in a tight cluster. Bunched together like that they looked so small now against the vastness of the basin and the forces of Penult arrayed all around them. But so far anyhow there were no signs that any of the Cherubim units arrayed on the rim were making any move to intercept us.

We were headed straight for a multi-tiered mountain with cliffs that rose in steps each a hundred meters tall. It was separated from the neighboring massifs by deep, narrow gorges on both sides.

Debris the outlets of both gorges and as I flew closer, I could see that these were not natural. They were barricades erected by the resistance forces, tangles of driftwood and uprooted tree trunks woven together with thick cords of root. Giant ants clambered over the barricades to the right while the left was guarded by a rank of armored Reapers.

It unsettled me that the Frelsians and the Dusters segregated their forces, but I supposed it made sense. These were former enemies after all, and separating responsibilities probably facilitated command and control and allowed each to employ their unique tactics. I only hoped that they each had liaisons in each other's ranks and some way to communicate with each other.

I circled back and looked for Olivier to report what I had seen. I landed hard, skidding past him on my knees. I had yet to get the hang of sticking the landings like my fellow pseudo-Seraphim.

"The forces are split," I said. "Frelsians to the left. Dusters to the right."

Olivier smirked. "That's nice. Tell me something I don't already know."

"So ... who do we go to? The Frelsians or the Dusters? I know I have my preference."

"Neither. We go straight ahead," he said. "Right up the mountain with the Old Ones. That's where Zhang and his council are hanging out."

"But how? I mean ... I've got wings ... but you guys—"

"I know it doesn't look like it from here, but there's supposed to be a way up those cliffs. At least, that's what they tell me."

"So where do we do the swap?"

"Not sure, exactly. But let's not worry about that right now. Let's worry about first getting our asses behind friendly lines."

Kitt came winging down in a wide circle. "You guys better get moving! You got Cherubs coming up behind you hard and fast."

"I wasn't exactly planning on setting up camp here, my dear," said Olivier.

"Nothing to be concerned about," said Petros, who seemed in full control of his consciousness once more. "They are only to be my escort. Your prisoner is on her way."

The strain on Kitt's face did not ease. "I'll take the point from you, James," she shouted. "You got the left flank. Detmar's got the rear."

I flexed my shoulders and my wings did the rest. I hopped into the air, though my trajectory was a bit low and I almost kicked Olivier in the forehead. Luckily he had the presence of mind this time to duck.

I flew out to my position on the flank. Olivier roused everybody who had sprawled on the ground to rest their weary feet and got them all moving again.

I could see why Kitt was concerned. The Cherubim behind us had reached the edge of the marshes a few kilometers back and were tromping through the reeds. They had split their force into seven columns, two on each side arcing wide in a pincers movement. At the rate they were moving they could easily encircle and entrap the ground party if they didn't haul ass.

But haul ass, they did. Oliver got them up and moving at a good clip, practically at a jog. Not as fast as the Cherubim but fast enough to reach the cliffs before the pincers closed, in only they could sustain the pace. With some dismay I noticed Lille and Bern in the rear of the group, struggling to keep up with others. I wished now that I had made a couple more wing joints.

The cliffs ahead were slashed with diagonal fractures and fissures. I couldn't spot any obvious routes up that wouldn't require mad rock climbing skills and gear. I hoped that Olivier knew what he was doing and we weren't just marching into a wall.

The first terrace of the mountain was blanketed in a thick, viny cloud forest not unlike those I had seen atop the now fallen mesas in the lower valley. The second tier was studded with the ruins of an ancient city—the jagged stubs of towers, stoned builds, most without roofs though some were encased in wooden scaffolds.

I knew this place. This was the lost city where I had accidentally awakened my first Old One—Mr. O.

Three dragonflies bearing riders swooped off the upper terrace, skimming the tree tops of the lower tier—the first mounted insects I had seen since coming back after the invasion. They were a welcome sight after passing so many broken and empty exoskeletons on the march.

More flying objects appeared on the periphery. I spun around and took inventory of everything in the sky with me. The speck off to my right was Tyler, the most conservative and deliberate of us fliers. He liked to hover at a constant height keeping pace with the marchers, so he was easy to identify in the air.

Ahead of me, Kitt was half again as high as the rest of us, testing the limits of her ceiling. She liked being up high, that one. Detmar was far behind us, swooping low to buzz the middle three columns of Cherubim ploughing through the marshes behind us. He was playing with fire. All it took was the annoyance of a single Seraph to make them spring into action to blast him out of the sky.

But there was something else just within the ring of mountains, cruising over the Cherubim armies that seemed to be waiting in reserve. It was too far to discern, and poorly contrasted, dark against dark, against the forested hillsides.

A speeding blur came speeding at me. I flinched, but it was only Kitt, motioning for me to descend. Below us, Olivier stood atop a jagged boulder, waving his arms. Kitt and I landed simultaneously on either side of him. Tyler and Detmar dropped in moments behind us.

"We just got word," said Olivier. "We're doing the swap right here. Petros says they're bringing the prisoner in by air. I'm sending the group on ahead to get behind the lines."

"Those cliffs ... I didn't see a way up them."

"I know. The group's gonna make for that gully on the right where the Dusters' are holed up. Nobody's comfortable going to the Frelsians."

"What do you want us to do?" said Kitt.

"I want Tyler to escort the refugees to the Duster's barricade. Stay close. Watch out for anything fishy. Kitt and Detmar, I want you to keep an eye on the Cherubs coming up behind us. Stay out of range. They do anything aggressive, hit them hard. But watch out, they're deadly accurate with their projectiles. James, I want you to intercept the condor that's coming in and make sure they're bringing in our prisoner and that she's okay. If everything's cool, signal me with a loop de loop. If there's a problem, you come flying straight back here. Got it?"

"Condor?"

Olivier pointed to a dark blotch in the sky behind my head.

"And watch out for the gunner in the front cage. Their ballistas are supposed to be disarmed. But if you see him arm the mechanism, you blast him. In fact, if he as much as lifts his finger to scratch his nose, you get that sword of yours ready."

"Please. That will not be necessary," said Petros.

"For your sake I certainly hope so because you, Mr. Seraph, are next on my hit list if anything bad goes down here."

Most of the marchers had veered off towards the Duster lines, but a few hung back, Bern and Lille among them.

"Go! God damn it! What are you waiting for? An invitation?"

Lille's eyes sought and captured mine. "Be very careful, James?"

"No unnecessary risks?" said Bern, leaning on his staff.

"Get the fuck out of here! Now" said Olivier. I took off with the other scouts and the stragglers left only Olivier and Petros standing by the boulder.

***

I gained altitude and flew toward the gangly mass of membranes and struts gliding towards us from the outer rim. It looked more like a bat than a bird with its angular joints and claw-like protrusions. There were was a cluster of seven cages attached to the craft, each with an occupant. The front-most cage bristled with spikes. I assumed that was what Olivier meant by 'ballista.'

I wasn't close enough yet to discern the presence of any prisoner, but we were closing on each other fast. My sword's hilt was slick in my sweaty palm. Olivier's anxiety was infectious. He acted as if he expected something to go wrong with the transfer.

I twirled around to check on the others. The ground party had hustled almost halfway between the boulder and the Dusters' barricade. Tyler stayed low above the stragglers, drifting backwards, facing me. The hand-carved dummy rifle stock he used to focus his emanations was tucked under his arm.

As they neared the barricade a swarm of man-sized ants burst out from beneath and raced out into the wash, brandishing their jagged mandibles, forming a protective cordon behind our people. A half dozen mantids burst over the berm and landed behind the line of ants I was relieved to see Bern and Lille thread their way behind this arc of defenders.

When I turned back around, the condor was much closer and I could almost make out the occupants of the cages. One cage deep within the cluster held a single pilot. Even with three sets of wings so huge, the device only took one soul to operate. Another pod, below the pilot held an array of skids and talons that apparently supported the craft when it was on the ground. The rest of the cages, as far as I could tell were for passengers—one holding someone lying limp and prone. The prisoner? I refrained from signaling Olivier until I knew for sure.

Kitt and Detmar patrolled above the Cherubim columns closing their pincers around Olivier and Petros. The scouts flitted to and fro, maneuvering evasively, harrying, almost to the point of taunting them.

On the verge of achieving their encirclement, the Cherubim now seemed in no great hurry now. Their pace slowed. Their weaponized limbs remained slack at their sides.

The condor swooped past me and I wheeled around to follow it in, staying in a position where the ballista gunner could not get a shot off against me. I found an angle that gave me a clear look at the passenger cage in question and glided in a little closer.

As I did, the prone individual sat up and opened her eyes, piercing me with an utterly calm and sober gaze. Not a hint of fear or concern modified her expression.

I knew this soul! This was Victoria, the master shape shifter who had once roamed the tunnels of Root to recruit souls worthy of Frelsi. Once, she had even made Luther believe she was his prisoner to toy with him, making him look like an utter amateur. No wonder she was not flustered in the least.

I broke off my pursuit and made several huge loops, signaling Olivier. I trailed behind the gently descending condor, which had extended its wings for maximum lift as it glided gently down to the sandy flat, where Petros and Olivier remained in wait by the boulder.

The condor pulled up just before landing and the lowermost cage opened, dropping Victoria onto the sand from a ten foot height. She twisted around like a cat and landed on the balls of her feet. She then strolled past Olivier without a greeting or even a glance, heading straight for the cordon of ants and mantids.

Two Hashmallim bearing crossbows left their cages and came forward to assist Petros. Olivier undid the Seraph's binds. They shook hands. And Olivier handed over the pair of wings he had kept strapped on his back the entire march.

An argument seemed to ensue. I hovered low to see what was happening. Olivier waved me away frantically.

"Go! Get the hell out of here!" he said. "They want your wings!"

A gooey and elastic strand came whipping up from the condor. It wrapped around one of my spars. In a flash, without having to think, I swept my blade and cut myself free just as I was wrenched out of the sky.

I almost crashed into the gravel but I caught my balance and darted away, as Olivier struggled with the Hashmallim who seemed to be attempting to take him prisoner know.

That feeling in my belly that sometimes took so long to conjure flared up this time without effort. My indignation over-ruled any hesitation and cowardice I might have felt and a blast of blue plasma came swirling out of my sword tip, carving a deep rut across the gravel, knocking one of the Hashmallin into the dirt.

Olivier freed himself from the other Hashmallim and went running after Victoria who strode calmly towards the Duster lines, oblivious to the altercation. Petros in the meantime, tucked himself into the vacated cage in the condor's undercarriage while the gunner cranked the loading mechanism of his ballista.

Kitt and Tyler came screaming past, unloading blasts of their own from their weapons that carved up the ground and raised dust clouds around the condor. A barrage of spikes came blasting out of the condor. They converged on Olivier as he fled and one impaled the back of his thigh, dropping him to his knees.

I roared with anger and let loose another blast from my sword. This one smashed into the ballista cage, shattering its mechanism and scattering its spikes across the gravel.

The Hashmallim re-boarded the condor just as its six wings lifted and pumped and thrust it into the air. Kitt and Tyler circled it, peppering it blasts that tore holes into the wing membranes that healed almost as quickly as they were created.

The ground party had now reached the barricade and I could see Bern clamber on top and help Lille up. A mantid had leapt forward and its rider hopped down to help Olivier while the ants rushed forwards to chase the condor which was slow in gaining altitude and barely kept out of reach of the snapping mandibles. The other mantids had taken to the air on pursuit.

"Falcons incoming!" Tyler shouted.

I maneuvered around to find a formation of smaller flying craft, each equipped with a beak and claws and manned by two Hashmallin—one controlling the wings and the other handling the ballista.

"What the fuck?"

The falcons came in fast and hard. Two peeled away from the formation and went after Kitt. Detmar came zooming up from the barricades to assist her.

She managed to dive away in time to elude one's grasp but the other slammed straight into Detmar, shredding his wings and smashing its frame. Detmar went tumbling straight down from a horrible height, his body slamming onto the rocky riverbed.

Tyler came hurtling towards the Duster lines as a third falcon came winging after him. This falcon was met by a barrage of Duster plasma erupting from the barricade and went crashing into the tangle of stumps.

I had a falcon on my tail as well but it weaved as I swerved, anticipating my movements. I could not get a clear shot off. I maneuvered erratically hoping to shake my unseen pursuer.

The Dusters on their mantids, in the meantime had joined the fray. All six of them, with Olivier riding the back of one. All set their scepters blasting and forced two of the falcons to retreat.

But the fourth remaining on my tail, resisting my efforts to elude it. The condor, meanwhile, lifted slowly like a crane down the river valley, it powerful wings beating slowly, membranes stretching and filling like the sails of a clipper ship.

Victoria stood atop the barricade and placidly watched the battle unfold like some spectator at an air show. She made no attempt to participate or intervene. A Duster had to grab her arm and drag her towards safety. I wondered if she had been drugged.

Something slammed into me hard. The wing frame crunched. A talon pierced my shoulder and I was suddenly hurtling perpendicular to my original direction. The fourth falcon had found me, plucking me out of the sky with its powerful talons.
Chapter 28: New Axum

Blood poured down my arm and dribbled off my fingertips. The falcon's mechanical talons had crunched into my shoulder, jutting between my bones, prying them apart. I screamed like I had never screamed before.

The falcon veered away from the friendly lines of the resistance, carrying me off towards the edge of the basin where the main Cherub army had massed. A silvery blur came flying up from below. Kitt! Dodging ballista spikes, she swooped in close beside me. Latching on, she tried to pull me free of the talons, but its grip was firm.

"My wing's cracked. Even if you free me I'll drop like a stone."

"I'll hang onto you. We'll glide."

"No! Then they'll get you too!"

Another falcon came buzzing by, holding its fire to avoid hitting its comrade.

"Get the fuck away! Go! Get out of here!

She released and flew alongside me. The second falcon made another pass and this time unleashed a barrage of spikes. They tore through her wings but somehow missed her body. But then came another flurry and a spike tore into her wing joint, partially jamming her hindmost set of wings.

It threw her off kilter and she veered away. She shared one last sad and hopeless glance before she turned around and fluttered back to the safety of the Duster lines.

With Kitt gone, the falcon set down behind the foremost line of Cherubim, a wide and sparse screen of skirmishers. They dragged me across a patch of rocky ground before coming to a halt.

A Hashmal clambered out of the ballista cage. He barely glanced at me, more interested in the wings. Puzzlement creased his face as he inspected them. Luther and Olivier had not copied their membrane material precisely. Their membrane was stiffer, more like Tyvek than skin, and was not capable of spontaneous healing. Only the elastic engine of the joints was a perfect copy. The Hashmal now knew what his Lords had denied. Our wings were copied not stolen.

I wondered what they planned to do with me. Did they even know who I was? Did it matter?

I dreaded being someone's prisoner again after my experience in that basement dungeon in Edmund's church. Maybe I had some value for some future prisoner swap. They had returned Victoria in fairly good shape, physically at least.

I wondered if I would be brought in front of their mysterious Lords. Probably they would just make me the responsibility of some underling Hashmallim. In any case, I was about to learn a lot more about the Liminality. I felt no fear, just a little uneasiness over what was to come next.

I gained solace in knowing that as a Hemisoul, due to fade at any time. That gave me a good chance of escaping since I doubted these fools would hang out and wait for me to come back. And maybe, if I was lucky, I would never return to this shit hole. God knows I had extra incentive now to stick around the living world.

The Hashmal climbed back into his cage. The talons retracted from my shoulder and regathered my wings with me still harnessed in, but this time without impaling me. Blood gushed freely from my wound, but not as much as I would have expected if an artery had been slashed.

It took some vigorous beating to lift off the ground with my dead weight dangling from the harness but those six gangly wings were up to the task. We banked along the wall of hills lining the basin, heading for the gorge leading down into the lower valley.

In a panic, the pilot and gunner shouted at each other in some unfamiliar and incomprehensible language. A swarm of ballista spikes went spraying out. Something thudded into the falcon, instantly blunting its forward momentum. I squirmed around to see a giant dragonfly with a rider latched onto the ballista cage. The rider left her saddle and clambered over the dragonfly's head to attack the ballista gunner, stabbing through the gaps with the pointy end of her scepter. She wore the scaly garb of a Duster but her face was far from gray.

The pilot struggled to keep the falcon in the air while the dragonfly chomped and clawed at the cage and framing, tearing away the ballista housing while helping keep the falcon aloft with its own wing beats. The rider swung down onto the talons that held me.

It was Urszula.

"You strong enough to climb?" she said, her expression calm and focused.

"I think so."

She pulled me free of the harness and helped me maneuver back to the dragonfly. I knew those patchwork wings, its cells and veins mended and spliced after many battles.

Lalibela.

With the falcon skimming and scraping along the hillside and about to flounder, we scrambled onto the raised saddle mounted high on Lalibela's thorax. With a tap of Urszula's foot, the dragonfly released and we soared away just as the falcon smashed hard into a ledge, scattering wing fragments, cages and crew across the scrubby slope.

***

I slumped forward in the saddle, feeling all giddy and dizzy and weak. I hugged the front horn, which carved from shimmery burl wood, mesmerized by the facets of Lalibela's compound eyes. It was like staring at a thousand polished opals. Nothing about this moment felt real.

With a buzz and a rattle, Lalibela accelerated across the basin, over ranks of Cherubim, advancing in chevrons, obliquely approaching the terraced mountain. No longer statuesque, this time they were quite alert and aware of our presence and challenged us with barrages of projectiles that Lalibela deftly avoided.

We passed over the defense berms. The ants and mantids had returned to the barricades which were also patrolled by rhinoceros and stag beetles armed with bifurcated horns and saw toothed mandibles. I thought I saw Bern and Lille standing with Tyler and other members of the ground party, but they were all too pre-occupied to even notice us.

Lalibela veered hard left, angled steeply upward and accelerated, making straight for the cliffs of the terraced mountain. Just as we seemed about to collide with a column of angular and jagged basalt, Lalibela flitted upward and we were skimming the lower terrace of the mountain, scaring up a dog-sized leaf hopper that Lalibela snatched up to snack on once we landed.

Another abrupt and speedy rise and we had attained the second terrace which held the bulk of the old city of New Axum. What had been a mess of rubble and overgrown ruins was now stripped of vegetation and partially rebuilt. Frelsians, Dusters and reawakened Old Ones mingled in its avenues and alleyways and squares.

Urszula brought her dragonfly down gently on a broad grassy plain meadow had been fenced off for giant insects. Cisterns of water and nectar lined its borders. Besides the usual mantids and dragonflies, the paddock held several petite and elegant damselflies and a strange looking fly with a tail like a scorpion.

Urszula helped me out of the saddle, frowning at the blood soaking my blue hoodie. She peeled away my jacket and probed gently at the puncture wound in my shoulder which had clotted nicely on its own.

"You need to lie down."

"Here?" I looked around at all the giant bugs in the paddock with us. Several mantids had clambered over to watch over us menacingly.

She pulled me down into the tall grass and made me lie flat. Peeling back my T-shirt, she picked out bits of debris with her fingernails. She then went to her saddlebag and pulled out a handful of gelatinous brown goop that she pressed into my wound. With a loop of broad, flat ribbon that adhered to itself and shrank taut when she touched it with her scepter, she wrapped my shoulder tight.

When she was done, she straddled my chest and gazed down at me, a hint of a lip curl almost forming a smile. She swooped down and kissed me on the lips.

"Thank you," I said, gasping.

"For what? The kiss?"

"For ... saving me ... mending me."

"Not for the kiss? What? You don't like? My other boyfriends don't complain."

"No ... uh ... I didn't mean to—"

"Oh, shut up!"

She rolled off and helped me up.

"How you feel? Can you walk?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"So now we go. See Yaqob and Zhang. They are expecting you."
Chapter 29: Zhang

Urszula saw how weak and wobbly I was so she didn't rush me. She steadied me with one arm as I strolled up narrow, cobbled lanes lined with head-high stone walls, through arches and gates across courtyards surrounded by squat and blocky houses shingled with mossy slabs of slate.

At least half of the dwellings we passed had their roofs bashed in. Although some of the damage was ancient, some was clearly recent. Blood spattered some of the ruins.

The courtyards bustled with Hemisouls, Freesouls and Dusters working together all frantic, clearing brush, weaving panels and awnings from sacks of root or simply piling up stones.

"So many people now," said Urszula. "Every day they come. We are not big enough to hold all the refugees who want inside."

"Where are they all coming from?"

"Wide and far," said Urszula. "There is more place here than we knew in Liminality. More souls on surface than just us and Frelsians. And the Penult Lords ... they want kill them all. We are their last hope."

"Holy crap. So place is kind of like ... the Alamo ... of the afterlife."

Urszula squinted back at me, not comprehending.

"This mission ... in Texas. The Mexican Army surrounded it. Famous last stand."

"Ah like ... Masada."

"The what?"

"Jewish fortress in the desert. Sinai. Romans put under siege."

I just shrugged and we continued on up yet another set of stairs to the uppermost tiers of the settlement.

I wasn't really ready to face this Zhang guy. After all I had been through, I just wanted to lay down somewhere cozy and quiet and catch my breath. A fade would have been nice right about now. But Urszula insisted on bringing me up to see the man and his council right away.

The steps led us to a building constructed of huge blocks of stone, many of them chipped and gouged and cracked from barrages both ancient and recent from the differential weathering of the scars.

"This is house for council," said Urszula. Her English had regressed since we were in New Hampshire together.

The council house was a humble, bunker-like space. A ring of simple rooms including kitchens and privies lined its thick outer walls, surrounding a large central chamber. Grooves in the stone—tiny aqueducts—delivered spring water to each room.

The place was busy and crowded. Bees flew in and out, delivering nectar. Aides, messengers and lieutenants buzzed about. As we made our way through, I could see the high mucky mucks of the resistance sitting on the floor around a low table.

I hung back while Urszula pushed through the throng and approached the table. I looked for a place to sit along the back wall. I was feeling kind of shaky.

Noticing my absence, Urszula wheeled around and scowled, throwing up her hands. She came stomping back and grabbed my arm.

"What are you doing over here by yourself?" she hissed. "Come! Don't be shy."

"They ... look busy."

"Idiot. You ... are their business. This meeting is for you. For meet you."

"What?"

She dragged me over to the table. I averted my eyes but Yaqob's stare found me. He gave me the vaguest nod of recognition. Next to him sat this Asian guy with sharp cheekbones and sleek, waxy skin. He looked like some kind of Hong Kong Kung Fu movie star. I'm sure some flesh weaving had to be involved. The Freesoul elite of Frelsi's Sanctuary put a premium on good looks.

Victoria sat beside him, her complexion and hair not nearly as perfect. In fact, she was looking a little disheveled. Her gaze raked over me like a laser. I sensed hostility. Suspicion. What had I ever done to deserve that?

An Old One sat beside her, as still as a stone pillar. I took him for human furniture, stashed away in the long sleep, until his eyes suddenly shifted in my direction.

There was a commotion at the entry. An argument broke out. Olivier rushed in, chased by a pair of Duster guards who seemed determine to evict him.

"Leave him," said Yaqob. "He is with us."

"James!" Olivier beamed. "Thank God! I thought we had lost you."

"Thank ... Urszula."

"Please, take a seat," said the Asian man I presumed to be Zhang.

"Nah. I'm good," said Olivier. "I think better on my feet."

I, on the other hand, was happy to get off my feet. I squeezed myself onto a mat between Yaqob and the Old One. Urszula a place on the other side of Yaqob.

A pair of Frelsian servants, Hemisouls, from the looks of them, brought us some bowls heaped with what looked like multi-colored scabs.

"Welcome to the Resistance Council ... both of you," said Zhang. "I have heard so much about the famous Mr. Moody. I'm so glad we finally have the chance to meet."

"Thanks."

Zhang looked me up and down.

"I have to admit. Though I trusted their judgment, for the longest time I didn't quite understand why the Old Ones insisted on bringing you back here. Of course, I know of your exploits. The raid on the Sanctuary. Your escape from the Deeps. I was actually a Hemisoul when you first raided our fair city. I tended Reapers back then. Your marauders destroyed my pens."

"Wow. So this here is quite a promotion."

Yaqob snickered. Zhang laughed out loud.

"Yes, well ... we all know that upward mobility is often accelerated in times of war. Battlefield promotions and such. But ... these Old Ones. I didn't understand. I thought they were just being grateful for what you did for them."

"I didn't do much," I shrugged. "Just woke some up."

"Are you kidding? It was much more than that," said Zhang, narrowing his eyes. "You put an end to their genocide. We ... Frelsians ... never suspected they were living beings. To us ... they were just ... please, pardon me, but to us they were merely convenient Reaper chow. You're awakening of them opened our eyes as well. We always assumed they were ... dead. Inert, anyway. Unfeeling. Unthinking. Of course, we should have known better. What does 'dead' even mean anymore? But this is not just about what you did for the Old Ones, without whom this Resistance would have folded long ago. I saw those wings you engineered. When Miss Kitt came flying up the terrace on a pair of those things and I learned that you had made them, I have to tell you I was dumbfounded! What a brilliant feat! And then it made all sense to me, this clamor to have you summoned. The Old Ones were not simply being sentimental. They knew what value you brought to our cause."

I squirmed and looked away. I never was good at handling praise. It always struck me as false. Too good to be true. I knew the real truth about myself.

Zhang's face grew serious. "I have to tell you something else, James. I know ... I knew ... your mother."

That certainly got my attention. "My mom? How? Is she okay?"

"She's not in New Axum so we can't be sure. We evacuated much of Frelsi just before they deployed the devices that brought down our mountain. Many of our people are still out and about. A few straggle in every day. Those who can make it past the Cherubim."

"I saw her. In the Sanctuary. She didn't remember me."

Zhang shrugged. "That's not too surprising. Many Freesouls opt to have their memories scrubbed. Many are haunted by regrets and longing for those they left behind. Abandoned. But like all flesh weaving, it's only temporary. Memories seep back, but in increments that are easier to cope with. I guarantee that your mother remembered you. She knew it was you who led the raid on us. She was embarrassed ... but also proud ... if that makes sense to you. She wished you had the chance to learn the ways of Frelsi. We're not bad people. Even the Old Ones forgive us our atrocities. Those from the Deeps have become our friends. It's too bad we couldn't come together sooner. The war weakened us both. If we hadn't fought, perhaps we could have repulsed the first wave of Cherubim."

I didn't know what to say. I feeling kind cowed in the presence of all this leadership. Everybody was staring at me like I was some kind of new zoo exhibit.

"And so, like I said I didn't know exactly what you would be able to do for us, beyond bolstering the morale of our Old Ones, perhaps delaying a few more from returning to the big sleep. But now I understand. These wings. As incredible as they are, this is not the only Penultian technology we wish to possess."

I just sat there and stared. My head swam. I was starting to feel a little woozy again.

Urszula leaned in and whispered into Yaqob's ear.

"The boy needs time to rest and mend," said Yaqob.

"Of course," said Zhang. "We only brought you here to welcome you. Please, go and rest. But you need to understand. Our need is urgent. You saw those armies in the basin. This is the first day in many that they've left us alone. I am sure the siege will soon resume now that their Seraph has been returned. And now that we have our Victoria back...."

Victoria smiled, but there was something odd about her. She looked dazed. Her eyes wandered the room, drifting from face to face as if she were among strangers. This was not the Victoria I knew. Something fundamental had changed.

Zhang shared a concerned glance with Olivier, who strode over and whispered something that made the Frelsian leader nod and frown.

"Miss Urszula will show you to your quarters," he said. "I see your wound has already been attended to but I'll one of our flesh weavers around to see if they accelerate the process. It's good to have you with us, James. I do hope you decide to stick around."
Chapter 30: The Warren

Urszula got up and came over to help me. Good thing too, because I was so weak I don't think I could have risen off the mats on my own. I had never felt so drowsy in all my time in the Liminality. I had to wonder if the falcon talon that had pierced me had been poisoned or something.

Yaqob clapped. "Summon the bees."

A Duster guarding one of the many entrances to the room yanked a lever on a contraption attached to the wall and it emitted a high-pitched scratching sound, like a tree cricket's chirp. Within moments, a swarm of bees zoomed into the room, offering nectar to each of the luminaries gathered around the table.

I accepted a mouthful myself from one insistent bugger, before stumbling towards the exit arm in in arm with Urszula. She led me out of the bunker, down the narrow alleys to a maze of narrow walkways connecting hundreds of one room dwellings in various states of disrepair. Most were unoccupied, and in the process of being cleaned out and rebuilt, but many refugees were already living here.

She brought me to a refurbished space on the far edge of this warren, perched on the lip of lower terrace with a distant view of the basin and the river valley beyond. Dust clouds obscured whatever hostilities might be going on down below.

My room was Spartan but functional. My bed was a heap of rushes covered with crudely woven mats. A groove in the stone delivered a constant trickle of water to a basin. There was even a rattan-like chair made the old fashioned way, with lengths of woody vine bent and lashed together.

"I will ask someone for bring you food," said Urszula. "I am maybe not here when you wake. I am Hemisoul now. Again. Sometimes I go from Liminality."

"Really? You still in the States, on the other side?"

"No," said Urszula. "I have gone to Slovakia. I am more comfortable there."

"That's home for you right?"

She gave me a sad look. "Not so much anymore. I am dead a long time. My family is gone. But the place. I know it. I am more comfortable there."

"Do you still like ... being alive?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Sometimes."

"Do your Duster friends give you a hard time? With that pink skin and all? Fading all the time?"

"Yes. But ... I have no regret."

We looked at each other awkwardly. She had this look in her eyes I couldn't figure out. Sad, but not really. Melancholy, I guess.

"Hey ... uh ... any chance you might have run into Karla over here?"

"Your woman?" said Urszula. Her expression stiffened. "No."

"Just ... wondering." I sighed. "You never know."

"She still comes?"

"I guess. I mean, I imagine she does. Though, she's not all that crazy about this life business."

"And you are?"

"Life? Yeah, sure. I like it. At least I thought so."

"You are ... unhappy?"

"Duh. I mean ... I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. Right?"

"You two. You are still ... together?"

"Depends what you mean by together. We never broke up. But ... she ... uh ... disappeared."

Urszula studied my face, trying to read my feelings, no doubt. I hated when women did that.

"I will leave you now. There are patrols to be done. But I will visit when I can. We have so few—" She gaped at me.

"What's wrong?"

"You are leaving me first. Good. When you come back, you will be strong. And maybe you stay for longer."

"What? Am I fading?" I held up my hand. There was no hand there for me to see.
Chapter 31: The Offer

I awoke alone in a booth on a rolling train. Cloud-filtered sun rippled across rolling fields of green. A can of orange juice sat on the table. A polythene-wrapped egg salad bun sat on a Styrofoam plate. I had been gone too long to still be on a train. Was this a dream?

A small but dapper grey-haired black man across the aisle peeked over the top of his copy of The Economist and smiled at me. He put down the magazine and sat directly across from me.

"Welcome back, Mr. Moody. I trust all is well." He was an American, or at least he spoke like one.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Who do you think?"

"You with the Friends of Penult?"

"Hell, no." He chuckled. "The name's Charles."

"You with Wendell?"

"Bingo!"

I looked around the half empty car. "Where are the girls?"

"Beats me. Dining car, maybe?"

"There are no dining cars on British Rail."

"Well, there used to be."

I twisted around and stared down the aisle. "Where the fuck are they? What did you do to them? Did you ... did—?"

"Relax. Maybe they're off powdering their noses."

"You do anything to my friends and I'll... I'll...."

"You'll what?"

"I'll ... stop cooperating."

"Oh? So your friends in the Liminality don't mean as much to you? They're in greater danger. You're going to sit and watch those Cherubim march right through and exterminate everything in their path? Have you seen them in battle yet? I hear they can be pretty nasty once they get rolling. They're not shy about ripping things apart. Overkill is their modus operandi."

"Why are you here? Did you find her? Did you find Karla?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Not like you're ever going to see her again."

"Wendell told me he was gonna find her."

"He also told you that you can forget about ever seeing her again in this realm."

"So why are you here? And why am I still on this fucking train? How many days have we been traveling?"

"Well, there was a little interruption in service, you might say. We arranged for a delay so I could catch up with you all. Sometimes it's easier schedule things with a captive audience. And as for why I'm here, Wendell sent me to make you an offer."

"Does it involve Karla?"

"I would suppose, indirectly."

"What do you want?"

"We would like ... very much ... for you to consider becoming a Freesoul."

"Fuck! You came to kill me? That's the offer?"

"In a nutshell. But not now. Not even today. Of course, you need to get back to the Liminality and get yourself beyond the influence of the core. New Axum does not suffice. Not enough altitude. I'm assuming you got there safely?"

"Yeah. I'm there."

"Good. The reports we get are kind of sketchy."

"You guys have spies?"

"Informants. Volunteers, mostly. All Hemisouls, of course. But listen. Here is our offer. Let me put it this way. If you want to remain a Hemisoul, there is nothing we can do for you. Karla will remain out of your existence forever. But if you do things our way, perhaps we can arrange a reunion. On the other side."

"You guys have her right now?"

His face was as scrutable as a slab of granite. "I will not confirm or deny that. Not until you agree to our conditions."

"How the fuck am I supposed to get beyond the core? Those Penult fuckers took down the fucking mountain."

"The Liminality is a big place. There are other mountains. You have access to air transports. And not just bugs anymore. I heard you made yourself a nice pair of angel wings."

"You're an assassin. You came to set up a kill."

"A facilitation. It's not like you don't benefit. You get to see your girl again."

"Can you guarantee that she actually wants to see me?"

The man's eyes flitted about. "That's between you and her. Was there some trouble between you two?"

"Shouldn't you guys have figured that out before you came to pitch me a deal?"

"You want to see her again. I saw you perk up when I mentioned the reunion thing. So it doesn't matter if she doesn't want to see you. All that matters is that you want to see her."

I felt queasy. "She doesn't want to see me?"

"I said no such thing. I'm just a messenger. Besides, I wouldn't be privy to anything like that."

"You're more than a messenger. You're an operative. An assassin."

"Maybe. But at the moment I'm just a messenger. I did not come here to harm you, Mr. Moody. Not today. Though, I would be honored to be the man who eases you through the transition when the time comes. You're our future. Our last, great hope. Since Frelsi fell, business had slowed to a trickle. Thanks to Penult, there's very few Freesouls getting made these days."

"F-f-f-fuck this! I'm not ready to die."

"But don't you ever want to see your girl again?"

"Yeah, but...."

"Priorities, Mr. Moody. I've offered you a means to make that happen."

He glanced up as the door to the car opened and the ladies of Brynmawr came bustling through all giggling over some story Helen was raucously relating.

"Ah, your friends are back. Excuse me. You have Wendell's number. Get in touch with us when you're ready." He returned to his seat across the aisle.

Jessica spotted me first. "James! He's awake."

The ladies rushed over and swarmed the booth.

"How are you feeling dear?" said Helen. "You haven't taken any nourishment in over a day."

"Where are we? Why are we still on the train?"

"We were delayed overnight," said Britt. "A train derailed in Oxenholme."

"We walked you through the station like a zombie," said Fiona. "Did you realize that you're able to respond to verbal commands when you're in one of these trances?"

"Good to know, next time we need someone to scrub the toilet," said Jessica. Britt and Fiona giggled.

"No worries dear, we'll be in Glasgow soon," said Helen. "Why don't you have a bite of your bun? It's fresh. We bought it outside the station."

With a wink and a nod, Wendell's associate gathered his magazine and a brown leather satchel. He nodded to me, put on a ball cap and passed down the length of the car, heading for the first class compartment.

"Who was that nice man keeping you company?" said Helen, smiling.
Chapter 32: Visitors

The train finally reached the outskirts of Glasgow and to Helen's great relief I polished off that egg salad sandwich. As we clunked around, switching tracks for the last leg into the station, the ladies argued over the best place to stay on a limited budget.

"Guys. I can pay. Pick someplace nice. Money doesn't matter." I held up my ivory credit card.

Fiona and Britt looked at each other, but Helen stared me down.

"Put that thing away!" she said, as if I were brandishing a dildo.

"An old college mate of mine lives here," said Fiona. "I'm sure she has a spare room or two. She inherited an old terraced house from her grand mum."

"No," said Jessica. "We're dealing with Sedevacantists. Violent ones. You really don't want them to find out where she lives."

"What would they do? Burn her house down?" said Britt.

"They just might," said Helen. "They just might."

"I think some form of public lodging would be more suitable," said Jessica.

So Jess went on her iPhone and Googled up a cheap tourist hotel within walking distance of the train station, reserving one room with two double beds and a rollaway.

I was still deep in a funk brought on by that encounter with Wendell's associate. I felt as nauseous and heavy as in my old bouts of depression, the ones I used to get that brought the firsts roots writhing after me. It had been so long since I had this feeling.

I was in a no-win situation. Trade this life for the mere chance of seeing Karla in the afterlife? What kind of deal was that? We would both end up in the afterlife sooner or later. If I did nothing I would achieve the same result. And yet I felt so horrible I knew the roots would come looking for me soon. I didn't have to agree on any deal.

Though we walked down pavements strewn with vomit and on a day with clouds thick enough to halt all photosynthesis, it was still a day on this precious Earth. The sparrows didn't seem to mind. Neither did the weeds. I, as well, wasn't anywhere near ready to give up my foothold on this existence.

Particularly since they could offer no proof that they had Karla in custody or even knew where she was. But I knew better than to push for more evidence. Wendell was the type who might just chop off one of her fingers and deliver it gift-wrapped.

We passed a chalky-faced man with deep grit-filled creases and scraggly, unkempt hair, his outer clothing reduced to shreds of rag. He stopped me in my tracks. I turned and watched him shamble away, lurching and swaying like a ferry boat in a swell. The guy could have passed for an Old One. Were there Old Ones about in this world?

"What's wrong?" Jessica called back. The other ladies walked on, not even noticing that we had paused.

"Nothing," I said, skipping ahead to catch up.

***

The hotel offered the sort of value you might expect for thirty-nine pounds. The cramped lobby reeked of fungus and cigars. The elevator was out of order. The fourth floor room was dark and oddly shaped, too narrow for two double beds. The toilet had a hairline crack that seeped.

Helen went to war with a rag and a borrowed broom, striking down ancient cobwebs, vanquishing dust bunnies the size of small rats. I retreated to a wobbly chair in the corner, cradling my chin in my hands. Jess came over and whispered.

"James, the girls and I are thinking of making a sortie to a church. We thought it might be good to reconnoiter, check some message boards and parish bulletins and such. St. Aloysius is right here in the city centre. Would you like to come along?"

I could only stare back at her. A tingling had begun in my extremities, quickly spreading to my core.

"Uh-oh, he's got that look again," said Fiona, coming up behind Jess.

The roots this time did not dilly-dally. They ripped my soul right out of this world. My friends' faces receded down a long, dark tunnel.

***

I snapped awake in my quarters on my bed of mats and rushes. A thick and nappy flannel sheet was tucked around me. It was dark outside my doorway but a faint glow emanated from an orb on the floor.

Someone, a woman, was sitting in my wicker chair. I thought at first it might be Urszula. But no. She was too tall. Too stiff.

Victoria.

She held a joint from a Seraph's wing. Over and over, she nudged the business end with her finger and watched it leap through its full cycle.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Ah, he's back."

"Is that one of mine?"

"Yours? It was salvaged from a wreck."

"Detmar? Is he—?"

"He did not survive ... this present realm, anyhow."

"Shit."

"And how are you doing? "How goes the wunderkind? Feeling better?"

"Wunderkind? Excuse me?"

"You are the boy wonder, are you not? The old soul? The chosen one? That's what they all say about you. Who knew? I remember you, from your days with Luther. Never suspected you might be a master."

"Master?"

"Stop it with the false humility."

"What are you doing in my room?"

"I came to see the boy wonder. And see how receptive he might be to some ... alternative ... pathways."

"Huh?"

"You don't want to be here. I see that. And you don't need to. This is not your battle."

"Wait a minute. You guys wanted me here."

"Zhang wanted you here, but only because the Old Ones insisted."

"I don't understand. Aren't you part of them ... the resistance?"

She shrugged. "I adore my friends. My sympathies remain with Frelsi. But this ... impasse ... with Penult ... is unsustainable. New Axum will fall. It is inevitable. And I hate to say ... the sooner the better. I have seen what is coming this way. The sooner New Axum falls the better it is for all concerned. Many more souls will be saved from the Deeps and worse. Zhang knows this, but sees no other choice but to fight. But you and I, we have the power to sway the outcome. If I can make you understand. You don't even have to lift a finger. Just ... do nothing. Your injuries are excuse enough. Just stay put and let what happens happen. No one will blame you. The results will be gentler than ... otherwise."

"Holy crap. You're on their side. They turned you."

"Sides? What sides? There are no sides. We are all human. We all have souls. We're in this together. The Lords simply want to restore the old order."

There was something absent from her eyes now. Part of her seemed not just altered but missing.

"My God, what did they do to you?"

Her brows pinched together in annoyance. "Do to me? They did nothing! I was treated well and fair. Better than I deserved after all the havoc I wrecked on them. I fought hard to defend my city from their shock troops after it had already crumbled. But now ... let's just say I understand the bigger picture now. I appreciate the perspective of the Lords. They don't attack us out of evil. On the contrary. They want every soul to succeed. There is a right way and a wrong way. There needs to be order."

"Not evil? Did you hear what they do to those Cherubs? Olivier says they got rid of their souls. Just ripped them out. Discarded them. Kept only the bodies."

She sniffed. "Souls can't be destroyed. Not here, anyway. Their souls still exist, just in another receptacle." She shrugged. "And yes it seems awful, I cannot deny it. It's terrible what they have to do to make a Cherub. But don't think it doesn't pain the Lords. They do these things only out of necessity. They are people, James, not monsters."

"You're one of them. They made you one of them. You're a Seraph or a Hashmal."

"One of them?" Her jaw stiffened. "Why not one of us? What do you know of them? They know more of you, James than you know of their ways. Of course, they don't know everything, but they are aware of your significance. You need to understand that I have our people's best interests at heart. Like I always have. It's just that now I see things more clearly. There is a reason we have Root and the Deeps and all the other realms that filter and vet souls. There needs to be order. Many souls are simply not ready to exist in the upper realms. Sadly, some will never attain them. It's the way of the universe."

She leaned forward in the chair, studying me, probing my reaction. "Careful, James. Learn who it is you're fighting before you dive in too deep. There are reasons for why things are the way they are."

Her eyes widened. Her head whipped towards the open window. "Someone is coming." She rose abruptly from the chair. "Excuse me, but I am not in the mood for company." She hurried to the door. "I trust you will be discrete about our conversation. There will be further overtures. All I ask is for you to keep an open mind. When the time comes, when this mountain crumbles, and believe me, it will fall. Find me. Follow me. I can take you to the Lords."

***

Moments after she left, a figure appeared at the door, cloaked in shadow. With careful, cautious steps the man entered until the glow from the orb illuminated his form and face. Olivier.

"Hey guy! What's up? You're looking a lot better. How do you feel?"

"Um. Okay, I guess. A little confused."

He glanced out the window. "Did you just ... have a visitor?"

"Yeah. Uh. Victoria."

"Really? Huh. Well, I guess people are excited about you coming here, and not just the brass. Everyone's talking about you, even in the camps. I know I should let you rest, but I was getting antsy. We've got lots to talk about. Nice to see you stuck around. I wasn't even sure you'd be here."

"I actually did go back ... for a little while."

"Oh? Where are you hanging out these days?"

"Glasgow, at the moment."

"Any luck ... with Karla?"

"Nah. But ... I'm thinking ... Zhang's people might be holding her."

Olivier scrunched his face. "What? Why?"

"Extortion. They want me here. They want to keep me here, so they keep me miserable."

"Shit. You mean to tell me Zhang is pulling this crap on you?"

"I don't know if it's him specifically or if it's just the Facilitators."

"Sounds like we need to have a talk with them. That ain't right."

"Yeah, well. I'm not sure I know what's right or wrong anymore. But if I had my druthers, I'd rather work with the Dusters. They don't mess with my head, and at least I know where they're coming from."

"Yeah, well. We've got no choice but to work with Frelsi in the short term. But I know what you're saying, kid. The Deeps changes you. Anyone who's ever been there understands. There's no pretense, just ... brotherhood. The Frelsians, they don't understand. But they're just one step from the Deeps themselves."

I reached for my blood-stained hoodie. "I want out of here. Off this mountain. I'll fight, but not here. Can we ... when can we leave?"

"Hang on, kid. Hold your horses. I get what you're coming from, but we can't do this without the Frelsians. They have something. Something big. And it might make the difference between winning and losing. They need your help to make it happen."

"What are you talking about?"

He looked out into the darkness. "You fit to walk? Let me show you."
Chapter 33: The Grotto

I could have used another forty winks but Olivier was chomping at the bit. I peeled off the covers and dragged myself off the sleeping mat.

My shoulder throbbed and tingled, but it was nothing that would hold me back. I was feeling pretty good for a guy who had just been impaled by talons as thick as railroad spikes. The old arrow wound in my chest actually hurt more, but that ache was ever-present. I had gotten used to it on both sides of existence.

I reached for my hoodie and pulled it on, still damp with blood, but someone had repaired the punctures the talons had made in the cloth.

We left my room and turned the corner into the warren. I knew instantly that I could never find my way back here on my own. My room was but one insignificant nook buried amidst a baffling network of lanes and corridors and courtyards with no discernible pattern or plan.

Orb-like footlights cast their soft glow along the base of every wall, but did little to illuminate the logic of the place. Alleys veered off and doubled back seemingly at random. I suppose if I stayed here long enough the place would eventually reveal itself, but I had no intention of sticking around long enough for that to happen. This was not my place. I was a stranger here.

I'm not sure how Olivier knew where to go, but somehow he found his way. As we maneuvered through this bewildering puzzle of a city, the sky began to brighten. The warren gradually shed its burden of shadows.

We passed through a gap in a tall wall that surrounded the warren like it was some shameful ghetto. Crossing a broad avenue we entered a neighborhood of larger dwellings with more spacious courtyards. They had taken the brunt of a bombardment, however, so only hints of their former glory remained amidst the rubble.

There were plenty of souls out and about already engaged in their restoration, clearing debris, fitting bricks and stones together and fusing them without the need for mortar.

It startled me to see so many Dusters and Frelsians worked side by side. Whatever had separated them on the front lines, segregation was clearly not an issue here.

Here and there, occasional Old Ones sat or reclined in diverse corners. The workers took pains not to disturb them, allowing them to remain in their resting places unless a particular renovation absolutely could not proceed without moving them.

Without much warning, we arrived at the brink of the upper terrace. A broad retaining wall separated a promenade from the cliff's edge. The wall was breached in many places. This damage all looked recent.

I peeked out over a jungled plateau. Giant insects flexed their wings atop the trees, catching the sun, and refracting it through their prismatic membranes. The forest was riddled with many gaps from Penultian artillery rounds that fell short of their mark.

The promenade swarmed with defenders who patrolled in groups on foot. Olivier led me to an archway where two sets of broad steps carved into the side of the cliffs, angled off in opposite directions, zig-zagging down the face. One staircase was vacant, but the other was queued with heavily laden refugees making their way up from the lower terrace.

"Newbies," said Olivier. "Anyone who's made it this far has already been cleared. All the vetting is done down below in the valley."

"Who don't they let in?"

"Spies. Infiltrators. But it's pretty easy to spot Hashmals and Seraphs."

"Oh?"

"Scars. Crisscrossed up and down their backs. Not sure what that is all about. Ritual scarification maybe? Some kind of initiation mark. They look too neat to be whip lashings. Whatever it is, it can't be undone by flesh weaving."

We stopped to watch some of the new arrivals haul their belongings up the last flight of steps.

"Some of them wait for days," said Olivier. "It's pretty dangerous for them in the valley, even behind the front. But here, at least, the cannons can't reach, at least not where they're currently deployed. These root cannons—horrible, clever things. They plug into the ground and suck in masses of raw root. The stuff feeds in continuously. Once they fire, they never need to stop and reload. They're freaking death factories, churning out self-propelled projectiles that fly for miles. When they hit, they explode into living shrapnel. Stuff that hops and crawls, tearing into anything that gets in its way, like vicious little baby snakes."

"Jeez. Sounds awful. Like Fellstraw."

"Worse. The Dusters think they've destroyed most of them, thankfully, but the Seraphs still have a couple they hold in reserve ... for special occasions ... like when their Lords come to visit and want a show."

We continued on down the mostly empty down stairway. Halfway down the cliff face, we paused at a broad landing, where the stairs switched direction. The landing for the up staircase was only a stone's throw away.

Some porters ferrying supplies to the armies below had stopped to rest and partake in nectar and manna.

"How are you holding up?" said Olivier.

"I'm good. There's nothing wrong with my legs."

On the opposite landing, in the crowd of refugees, a young woman caught my eye. She was about Karla's size with the same shoulder length brown hair. She even moved with Karla's distinctive grace.

"Can't be," I said. She was quite a distance away and kept her back towards me. I leaned out over the retaining wall, straining for a better look.

"What's wrong?"

"That girl. She kind of looks like Karla."

I shouted her name. Several refugees turned and squinted at me, but not the girl. She continued on up the stairs without a glance.

Desperate, I studied the cliff face, looking for a crack or a ledge that would allow me to inch my way to the other landing, but the sheer, basalt face offered no such possibility. I shouted again.

"Karla! Here! Over here!"

"Are you sure that's her?"

"I ... I think so."

"Come on, let's head down. You can find her later."

"But—"

"No worries. Listen. The Frelsians keep a record of everyone who enters this place. Once she's on the upper terrace, she ain't going anywhere."

All I could think of was the complexity of that warren. It panicked me. How was I supposed to find her if she went into that maze?

I followed dutifully after Olivier, but I was on the verge of breaking away and running back up those stairs. The thing was, I couldn't be entirely sure it was her. How many times back in Rome and Inverness and even Vermont had I spotted Karla in a crowd only to have the person turn out to be a complete stranger?

My mind consumed with the image of that girl walking away, I followed Olivier down to the base of the cliff where the jungle had been cleared away from a triangular opening in the cliff wall between the staircases.

The forest on the lower terrace was dense and lush. Massive trunks supported trees that spread tree-sized boughs over a dark and shady understory, devoid of brush apart from the occasional giant fern. The canopy, in turn, was cluttered and draped with parasitic vines. I could barely see the sky between the branches.

We made our way through the clearing to an enormous and deep grotto guarded by a half a dozen giant rhinoceros beetles that came scurrying up to smell us with their clubbed antennae. They were gentle with us, sliding their antennae over our hair, and then quickly retreating back to their posts and letting us pass.

"How do they know to let us through?"

"Easy. We don't smell like we're from Penult. The beetles can tell."

We passed into the echoing main chamber of the cavern, the lower reaches of which appeared to be a root mine. Whatever natural cavity had been here had been greatly expanded by extensive excavations. The space bustled with warriors dragging several and huge and bulbous devices into the deeper recesses of the cave with skids and pulleys.

"Root cannons," said Olivier. "The Dusters captured a bunch but only these two are in good enough shape for us to use. Once we figure out how to start them we just need a spot to plug in. See those ducts?

"You're gonna fire cannons from this cave?"

"We got no choice. Up here, this is the only source of undifferentiated root. The bedrock on the upper terrace is a couple hundred feet thick."

The war cannons looked more like witches' cauldrons than the howitzers I had pictured when Olivier first described them. They were short and squat with a cavity that could fit four men and two lengths of ribbed ducting with barbed tips intended to burrow deep into the root beds on the plains.

Various fragments of condors and falcons were strewn about—a shattered cage here, a talon, a severed wingtip.

Olivier led me up to a column lying horizontal across some massive saw horses. It was intricately carved and resembled a totem pole though its designs were more abstract than naturalistic.

"This here is a cracker. The Hashmals tried deploying it at the base of this very mesa, hoping to take the whole thing down. But the Dusters pounced before they could initiate it. We have others as well, but they're generally trashed. This one's in the best shape. It's just a bundle of tiny hollow fibers as far as we can tell. No levers or switches. It's just a goddamn telephone pole, basically."

"Why not just destroy it?"

"Why waste it? Why not use it? Turn the tables on the bastards. Yaqob and Zhang want us to make a bunch and drop them into their formations. Give them a taste of their own medicine."

"An eye for an eye?"

"And more. We want to make them to run back wherever they came from with their tail between their legs. Punish the fuckers! Make them wish they never came here."

"You think ...? Is that possible?"

"Listen. Before Penult came and fucked everything up, we had peace on the surface. Yaqob was already meeting with Zhang. And believe it or not, Luther was the grease. He's the one who made it happen. Before the invasion we had a chance to make something really great here, and we can do it again. If anything, the war has brought us even closer together. We just need to get these damned Lords to take their toys and go home."

"So ... what do you want from me?"

"Same thing you did with the wings. Help us figure these things out. We don't even know how to turn the damned thing on. There's no ... switch ... or plunger or trigger. It's just ... a lumpy pole."

I sighed. "I can't promise anything. But ... sure. I'll give it a shot."

"Of course not. But you have a better chance of sussing these out than any other soul I know. Believe me, Zhang has had his best Weavers look these over inside and out. But they're not James Moody."

"Whatever that's supposed to mean."

I went over and examined a cracker column that lay in pieces on the ground. It interior seemed to be a mass of hollow channels and tubes of various sizes, twisting and spiraling around a solid core. The device had no moving parts that I could see, no control panel or anything of the sort.

Over on the side, I spotted a pair of wings—Kitt's—from the looks of them. They had a mottled salmon and turquoise pattern on the membranes, a flourish she had added to make them prettier than the generic grey Luther had initially devised.

"These Kitt's?"

"Yup," said Olivier.

"She okay?"

"As far as I know. She faded back last night. She's a Hemisoul too, you know."

"I figured. Think she would mind if I borrowed these?"

"Borrow them? What for?"

"I need to check on something."

"What about the cracker?"

"I'll be right back. I promise."

"This is about that girl you saw, isn't it? The one you thought was Karla?"

"Yup," I said, as I adjusted straps meant for a more petite frame.

My heart was pounding like a demon as I ran towards the opening of the grotto, wincing as my squeezed my shoulder blades together to get those wings pumping. They burst into action with a flurry of wing beats. My feet left the ground.
Chapter 34: The Assault

I burst out of the grotto like a crazed moth, all six wings churning. A bunch of Duster warriors gathered in the clearing paused their conference to watch me careen about. A mantid roosting in a huge tree flicked its head my way, feasting on one of the overgrown leafhoppers that foraged high in the treetops. It looked like it was considering me for dessert.

I didn't stick around to tempt it. I looped around and caught an updraft that billowed up against the cliffs. I clenched my shoulders, rising, following the up staircase, where knots of souls laden with belongings trudged up the steep stairway to join the burgeoning population of New Axum. I buzzed the uppermost reaches, searching for the girl I had seen earlier.

People flinched and ducked at the sight of me, mistaking me for a Seraph despite Kitt's gaudily decorated wings. I didn't mean to freak them out. Surely, they could see that a soul as scruffy as me was no citizen of Penult.

A Frelsian guarding one of the landings glared at me.

"Go away! You're frightening them."

I hovered close. "Can you help me? I'm ... looking for someone. A girl about twenty. Dark hair. Kind of skinny. She was just here a little while ago."

The guard gave me a look like I was daft.

"Hundreds have already passed this morning. We're evacuating the valleys. The Cherubim are challenging our lines."

"Maybe she spoke to you? Her name is Karla. She's Italian, sort of, but she lives in Scotland and her family is Austrian and Swiss."

The guard shook her head impatiently.

I floated up and over the rim where groups of new arrivals had stopped to catch their breath before wandering the ruins to find a place fix up and call home.

My sudden appearance almost got me blown out of the sky by a patrol as I flew up and down the promenade, scouring every side alley for the girl with the graceful gait. She had better not already faded back.

The warren made a lot more sense from a hundred feet up. I could see its pattern of concentric circles and spokes. The place was bustling with settlers, but Karla or her lookalike were nowhere to be found.

It took a while for me to accept the futility of my search. I had only managed to make a spectacle of myself.

Now I felt bad for ditching Olivier. I flew back to the promenade, straight over the brink, and let myself drop straight down, the wings tilting just enough to kill most of the lift, but controlling my fall like a parachute.

There was way more going on in those wing engines than mere flapping. The things were somehow attuned to the nervous systems of their wearers, anticipating maneuvers and executing them before we even had to think about them. My problem earlier, was trying to force it. All you had to do was to let it happen.

The way I descended kind of matched my mood. I felt deflated. Defeated. If this had been another realm, roots would have been clamoring for my soul. But I was already in their realm. In Root, there was no escape from the blues.

The Dusters I had seen hanging out in the clearing outside the grotto were now frantic, saddling up the mantids they had called down from their perches. One mantid rider kept watch from the treetops, sitting tall, staring across the terrace, his mount's spiky forelegs raised and ready for battle.

I nearly shit my pants when I spun around to see what had prompted all this activity. A flight of seven condors flying high was heading straight for the mountain. We were about to be raided.

A pair of Dusters on dragonflies screamed past us, one zooming off to the upper terrace, the other taking a bee line to a larger camp in another clearing.

I glided just above the canopy, passing across the entire mile-wide shelf. When I reached the edge of the lower set of cliffs, I freaked.

Down below, a column of Cherubim was advancing on the outermost barricade of one of the side valleys that embraced the terraced mountain holding New Axum. The barricade looked daunting and deep and well defended by Frelsians and their armored Reapers. I thought for sure that the narrow column of Cherubim would be easily repulsed.

And most of this vanguard did indeed fall, but the mixed column kept coming, bashers bashing, slingers slinging, until it had been used up like a candle burning down past a nub.

I hovered just beyond the edge of the cliff, watching as a second column followed up the initial attack, trampled the remains of its predecessor, attacking the barricade in exactly the same spot and meeting pretty much the same fate. But then a third column came up and a fourth and they both punched through the center of the barricade like a dagger through a melon, penetrating deep behind the Frelsian lines before turning and broadening their line of attack against the flanks. Their fervor for battle never flagged despite losing more than half their strength.

The Frelsians manning the barricade had no choice but to abandon the wall or be exterminated. A squadron of ant riders charging down the valley to reinforce arrived too late and found themselves caught up in the mad retreat. Some managed to filter through to screen the fleeing Frelsians from being picked off by surviving Cherubim who continued to fan out to span the valley bottom as yet more columns advanced unopposed through the outer barricade.

The retreating Frelsians reached the second line of barricades with most of their force intact, but the Cherubim now had access to the cliffs and to my disbelief, began to climb straight up the sheer slides. New Axum had felt so safe. I couldn't stand the thought of these Cherubim marching on and slaughtering all those unsuspecting refugees.

Without even thinking, I dove and buzzed them, drawing a barrage from a bunch of slingers arrayed across the valley bottom to protect the climbers from air attacks. Projectiles ripped through my wing membranes, but I was able to keep on flying, this time keeping my distance.

The climbers were yet another category of Cherub with special limbs adapted for climbing, with bony blades and wedges that could be jammed into cracks, securing themselves to the cliff wall. Another type of mutant lashed onto their comrades with tentacle-like limbs. Together they made a broad human scaffold that the other Cherubim could climb. The top of this ladder was already halfway up the cliff wall and climbing.

Like an idiot, I had left my sword in the grotto, so I had nothing to focus my energy but my fingers. I tried summoning a blast, and while I had no trouble generating that churning feeling in my midsection, what came out was diffuse, buffeting the climbers with no more than a gentle gust of wind.

I squeezed my shoulders so hard it hurt and soared back up to the lower terrace. Duster warriors were racing along the forest paths to reach the rim, but they were so few. Once the scaffold reached the cliff rim, Cherubs would pour onto the lower terrace and overwhelm it.

The seven condors, meanwhile, were still closing in. It was clear now that they were aiming straight for the open ledges directly above the climbers.

Indecision and panic froze me into inaction. I wanted to go back to the grotto to fetch my sword, but I didn't want to leave the scene with the condors about to strike.

Frustrated, I landed on the ledge, unstrapped the wings, and snapped off a bleached and grey branch from a gnarled and stunted tree that clung to life on the bleak stone. If it worked for Urszula, why not me? Why did I even need a sword? We all knew that the power that made these weapons work came from within each of us.

With the condors coming right at me, I raised that stick, pointing it at the center of the formation and waited for my stomach to churn. Again, I had no trouble conjuring the feeling. In fact, this was going to be a good one. Question was, could I focus it?

The band of Dusters I had seen running along the paths burst out of the forest and joined me. They smiled broadly at the sight of me, forming a line along the ledge and raising their own scepters.

The condors were coming in fast. It was now or never. But just as I was ready to release a blast, an array of hands with bony hooks latched onto the ledge. The scaffold had reached the top of the cliffs.

The Dusters were already unleashing balls of plasma at this threat, allowing the condors to approach unscathed. I kept my focus on the lead condor, and with the most certainty I had ever felt, unleashed a tight ball of plasma from the end of that stick that arced right into the central cage of the lead condor, taking out the pilot. The condor dropped and veered right into the path of the one beside it, talons tangling and hauling the second condor straight down into the valley.

The remaining five condors came in unscathed, stalling and touching down lightly on the ledges in a widely dispersed row. Cherubim—bashers all—boiled out of the cargo cages, six per condor and came charging at us.

Three mounted mantids bounded in beside us and pounced on the bashers, raking at their limbs. We advanced behind the mantids. I was too caught up in the moment to even think about the risk.

One of the mantids snatched up a basher in its forelimbs and tossed it off the cliff. I wash able to conjure a blast every few seconds, though I had lost some of my focus. My force could knock a basher off his feet but could not cripple him.

Meanwhile, our right flank was crumbling. Three Dusters had already fallen and were pummeled to a pulp by the basher's club-like limbs. The first wave of climbers came over the rim of the cliff, slashing with their blades of serrated bone.

The condors turned and took off, abandoning their human cargo to the battle. They plunged off the cliff to gain velocity and lift as a flight of dragonflies came screaming down on them, blasts from their riders taking out two more.

A large band of Frelsians joined the fray, shoring up the right flank, felling bashers with arrows and blades driving them back to the brink of the cliff.

The bashers got the better of one of the mantids, cracking its limbs, bringing it down, bludgeoning it till the exoskeleton was cracked like a hard-boiled egg. But two more mantids arrived emerged from the treetops joined by a horde of angry ants.

Together we managed to work our way to the cliff face where we could send blasts into the scaffold, peeling off climbers several at a time until only a narrow ladder connected the mass of Cherubim trying to climb up from below. With the bottleneck thus created, we gained the upper hand, and a well-aimed blast from a dragonfly rider finally broke the scaffold, disconnecting the ladder from the rest.

Down in the valley, the Frelsians who had been driven back to the second line of barricades counterattacked with a force of armored Reapers, each bearing several warriors on a fighting platform. They assaulted the base of the scaffold, cutting it off from the main force, causing much of the scaffold to tumble, leaving only a mass of disconnected climbers clinging to the cliff face. Harrying dragonfly riders picked them off one by one.

The Hashmallim guiding the main Cherubim force below called off the assault. What remained of the attack columns retreated behind the main barricade, which was already defended by a reserve force of Cherubim.

One of the mantid riders hopped off his mount and approached me, beaming.

"You are the James?" he said.

"The James, yup."

He grabbed me and hugged me, a little too long and hard for my comfort.

"It is good to have you." He stepped back and stared at me like he wanted to kiss me.

I didn't feel like I had done much, actually. But if he was happy, I was happy. I went back and found my wings, strapping them on, while the Dusters attended to their fallen.

More dragonflies had shown up in the meantime and helped polish off the last of the climbers dangling from the cliff face. A team of Frelsians went to work dismantling the crashed condor, extracting the precious wing mechanisms for recycling.

I fluttered off back to the grotto, whose defenses had been bolstered by another half dozen beetles, each of which it seemed had to come up and give me a sniff before they would let me through. Olivier stood at the entrance looking a little annoyed.

"There was an attack! I helped fight—"

"I heard," said Olivier. "Good going. Now ... can we get back to business?"
Chapter 35: Retaliation

When I peeled myself out of Kitt's wings, I noticed all the rips caused by those slingers' projectiles. Kitt was going to kill me if I didn't get them fixed. I tried fusing the ragged ends together with a little weaving, but my repairs ended up turning large patches of the colorful membranes gray. I hope she wouldn't be too pissed, once I explained the circumstances. Of course, I would have to leave out the part about me borrowing them to chase after Karla.

"Nice weapon," said Olivier, admiring at my scraggly twig of a scepter.

I shrugged. "Had to make do. I forgot my sword. Again."

"You don't really need that sword. You realize that, don't you?"

"I know, but ... it's got sentimental value. And this spell craft stuff seems to go better for me if I have something solid and metal in my hand."

"That's all in your head," said Olivier. "It's a matter of confidence."

"Not to mention, sometimes it's nice to be able to hack and stab at things."

"True."

He stood at the entrance to the grotto, staring out across the lower terrace where flights of dragonfly riders were patrolling the rim.

"Things are about to get interesting in New Axum, now that the Cherubim have access to this mesa."

"Does this mean we're officially under siege?"

"Not quite. We still hold the gulches on either side. And as long as we do we have an escape route and a way to get things in and out. But it's probably only a matter of time before we get cut off."

He sighed and pushed through the heavy draperies that now enclosed the entrance. The interior was now illuminated by glowing balls of root held in sconces. He sauntered over to the cracker laying propped over two sawhorses.

"I've been studying these and I think it's the same concept as those wing joints ... just more complicated."

I couldn't help smirking. "So it's the same, but different?"

"Don't be a wise ass." He ran his finger down a groove down the length. "I'm not sure what makes it go, but somehow it plugs into the root structure, manipulates it in a broad and expanding arc, three hundred sixty degrees all around."

"That's supposed to help me?"

"Just saying. If we can even figure out how to turn the damned thing on, that would be a big step forward. Of course, we don't actually want to turn it on just yet. Not here."

"Well, duh."

I ran my own fingers over the knobby surface of the column. It was engraved with ridges and grooves, curling and twining like Celtic knots. Several protuberances were covered with small bumps no larger than goose pimples. The base of the column bore many indentations lined with millions of tiny pores.

I had no idea where to start. There was nothing on the device that looked like an obvious control.

Olivier clapped his hand on my shoulder.

"You take your time with it. Meditate. Do whatever you need to do. I can arrange to have some meals brought down to you. We can even set up a little nap space for you if that helps."

I started to feel a little panicky.

"Olivier. I'm not so sure I can help you out with this one. This might be a little out of my league."

"That's what we thought with the wing joints, but you came through, didn't you? C'mon, all we ask is that you just give it a shot. Let the Singularity help you like before. Even if you can't make a working copy, figuring out how the damned things work will go a long way in helping us fight back. I'm sure we can capture more. Just imagine if we could deploy these down in the basin with all those Cherubim lined up like ducks in a row. Of course, we would need to figure out how to do that without taking down the mesa."

I just stood there with my hands on my hips feeling foolish. The wing joint design had pretty much come to me in a dream. Perpetual motion notwithstanding, the joints were nothing more that fancy springs with a simple repetitive structure at the molecular level. There was a lot more going on with these crackers. Even if the Singularity could show me how they worked, I'm not sure I was capable of comprehending it.

Olivier squinted at me. "I can tell you need your space. Too much pressure ain't gonna help you grok. How about you hang out down here the rest of the day and I come back to fetch you? You cool with that?"

I didn't know what to say. I just stared back at him, befuddled over what he expected me to do.

Shouts echoed through the grotto from the clearing outside. I strolled over to the entrance and peeked around the heavy, canvas-like drapery.

A mantid with a shredded wing case came crashing through the treetops and landed hard in a patch of tree stumps. Its rider drooped limp in her saddle, long hair trailing down the mantids thorax. A group of Dusters rushed to her aid as a column of Old Ones crossed the clearing single file and passed into the forest. This was the first substantial force of awakened souls I had yet seen in New Axum.

A nervous-looking pair of Frelsians in fresh armor came rushing up to the grotto from the base of the stairway.

"Master James? Olivier? Your presence is requested at the war council."

"Tell them we're busy right now."

"Master Zhang requires your attendance. He insists."

Olivier sighed. "Fine."

***

We made our way back to the upper terrace on foot as we had only one pair of wings in the armory. I wondered what had happened to mine and what would they planned to do with the joints that had been salvaged from the wrecked condors.

As we walked the stairs, we now walked among refugees headed up to the upper terrace. I had no reason to expect to find Karla in this crowd. It was not rational, especially if it was really her I had spotted earlier. But I looked for her anyway, not surprisingly without success.

We were lucky we reached the stairs when we did because a whole flood of new arrivals swarmed the base of the cliffs right after we started to ascend, convinced by the morning's events that the side valleys were no longer havens.

When we reached the upper terrace and the bunker at its heart, the war council was already convening. The chamber was packed. Many lesser officers were in attendance along with the big shots like Zhang and Yaqob.

Three old ones sat at the main table, a different bunch than were there last time.

"Who are they? What happened to the other guys?"

"Doesn't matter," said Olivier. "The Old Ones share leadership. Whoever's awake at the moment is who shows up. They're nameless, the whole lot of them. I guess communing with the Singularity doesn't do much for your individuality."

"I'm ready to ditch my name," I muttered.

"Too late. Too many people know you in these parts."

I looked around for Kitt and Tyler but they were nowhere to be seen. They were either out scouting or had yet to return from their fades.

"Where's Victoria?" said Olivier, noticing the empty spot at the table next to Zhang.

"We can't seem to locate her," said Zhang, shrugging. "She's probably exhausted and settled in somewhere to rest. Understandable."

"We need her ... here," said Hailay, a sharp-eyed young Duster and one of Yaqob's lieutenants.

"We have a patrol out looking," said one of the Frelsian junior officers—a Freesoul—based in his perfectly sculpted and unblemished face.

"Bah. Let us talk on our own," said Yaqob. "She is gone a month and we do fine without her. Your right flank, does it hold?"

"For now," said Zhang. "But the Cherubim now control the main barricade."

"We cannot hold back what's coming," said one of the younger Frelsians. "We will be evacuating the ravine. We will leave behind some skirmishers to delay them, but we're moving most of our force up to the lower rim."

"This is bad news," said Yaqob. "They own us."

"We can beef up our defenses on the lower rim," said the pretty-faced Frelsian. "We have the necessary forces."

"We can continue to harass them from the other ravine," said Hailay. "Our wall is strong and we are making it stronger. They have not yet dared to take us on."

"They're gonna pick away at us," said Olivier. "Bit by bit. They're gonna keep hammering till they can come up here and get us."

"Our forces continue to grow," said Zhang. "Many of the new refugees are volunteering for service."

"How will you feed them once we're cut off?" said Olivier. "As far as I can tell you don't have any significant stores. Your root supply is limited and once they chase us out of both valleys there goes all access to new stocks. We can't handle a full-blown siege."

"Ah, but we have the bees," said Yaqob. "The bees will keep us fed."

Hailay seemed less sanguine about the situation. "They are already preparing new columns in the basin for the next assault, including hundreds of newly modified climbers. Condors and falcons are amassing in the far hills. And more Cherubim have been spotted crossing the plains from the beaches."

"Their capacity to mobilize reserves seems unlimited," said Olivier. "How can we win a war of attrition?"

"Mr. Moody?" said Zhang.

"Yeah?" The mention of my name startled me. I had been hanging back behind Olivier, observing. I didn't consider myself part of this council.

"Any progress with those devices?"

"I ... uh ... we ... uh ... had a close look at them," I said. "They're ... uh ... complicated."

"We had a few distractions this morning," said Olivier. "First the assault, now ... this."

Zhang cocked an eye. "Are you suggesting this war council is a waste of time?"

"Not at all," said Olivier. "Just ... explaining our lack of progress."

"I see. Well, no worries, we'll adjourn soon and let you get back to work. But first, we need some suggestions as to how to proceed. Anyone? Is it really wise that we abandon our right flank? Is a counterattack possible?"

"That's what they're expecting," said the pretty boy Frelsian officer. "They retreated to the first barricade but clearly from the disposition of their forces, if we try to take it back, they're ready to pounce."

"Alright then, what else can we do?" said Zhang. "I am open to suggestions."

"Retreat? While we can?" said A Duster—a woman—I did not recognize. "Our marshlands are ringed with defensible hills. And they can accommodate a much larger population than what is already there."

The look on Zhang's face sufficed to rule that option out, at least for the Frelsian contingent.

An Old One coughed and rose to his feet. He held up one finger and raked it across the attendees. "The city will not fall," he croaked.

Yaqob and Hailay looked at each other.

"You can stay. Axum ... will not ... fall." His eyes panned the council with a defiant glare before he settled back down to his seat and seemed to drift off to sleep.

Zhang and Yaqob looked at each other.

Urszula pushed forward to the table. "Why wait for them to come to us? I say we take the fight to them."

Hailay shook his head. "Ridiculous. We can't attack them head on. We've all seen what happens. They turtle up, absorb the blow, and then swarm out and counterattack. And we don't have enough air capacity to transport a force of any significance around their flanks."

"I do not mean for attacking their front. I mean for attack their rear."

"You mean ... the beaches? Same problem. We can't transport a large enough force fast enough."

"No. I mean attack their home. We go to Penult. They think is untouchable. If we touch it, maybe they think again what they do, how smart. How stupid."

"How? And with what? None of us has ever seen it."

"We know they come from across the water. We know some come by boat. It cannot be so far. With wings, no problem. And we need no big army. Just for raid. And it will make them think."

"Crackers," said Olivier. "We hit them with their own crackers."

"That would be well and good," said Zhang. "If we had more than one. And if we knew how to deploy the one we have."

"Just touching them is enough," said Urszula. "A small raid. These Lords believe Penult is untouchable. This will make them think how smart it is to make mess with us."

"Interesting," said Zhang. "You will need mantids and dragonflies for such a raid. Do you have them to spare?"

"Not mantids," said Hailay. "They don't have the range. Not if we're to cross a sea."

"We have some dragonfly nymphs coming of age soon," said the Duster woman who had advocated a retreat to the marshes.

"And wings," said Olivier. "James and I can make more."

Zhang looked at his advisers. "It seems our only choice, other than an active defense of New Axum. How do you suppose the Lords would respond to an attack on their shores?"

Urszula grinned. "They will not be happy."

"A commando raid using crackers. I like it," said Hailay. "It might make them question the wisdom of this whole campaign."

"Sounds like Mr. Moody has some work to do," said Zhang. "I suggest we adjourn and begin to make our preparations."
Chapter 36: The Pillars

Natural ledges blended seamlessly with engineered walls to form the rocky knoll harboring the council chamber and bunkers. Most of the upper terrace was visible from this vantage, but I could only see one small corner of the warren. The walls obscured the rest. Oliver and I left the council chamber together and made our way down a series of steep ramps.

"So how are you feeling?" said Olivier.

"Fine," I said, thinking it a funny question to ask. I was pretty much healed up from my battle wounds. Bodies mended quickly in the Liminality.

"You're not gonna go and fade on us, are you?"

"I don't think so," I said. "Not that I can tell for sure. Seems like I've been sticking around a lot longer these days."

"Because ... Karla?"

"Not sure what she has to do with it."

"Because you know she's here. Your soul is attracted."

"Yeah, but ... I don't even know for sure it was her I saw."

"But if she's as committed to this place as you say, I'm sure she gets here often."

"I guess."

We paused at the base of the knoll and stood blinking at each other. I wasn't in the mood to think about Karla.

"Think you can find your way back to the grotto without me?"

"Sure. It'd be a lot quicker with a pair of wings. Any idea what happened to ours?"

"Don't worry. I'm sure they've been tucked away for safekeeping."

"Guess I'm just spoiled."

"I'll join you later," said Olivier. "I'm going down into the ravine and check on our refugees. See what's up."

"Did Bern and Lille ever make it up here?"

"Don't think so," said Olivier.

"They still fade, those two. And when one goes the other usually waits until they come back."

"But I haven't seen any of the other folks who came with us on foot. I'm not sure what the holdup is, but I plan to find out."

We parted ways at a fork in a broad cobbled avenue that divided the city all the way down to the rim. Olivier took a short cut through a mass of temporary structures of re-fabricated root. Some of the newer residents were building homes in a section of ruins too obliterated to repair.

As I strode down the steep avenue I was startled by an Old One sequestered in a stone nook near a fountain that had long gone dry. That I had stumbled upon an Old One was not so surprising. They were strewn all over this damned city. For every one that waddled about there were ten captured by the long sleep. But this guy was different. This guy I knew. This guy was Mr. O

***

I took care not to disturb him. As much as I wanted to pat his back or give him a hug, I didn't dare touch him. I sat down on a low shelf of stone and sat with him for a bit.

Mr. O was special to me. Though I felt bad at the time for waking him, the raid on Frelsi would never have happened without him and his buddies being awakened. Of course, Karla would never have been infested with the Fellstraw that killed her, but that wasn't Mr. O's fault. It was just a matter of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

These awakenings proved valuable to the Old Ones as well, saving them from abuse by those who thought they were dead. I had heard that the Singularity also benefitted, allowing it to interact with the realms in ways that had been lost, offering a sensual and physical conduit for this vast sea of interconnected souls.

Mr. O didn't look quite as ancient now as when I first saw him. The lichen that had crusted his face had flaked and crumbled off. His skin was more supple, his muscles less withered.

I wondered how long he slumbered these days. Had his naps become permanent? Some Old Ones, I heard, became immune to reawakening, those who had become too connected to and dispersed through the Singularity to ever leave it.

I got up off the bench, resisting the urge to pat him on the back.

"Take care," I said.

Who knows, maybe he would have enjoyed coming out of his sleep to greet me, but I wasn't going to take the chance. Maybe he had heard me from the Singularity. Maybe he was right there with me, hovering over my soul.

I continued on down the avenue, heading for the promenade and the main stairway in the center of the rim.

***

I was alone in the grotto, apart from a few guards who wandered in now and then. I spent the rest of the day communing with those pillars, meditating on the intact column, study every square inch of its surface searching for clues on how to operate the damned thing.

I studied the shattered ones too, piecing chunks together, pulling them apart to reveal their inner structure. In some ways I felt like a Model T Ford mechanic brought in to troubleshoot a Tesla. I wasn't anywhere close to understanding these things. The nap I tried to take to tempt the Singularity to come and help me brought me nowhere near the sea of souls.

Instead, as I lay in the pup tent they had set up just for me, I dreamt of home, or what used to be home. Fort Pierce. Disney World. Alligators. Mosquitoes. My mom's mac and cheese.

At one point a work party of Frelsians and Dusters interrupted my reverie to deliver several sacks full of undifferentiated roots that were meant to be raw material for some copied columns.

The stuff they brought me was the best grade of root the Liminality had to offer. Pure and malleable. Never modified. Half-inch diameter strands all squirmy and itching to escape.

It was simple enough to shape them into pillars and get their surfaces to mimic the finely crystalline stone that made up the cracker columns, but in the end it was all a sham. My columns were nothing more than fancy pissing posts. The insides were smooth and blank. I doubt they could have held up a roof never mind take down a mountain.

When the shadow of the upper terrace began to spread over the forest, I said goodbye to guards and made my way back up to the upper terrace. I entered the warren at dusk, fearing I would never find the quarters they had originally assigned me, just hoping I would find some vacant place to crash.

But then I remembered the layout of the place from my overflight in search of Karla, and it helped me navigate to the general area where my quarters had been. And then it was just a matter of trial and error, ducking my head into random spaces until I found it.

While I was gone, someone had fixed it up good, replacing the musty bedding with something fresher. The floors had been swept, the walls scrubbed, and a dewy metal pitcher full of spring water sat on the table next to an empty glass and a bowl of manna.

I collapsed onto mats now thicker and softer, pulled the covers over me. I was beat. I didn't care where my soul took me this time as long as I could sleep.

***

Un-summoned, the Singularity chose to visit me that night.

Typical.

This time it was Mr. O, or at least some facsimile of him, that served as my wordless tour guide, drifting through the nether spaces of the realms beside me. He reduced us to the size of gnats' pimples and we flew through the microscopic ductwork of a cracker, a network as intricate as the tunnels of Root.

And this time I could detect a pattern to all the twining and diverging even though I could not discern how it all worked. With the wing joints, pattern was all that mattered. Build it and it sprung like a spring. But there was a lot more going on with this thing. How it was supposed to interact with the matrix of roots completely eluded me. The more Mr. O tried to show me, the more befuddled I became.

He eventually recognized my confusion and frustration and backed off, letting me drift away from the model of a cracker column they had erected to instruct me and let me satisfy my more selfish desires.

I flitted from soul to soul on the terraces and valleys, searching for Karla or for those who had seen her. And while I sensed there were some here who knew her, and even a few who had interacted with her recently, I did not get the impression that she was here at this moment in the Liminality.

So I went beyond, blowing through the boundaries, piercing the interface between the worlds, gliding through and between cities, searching among the millions of souls for the one that resonated so uniquely with mine.

The Singularity could not help me this time. It was almost as if Karla no longer existed, though I knew that could not be true. Souls might be mutable but they could not be destroyed. She existed in some realm, somewhere. Someday I would find her.

***

I awoke in the dark and drowsed, basking in the night sounds. Wind whistling through the ruins. Giant insects croaking and singing on the lower terrace, the distance muting them, disguising their size.

For hours I lay back on the mats, drifting in and out of wakefulness. The Singularity kept its distance, as if it knew it had saturated my capacity for new information.

Something large thumped hard onto my roof. A shower of loose slate cascaded across my window. A shadowy figure leaped down onto my little patio, intruding into my quarters without a knock or greeting. Urszula reached down, grabbed my ankle and gave it a shake.

"We go," she said.

"Now? Where?"

"To the bogs. It is time for you for have your own wings."

"But I already got wings."

"Real wings," said Urszula. "It is time for you for have dragonfly."

"You're giving me a bug?"

"Yaqob is making gift of one nymph for you. It is special honor. We have not so many dragonflies these days. The war has been hard."

"Holy cow. But ... I don't know how to take care of those things."

"They take care of self. No worries. You just need for train it to listen. To behave."

"Sheesh. I never really had a pet, other than a hamster. Mom wouldn't let us have a dog."

"This is no dog. This is dragonfly. You come. We go now. We eat breakfast at the bog. She sniffed at me and wrinkled her nose. You can wash there too. Come. We ride together. Lalibela waiting on roof."
Chapter 37: The Bog

I wore the same sweaty clothes I had on for the last two days. I suppose I should have woven myself a new set of clothes at some point and let the stinky ones revert back to roots. That was way easier than trying to wash them.

The weird gummy bandage that Urszula had stuck on me had crusted and darkened so it looked like a scab. It smelled funny, too—sour and rank like spoiled salami. I was tempted to peel it off but it was stuck tight to my skin. At least it seemed to wearing away on its own.

"I hope you are not fading soon?" said Urszula, those intense eyes of hers boring in on me.

"Why?"

"Because you don't want to fade while flying in air. When you come back. There is no dragonfly."

"Aren't you a Hemisoul too, these days?"

"Yes. But I can feel when I am about to leave."

"I'll let you know," I said. "Usually, I get this tingling."

Urszula locked her fingers together and gave me a boost up onto the roof where Lalibela stood preening her antennae. The remains of a half-eaten Cherub lay in a heap before her.

"Oh my God! You're letting her eat one? What the fuck?"

"Why not?" said Urszula, nonchalantly.

"This is ... was ... a person, Urszula. What kind of habits are you teaching your bug?"

"She was hungry. It would be cruel now to take it away from her."

"Cruel."

Urszula's eyes hardened.

"Do not cry for this one. He has no soul. He is no longer human. Only meat, shape like man."

I held my tongue and took my usual spot in front of Urszula on the saddle. Before I could even settle in and grab on Lalibela took off, soaring away with the headless corpse of the Cherub gripped in her claws. Bits of flesh flew off as she chomped away. It was ghastly.

We flew away from the basin this time, rising over low but jagged spires that rose up abruptly behind the plateau that held the city, providing an effective natural bulwark. Behind them stretched an area of badlands with of deeply dissected gorges separated by hogback ridges. This rumpled territory ended abruptly at a broad expanse of flat desert.

Distant wings patrolled the badlands. I couldn't tell if they were Seraphs or our own folks. I hadn't seen Tyler or Kitt since the day we had arrived.

When we reached the desert, Lalibela dove down to the flats, leveling off just above the tallest shrubs. The close proximity of all those boulders and thorny shrubs exaggerated our rate of speed. I clung tight to the saddle.

The dryness of the landscape made me wonder where we would find a bog deep enough to harbor giant dragonfly nymphs. But this was a land of extremes. The desert, stuck in a rain shadow, gave way to mountains and hills clothed in mist and cloud forest.

Lalibela soared over the range, speckled with gleaming tarns and quicksilver springs. Breaks in the cloud revealed a massive body of water in the distance. Could that be an ocean?

A range of mountains with blunt and knobby peaks surrounded a basin similar to the one near New Axum, except this one collected the runoff with no outlet. The terrain was verdant and moist, with very little open water but many swamps ringed with forests of giant reeds.

Lalibela circled down to a lonely cluster of habitations build atop floating mats of vegetation—a tiny village of huts with roofs thatched with bundled ferns and walls of lashed-together reeds as thick as bamboo.

She settled down on a huge, almost perfectly round lily pad large enough to land a helicopter. The corrugated rim came up to her first set of knees. I hopped down to a waxy green surface that yielded underfoot like an extra stiff water bed.

Honeybees buzzed among the water lily blossoms. Water striders as big as deer skimmed the water on hydrophobic feet. Large, shadowy things beneath the water rippled the surface as they swam.

People streamed out of their huts to greet us. All had the greyish skin of Dusters typical of all escapees from the Deeps. For some reason I had assumed that all Dusters lived on top of mesas. I had guessed wrong.

"This is Dilmun," said Urszula. "The Old Ones settle here first. Back when Penult does not know or does not care who shares the surface with them."

A woman made her way over to us, hopping from pad to pad, squinting and gaping at Urszula. Her expression grew only more puzzled as she joined us on the pad. She shook her head, rattling the shells and seed pods that adorned her braids.

"Urszula? Is that you?"

She reached and touched Urszula's tanned and rosy face.

"Yes Dahlia. You know it is," said Urszula, looking annoyed.

"Hah! What happened?" The woman grinned broadly, exposing teeth as grey as her skin and eyes.

"This man happened, that's what. This is the one maybe you hear about."

"Ahah! The James." The woman turned and called back to some other curious residents who were gathering on the adjacent mats. She spoke the tongue of the Deeps, a language that sounded unlike any I had ever heard on Earth.

"Sorry," I said, softly and somewhat passively aggressive.

"Sorry for what?" said Urszula. "For giving me life?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, if it brings you trouble. I recall you weren't so thrilled about it when it happened."

"Shut up. I was stupid. You bring me gift. I should have appreciate.

"Really? Do you really feel that way? I mean ... you're here all the time it seems. You never fade. Things can't be so great back—"

"Things are fine! And I do go back sometime. When I do, I treasure my time there ... at home. Unlike some. Unlike ... your woman."

I sighed with some annoyance. "Listen, Karla had a hard life. I can't blame her for wanting—"

"You think my life is not difficult? I have no house, no family. Yet, it is a treasure what you give me. I have no regret. None. So shut up!"

Her eyes demanded mine. Tears bulged but refused to drip. She leaned over and gave me a quick kiss.

"Where is Viktor?" Urszula asked the woman and the onlookers who continued to gather.

"He comes," said a man.

Across the bog, another man was bounding from mat to mat making his way around one of the few open areas of water to reach us. He wore a wide-brimmed hat of ragged straw that he had to clasp to his head with one hand as he ran.

When he reached out pad he pulled up in front of Urszula and beamed, all eager and excited. His grey complexion could not disguise his youth. He gave Urszula an awkward but gentle hug.

"Viktor, this one needs a mount," said Urszula.

"I have two nymphs ready to molt. One male and one female."

"Give him the boy," she said. "Easier to handle."

He threw off his hat, peeled off a shirt and dove into the water disappearing beneath the mats. He bobbed back up a minute later with a thick rope, slimy with algae, in his teeth. He tossed the line to me. I caught it reflexively.

"What's this for?"

"Give it a tug," said Urszula.

I yanked the rope and whatever was at the other end of it yanked it back out of my hands.

Urszula lurched after it but Viktor held up both palms as the loose end slithered back into the bog.

"It is okay. The nymph will come. It is ready. It has been waiting."

The water began to churn. Two dripping sickle-sized claws emerged, latching onto the edge of the giant lily pad. Urszula clapped and Lalibela flew off, leaving behind the bloody thigh bone of a Cherub.

The creature that emerged had a face like a frog's but with a hard shell and bulging, compound, wide-set eyes. A pair of sharp and stubby antennae projected forward like Triceratops horns. Multiple jointed appendages adorned its mouthparts. I backed away as it clambered onto the pad, sending tremors through the thick leaf.

It stood there, abdomen pulsing, hissing from holes in its side. Viktor went up to it and stroked its back, murmuring something softly.

He back turned to us. "This one we have been holding back. The change will go fast. Be ready to fly with him as soon as he is able. Penult has been raiding us. They try to kill them all before they can molt.

"Fly?" I said, staring at the stubby, flattened fins on the creature's back where the wings should be. "How is this thing gonna fly?"

"Prepare to be surprised," said Urszula, sitting down cross-legged on the lily pad.

The creature latched onto a reed stalk and began to climb. There was a ripping sound as the shell of the nymph burst apart. A second head appeared behind the original. Something hideous pushed out of the shell, arching backwards, pulsing. It just hung there, with its shriveled, deformed wings dangling and I thought for sure something had gone wrong. This creature had none of the elegance of Lalibela.

After a time, it reached out its claws and grasped its own shell, extracting the rest of itself from the nymphal abdomen. It clambered off beside its former exoskeleton. Now the wing buds began to pulse and expand slowly.

Someone shouted and pointed into the sky. A Seraph had appeared over the bog. On the horizon several dark objects were winging over the hills. A flight of falcons were bearing down on us.

"Shit!" said Urszula, hopping to her feet. She popped a device into her mouth that had been dangling from a cord around her neck. I had thought it was just some strange decorative pendant, but it made a loud clicking sound as she blew.

Lalibela came zooming over the reed forest, dropping down to the water's surface, stopping abruptly but delicately on the rim of the pad.

Urszula yanked a sword—my sword?—from a sheath in her saddle and tossed to me. I mishandled it and the point went down into the leaf, piercing it and springing a leak.

"You protect him! He needs more time. And he cannot go back into water."

She hopped on Lalibela's saddle and buzzed off, joining a flight of three other dragonfly riders who were soaring off to intercept the falcons.
Chapter 38: Dive Bombed

I stood on that giant lily pad like a jack-lighted deer, gawking as the falcons peeled to engage the dragonfly riders coming at them from both sides. But behind the falcons came three condors, heavily laden and skimming the hilltops.

My wits returned and I sidled over to the newborn dragonfly with my sword. Its wings were still crumped, but I could see fluid pumping through the translucent veins. It hissed and backed away as I approached, lashing out with its razor-clawed forelegs. Protect it? Who was going to protect me from it?

I got as close as I could risk and stood facing the condors, still uncomfortable at the prospect of having my back turned to that hungry and quite possibly hungry beast. I couldn't shed the image of Lalibela munching on that Cherub.

Viktor had hopped off the pat onto an island of dead and matted vegetation where he had disappeared into a cluster of huts. I thought he had wisely run off to get under cover, but he soon re-emerged with a bulky length of sun-bleached driftwood almost as long as he was tall—his scepter. I could only hope that his prowess at conjuring blasts of plasma matched the size of his implement.

He found a spot on the other side of the molted nymph that was turning less and less nymph-like with every passing minute. It wings steadily lengthened and smoothed as it transformed itself into a full-fledged dragonfly.

Overhead, Urszula and the other dragonfly riders had intercepted and were busy jousting with the falcons, taking advantage of the stop-on-a-dime maneuvering ability and speed of the dragonflies. The falcons were not as quick but they were nimble and potent with their ballistae.

So far only one of six had tumbled into the bog, while one of the dragonflies had suffered some damage to a wing and had to retire from the battle, fluttering down into the reed forest for refuge.

Urszula was still at it, dogfighting aggressively, unleashing countless varieties of plasma against her foes—some as transparent and unsubstantial as blasts of wind, others alternately fiery or gooey.

Meanwhile the three lumbering condors came gliding down unopposed, the weight of their burdens stretching their talons earthward. They struggled to remain aloft.

Dusters on several of the floating islands began to abandon their huts, taking to the open water in craft fashioned from giant leaves and split reed, sun-cured and folded into sleek, little boats with sharp keels.

A cry rang out among those who fled. I turned to see one pointing into the sky. Another dragonfly had been hit and was tumbling out of the sky, two of its wingtips sheared completely off.

"Is that ... Urszula?" I said, to Viktor. He could only shrug at me and look away.

The condors got themselves lined up in a neat little queue and came diving in on us one by one. The first dropped its boulder on a set of docks crowding a clearing at the edge of the reed forest. Dusters scattered and screamed as the bomb struck and exploded with a quiet plop. No fire or smoke. But thousands of whirling, screeching whips that flew like self-propelled bolos, slashing and whipping and strangling all they encountered.

Relieved of its burden, the condor veered and soared away, heading back towards the hills.

"Jesus Christ!" I said, ducking as a few stray bolos came whistling over our heads.

The second condor dropped its payload on one of the floating villages, tearing a bunch of huts to shreds, ripping a gaping whole into the island itself, into which the wreckage tumbled. This one stayed low, spraying ballista bolts in every direction as it raked its now empty talons into every lily pad it passed over, slicing them in two, flooding and capsizing them. It too, soared away when it reached the edge of the bog.

Viktor and I had hit both the deck. Distracted by the tumult I had lost track of the third condor. But now I saw it. It was coming straight for us.
Chapter 39: Plasma

The young dragonfly, no longer a nymph, had spread its wing buds far beyond the blunt nubbins they had been when it first molted, but it was still in no condition to fly. Viktor and I stood with staff and sword between it and the oncoming condor, though I was seconds away from bailing on this defense and diving into the bog.

I didn't see what we could do about that weird fibrous and snake-like shrapnel if that bomb dropped on our pad. Yet, I remained frozen to the spot, befuddled more than brave. The vulnerability and innocence of that newly molted bug touched me. It would be a horrible shame to have its life snuffed before it could use its wings for the first time.

And what pretty wings they were, striped like a tiger with broad, coppery bands alternating with membrane as clear and twinkly as diamonds.

The condor loomed, blocking the sun, engulfing us in its shadow. Time slowed. I could see the bombardier in his cage, peering through some kind of sight, adjusting the angle of the talons to find the perfect release point.

It was pretty clear he was aiming for the cluster of huts right beside us, close enough for us to be taken out by that shrapnel. If this one was as skilled as the others, we could expect perfect precision. The other bombs couldn't have hit the docks and village any more perfectly.

I loosened my will as best I could, again searching for that ball of energy swirling in my gut that would tell whether I had the mojo to summon a potent spell. As usual, all I felt in my stomach was a bit of queasiness. I was pretty sure I was about to shoot a blank.

Without warning and a mite too soon, Viktor let loose a volley of sizzling plasma from his staff. The power of his burst surprised me, but it went zipping harmlessly over the condor's gunnery cage.

I only had a second to react. But the mojo, it was there! It was now or never.

Two dragonflies came hurtling. I had to hold my fire. But could I? This was way more painful than holding back a sneeze. The force trying to rip free of me was far more powerful than a mere puff of air from my lungs.

The dragonflies converged and slashed into the side of the condor shredding its right wing. It swerved and tumbled into the bog with a huge splash, retaining its payload. The bomb disintegrated on contact with the water, its strands unraveling like a nest of angry snakes, tearing into the condor and its crew before the water rendered them inert, drifting like so many drowned snakes.

I could see Viktor staring at me while I stood there with my sword outstretched, shaking and convulsing like someone transfixed by a lightning bolt. I had no choice but to let loose my blast. Dismayed, I watched a massive bolus of angry plasma go firing into the sky, narrowly missing one of the dragonflies as it scrambled out of the way.

The burst corkscrewed into the sky, leaving a vapor trail behind it. It found a set of wings—a Seraph observing the fray—and tracked him. The Seraph tried to flee but my plasma homed in like a guided missile and scored a direct hit, pulverizing his wings. The Seraph struck the bog like a meteor, piercing a lily pad, disappearing beneath the surface with a kerplunk!

Urszula landed Lalibela hard beside us, rippling the floor of the lily pad like a bouncy house.

"You idiots! You almost hit me."

"Sorry. I ... uh ... I was aiming for the condor."

"Both of you ... you are terrible. You really need to practice."

Viktor was too stunned to speak. I followed his gaze. He was staring out towards the hills at the three falcons and two condors that survived this encounter.

I had another bowling ball of energy winding up deep in my core. I extended my sword, lining it up against the rounded summits of the low mountains that hemmed the bog lands. I matched the point with the lead condor in the formation and let it rip.

The shock wave that erupted sent Viktor stumbling to his knees and caused Urszula to stumble.

I had never conjured anything close to this. A blue ball of cold fire spun into the sky, accelerating like a supersonic fighter. It caught the lead condor just as it was about to disappear over a ridge and engulfed it, shattering its frame to splinters. There was nothing left to fall but a heap of limp membrane with lumps of embedded Hashmallim. It collapsed like a limp kite, draping some tall conifers on the hilltop.

"Wow," said Urszula. "I stand corrected. Like riding a bicycle. Yes?"

Dusters in sharp-keeled boats swarmed the area where the condor had gone down, extracting what was left of the crew of the condor from the wreckage in the bog. None of them had survived the effects of their bomb, and neither had the lone Seraph that I had brought down. I wondered where souls like them ended up now. I could only hope it was no place good.
Chapter 40: Tigger

While the bog people recovered from the aftermath of the battle, we flew back to New Axum, me again in front of Urszula on her saddle. The young dragonfly trailed behind Lalibela for the most part, darting off to investigate various bugs he spotted on the way.

He was meant to be my mount, but Urszula wouldn't let me fly him just yet.

"You don't just jump on a new insect," she told me. "They need learn to fly with a rider. They turn too fast, shake you off, break your leg, if they fly like they want, like natural. They need learn to fly gentle, with rider. They must be tamed. Broken. Like horse. And besides ... we have no saddle."

Honestly, I just think Urszula wanted an excuse to have me near her. I swear, sometimes she fondled when I was in front of her on that saddle. She would never admit it, but I was pretty sure she had a big crush on me.

I never thought I would be her type of man. Physically, there's no way I could impress her. I'm not anywhere near rugged. I have a thin skin. I take things personal.

And yet, she liked me. I guess we had been through a lot together. She had an odd respect for me. Or maybe she admired my skills.

I couldn't imagine having a relationship with someone like her. She was just too weird, so different from anyone I knew. She had died really young, and had never really gotten a chance to mature normally. She was basically a twelve year old who had a hundred years' experience in the after lands, most of it spent in the Deeps. That alone had to warp one's personality in a major way.

She took her time descending into New Axum, making a wide circle around the upper terrace. I was relieved to see no fighting going on near the cliffs. All was quiet for the time being.

We landed on one of the larger plazas that had been cleared of overgrowth and rubble. We were just outside the warren.

"So, do you need me to take you home or can you find your own way??

"Nah, I'm good," I said. "Thanks ... for the ride."

The young dragonfly hovered down beside Lalibela and proceeded to groom its antennae.

Urszula flicked her head. "Your beast. Touch him."

"Touch him?"

"He is your beast. If he is to bond with you, you must touch him."

"Touch him where?"

"Between the eyes is best. Move slow and keep your palm flat."

I went around Lalibela, keeping well out of range of her claws. I always walked around the business ends of these big dragonflies like they were jets, only it wasn't engines I was worried about getting sucked into.

"Now approach him slowly. Palms up and flat."

I did as she said and the dragonfly ceased grooming and watched me. A hundred images of me reflected off its many and mirrored eye facets. I placed my palm on the hinged plate, fringed with bristles, between its eyes and below its antennae. It looked kind of like a big-eyed manatee up close. The plate was waxy and firm, and much warmer than I expected.

The dragonfly rose up and engulfed my forearm in its dangly mouthparts. I gave a shout and tried to pull away, but it had me gripped. Images of that dismembered Cherub came to me.

"Relax," said Urszula, laughing.

I winced and gritted my teeth. "Relax? The damned thing ... is ... it's ... eating me."

"This is not eating. Believe me, you would know if he is eating. He is only tasting you. Remembering you. It is how we bond."

"Jesus Christ!" I stood there, hyperventilating, as all those dangly appendages fondled my arm. I could there its sharp and powerful mandibles close just enough to make contact with my skin. But the creature was gentle, and gradually my fear dissipated.

When the fondling stopped, I kept my arm in place.

"Is he done?"

"Yes. He is finish. You may have your arm."

"Sheesh." I yanked it out and rubbed it. It was tingling slightly but no worse for the wear and completely dry.

"I will tether your beast in this meadow overnight and tomorrow we will go foraging for prey on the lower terrace. Come here at midday tomorrow and I will give you some flying lessons. You will need to bring a saddle from the armory."

"Armory? You mean the grotto?"

"Yes. There we put many saddles we salvage from those who fall in the fighting. Any one you can pick. It is yours."

"Alright. I'll bring one."

She sat there, tall in her own saddle and smiled down at me.

"Now is time for special fun. We need a name for your beast. It is tradition to name on molting day."

"Name?"

"Yes. Your beast needs a name. How else will you call it?"

I looked again at the young dragonfly. It was the prettiest thing, its body all rust and blue with opalescent eyes. It had wavy copper bands on its wings with clear patches and black accents. That striping was unusual for the dragonflies around her. He was a rare species, apparently. Less common, anyway, if not a mutant. Like me.

"Um ... how about ... Tigger?"

"Trigger?"

"No, Tigger. As in ... Tiger. As in Pooh."

Urszula looked puzzled, but she nodded nevertheless.

***

The bluish sun had disappeared from the horizon by the time I entered the warren. I thought I knew where I was going this time but I soon proved myself wrong. I kept doubling back to the same little triangular park where a group of Old Ones sat staring at each other like statuary. I could only imagine what they thought of me the third time I went by, if they could even see me.

I couldn't ask for directions because this place had no addresses. I could not even identify a suitable landmark nearby to help folks help me navigate. It was just another living space in a maze of identical living spaces. I never should have let Urszula leave without showing me how to get there.

As I wandered, longing to collapse onto that dense heap of mats that served as my bed, a familiar tingle scuttled down my arm, sending pins and needles into my fingertips. I looked down at my mottled hand in the early stages of a fade. Patches of translucent skin revealed nerves and tendon and bone. Finding my living quarters seemed a moot point now. I sat down on a plinth like some Old One and awaited my fate.

***

Wherever I had come, it was way cozier than my little hooch in the warren, high thread count cotton encasing a cloud of down and a mattress topper of rapid-reacting memory foam that gave way to any pressure point before it ever had a chance to form.

I could hear a broadcaster talking about shootings and terrorists. British accent. This was not Heaven. It was not prison. Some place in between.

Glasgow.

If this was a hotel, it was much fancier than any room I had ever booked, fancier than Wendell's place in London or the Hilton Karla and I and stayed at in Inverness on Wendell's dime.

I surged up out of bed and nearly fell flat on my face. A swarm of ghost moths flew up to clutter and cloud my brain. I was hungrier than a goat tethered in a parking lot.

I stumbled out the door of the bedroom, following the sound of the television. Four sets of female eyes popped wider than nature even intended and all four women sprang into action, catching me before I could collapse, leading me to a small sofa where they sat me down and took my pulse and checked the temperature of my brow.

"Where are we?" I said. "What happened to the train?"

"The train? That was yesterday," said Helen. "We've been here a full day now."

"You went away to that place you go, didn't you?" said Fiona.

"He hasn't eaten a shred in two days," said Helen. "He must be famished."

"I'll go get some takeout," said Britt, rushing to the door. "Indian? Chinese? Any preference?"

"Fish and chips," I said. "With those mashed green peas."

"You got it," said Britt, slamming the door.

"Did you see Karla?" said Helen. "How is she?"

"I ... uh ... no. I didn't see her. At least I didn't think so. I'm ... not sure."

"Jessica's been sharing some of your stories with us," said Fiona. "Just fascinating. Gargantuan insects. Killer angels. Really?"

"Um ... yeah," I said. "Can we change the channel, please?" The explosions and bloody scenes on the streets of some nameless Middle Eastern city disturbed me.

Jessica switched over to that talk show where some middle aged guys goofed around and talked about cars. That, I could handle.

"We've been out looking today, James," said Helen. "Scoured the streets of Glasgow."

"Did you know there are three fundamentalist Catholic sects in this city?" said Jessica. "Some of the parishes are tiny. A few families each."

"I never would have imagined," said Helen. "In Scotland of all places."

"Sedevacantists. You want Sedevacantists."

"Yes. None of these recognize the Pope," said Jessica. "That's the definition, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but there are other sects. SSPX. SSPV. They're different."

"Karla's dad. Edmund. You were right, James. He is out of jail," said Jessica. "We found a news report on Google saying he got time off for good behavior. After less than one year. And the man was convicted of manslaughter!"

"We're not sure yet if he's actually in Glasgow," said Helen. "I couldn't get those church people to talk to me. They kept acting like I was from Mars. And I was dressed quite conservatively. Used my best manners."

Fiona fetched me a glass of water. I thanked her and drained it, and so she fetched me another.

"What's the trick James?" said Jessica. "How do we get ourselves into those churches?"

"You don't. Stay away. Those people are nuts. They're dangerous. I wouldn't go anywhere near them. I would watch the entrances maybe. See who goes in and comes out. They might have drugged her like they did to me and Linval."

"At what point do we call the authorities?" said Helen.

"Only when you're certain they have her," I said. "We don't want them to know we're out looking."

"This is so exciting!" said Fiona. "I mean, no for you, of course. Not for poor Karla. But ... this kind of adventure doesn't happen every day."

Helen rolled her eyes. "I could do with a little less of it, thank you. I just want to know if these are the bastards who burnt our farm."

Knuckles rapped on the door and the latch released. Britt let herself in.

"Food!" she said, holding up a paper sack.

***

Those fish and chips were about the best I ever had. And the shower I took afterward was simply glorious. I gave my special credit card to Jessica to pick me up some new clothes, and whatever odds and ends the ladies all needed. It still worked like a charm and I had a crisp set of boxers, blue T-shirt, black jeans and grey hoodie waiting for me when I slipped out of the bathroom wrapped only in a towel.

I snatched them up and slipped into my room. The ladies had booked a three room suite at the Blythswood Square hotel, also paid for with my ivory credit card. I wondered how long the Friends of Penult would extend me credit once they had learned I had returned to the Liminality and had already struck down a Seraph from the sky. Until then, I would spend and once they cut me off, I had a case to go to Wendell for support.

Dried, dressed and combed, I went back out to sit with the ladies who were sketching out their surveillance plans for tomorrow. They planned one more full day of watching the churches before we would move on to Inverness, and after that, Aberdeen if necessary, both apparently harboring bastions of Edmund's cult.

I was in no rush to go back to Root. My emotions were not in the greatest shape, so I was feeling pretty vulnerable. Thankfully, the comforts and companionship of this evening kept the roots at bay.

"Are you sure there are no angels where you go?" said Helen.

"Nah," I said. "There are people ... souls ... who pretend to be, I guess. But they're just people. Misguided, mistaken people who think they're better than everyone else."

"Just like here," said Britt.

"Yeah," I said. "Just like here."

We stayed up and played cards until Helen got sleepy and triggered a chain reaction of yawning and the consensus that it was time to retire to bed. I raided the mini bar for a tiny bottle of vodka and a beer to chase it, hoping it would tamp down my frazzled nerves.

Considering I had been unconscious for most of the previous twenty four hours, at least in the other world, I wasn't sleepy at all. I went into my room anyhow and laid down, studying the shifting lights on my wall from the street below, listening to the sound of the city at night, drunks singing, garbage trucks emptying dumpsters, street sweepers.

I became aware of a familiar flow that regularly invaded my dreams in the Liminality. It found and buffeted my soul like a strong current, trying to sweep it away, but not to Root.

The stream flirted with me, beckoning me to join it until I relented and let it was over me. I wasn't even sleeping this time. Fully alert and awake, it took me. This was something new and amazing to me. The barriers between me and the Singularity were getting weaker and weaker all the time.

Leaving my body on the bed, it carried me outside the hotel to the streets of Glasgow, to the drunken man I could hear singing, to his wife four blocks away in an apartment, watching a DVD and waiting for him to come home.

And then I was in the train station sampling the mind of one of those lonely young men I used to see everywhere, convinced they were all Sergei's bounty hunters, but this was truly just a lonely and troubled young man, both pining and dreading to go home.

And then I was in a train far down the tracks. It looked like the same kind of train we had ridden north from Pontypool. And I recognized a passenger. Belinda. The woman who had met me at the airport in Rome. Who first warned me against returning to the Liminality. She was coming north. Coincidentally?

And then I was flying, flitting from head to head across a rural landscape, through small towns, big towns, nameless cities. Spiraling around its neighborhoods, homing in on a person sitting with her back against a road embankment, feet propped against a light post as she snacked on a hunk of baguette.

Karla. It was Karla. Yes. This time I was a hundred percent sure.

She leapt up. Alarmed. She whirled around, facing an unseen accoster. She began to run, but I stayed with her, holding on as long as I could, even though the stream was already tugging at me, trying to carry me away.

"James?"

Her voice loosened my grip and I was torn away, caught up in the torrent, bouncing over souls like so many stones in a riverbed.

And I was back in my room, feeling leaden and inert. I should have been happy. Karla looked fine. She looked healthy and free. By no means a prisoner or a hostage. Just ... homeless. But what did that mean?

When the roots came, they came hard and fast. I could not keep them at bay. They took me like a fox takes a vole.
Chapter 41: Cracker

I found myself prostrate and naked in a walkway in the middle of the warren next to the vacant plinth where I had faded. Little strips of glowing root had been placed here and there to mark certain entryways, but it was way too dark for me to make sense of this maze and find my way to my quarters.

Something slithered against the paving stones across the way where it was too dark to see. I noticed my sword glinting on the plinth. I grabbed it and hopped to my feet, stalking the critter before it could get away. I pounced and impaled it with my sword.

"Gotcha! You fucker!

It was my hoodie, which had half reverted back to roots and was crawling around the corner, attempting a getaway. I snatched it up and went a little farther down the alley where I found my pants attempting to climb a wall like some octopus trying to escape a fishing boat. I wove both back into submission with a few twirls of my sword tip and pulled them on. With the chill breeze and all, I was grateful for some clothes.

I left the warren and skirted its outer wall, heading down towards the rim and the main stairway. Down there would be the mats that Olivier had set up for me to nap. I could catch a few winks and then choose a saddle for my new dragonfly in time to meet Urszula up at the meadow for my flying lesson.

I was looking forward to riding Tigger, but also a little nervous about what would come next. The sooner I learned to fly the sooner we would leave for Penult, the place that spawned all these Cherubim and Hashmallim and Seraphim that were tearing up this place. I couldn't help but feel a little bit afraid.

My glimpse of Karla in that Singularity dream—if indeed it was a dream—still unsettled me. I should have felt relieved that she seemed healthy and uninjured, that she was free, not under any kind of threat, but I couldn't help but be unnerved.

What was she doing? Where was she? Had she been taken and escaped? Was she looking for me or running from me?

Something about it made me all queasy inside. I felt somehow betrayed. Why was I risking my butt going to Penult? She had wanted me here and now here I was. Why hadn't she come and found me? Was she too happy now for the Liminality? Being away from me? I mean, what the fuck? How was that supposed to make me feel?

This was one of those times that made me relate to those lonely young men in those train stations. No place to go. No one coming to meet them. No one awaiting their arrival.

I was feeling as low as I ever did in this place. If I could have crawled into a pod and fed myself to a Reaper, I would have at that moment.

The Old Ones manning the stony fortifications at the rim barely glanced at me as I passed. Their stony silence should not have surprised me but it spooked me nonetheless. These souls had ways of communicating with each other that went beyond words. I could feel the probing of stray wisps of consciousness, but I was not quite receptive enough yet to engage them.

A detachment of Frelsians guarding the stairway to the lower terrace were more receptive to my presence. They were clad in that soft and clingy armor of theirs. Their root lanterns were dimmed to near imperceptibility, a mere suggestion of light than any functional radiance.

"And where might you off to at this hour, young man?" said a barrel-chested man with a weapon that looked like a cross between a pole axe and a ridiculously long shotgun.

"Grotto," I grunted, almost inaudibly.

One of the guards nudged his comrade. "This is the Moody fellow, mate," he whispered.

"For true?" said a third guard. "The James?"

The first guard clasped my shoulder.

"So good to have you with us, son. You take care down below. Word is the Pennies are sending bands of infiltrators up the cliffs. Cherubim. Hashmallim. Snipers and raiders and such. The armory is well guarded and we have patrols all through the viny woods, but some still manage to get through. That's why we're here. Can't always depend on those Old Ones. Doesn't seem like they're awake much. What's your business down there? If ... you don't mind me asking?" He scrunched his brow.

"Well. I'm supposed to go and get myself a saddle."

"Oh. Mantid rider, are you?"

"Dragonfly."

"Really, now?" He seemed impressed.

"The quartermaster can help you," said the first guard. "Just tell him what you need and he'll hook you up. He's supposed to be on duty 24/7 with the siege and all underway. Though, he might be busy. Miss Victoria's down there right now getting her fighting gear in order."

"Victoria, huh?"

"Oh yes. It's so nice to have her back. She's a battler that one. A true sorceress. She turned the tide for us in the battle for the basin. Wasn't for her, we never would have reached this refuge. The Pennies had us in full retreat. It was not a pretty sight."

"No worries," I said. "I won't get in her way. I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd go get that saddle. I just wanted some place to go. Get out of the dark."

"You're always welcome here, son. There is always someone on duty here, and most of us are Fullsouls."

"Thanks."

I started down the stairs. A few glow worms tucked here and there marked the edge of the stairs, but the utter darkness everywhere else conspired to amplify my sense of vertigo. I knew about the unseen void looming only a few feet to my right.

The stairs lacked a rail. The retaining wall ended below my knee. One wrong turn and I would plunge a thousand feet with no return. I kept as far left as possible, fingernails skimming the side of the cliff.

The precision and utter evenness of the stairs at least made the descent predictable. I counted two hundred and fifty six steps down to the middle landing. The place was silent but for the drip of a spring and the wind buffeting the cliffs.

I paused. Where were the guards? Why weren't they challenging me?

I took a step and my foot struck something soft and heavy. I tripped, barely keeping my feet. When I caught myself I reached down and felt around, my hand falling straight on someone's mouth and nose. They were cold and dead, with not a trace of blood.

I panicked, certain that infiltrators had come up the stairs and were lurking in one of the rain shelters carved into the cliff. I gripped my sword and cast my will against the stone in each cavity, making it fluoresce, intending to silhouette whoever was hiding.

The rock glowed. There was no one hiding in the shelters, but there were three more bodies strewn about the landing. I wanted to shout up to the guards up top, but it was a long ways up. Better I not expose my presence to whoever had done this.

I waited for the glow to fade before moving on to the lower stairs. If a Cherub had come up this far, there was no way I had passed him on the stairs. Whoever had done this probably remained below me.

My heart thudded out of control, losing its rhythm the way it usually did when I went into a panic. I scurried to the end of the landing and started down, sword at the ready, casting my will every now and then to illuminate a tread. But I heard no breathing, no footsteps but my own, encountered no other souls all the way down to the mouth of the grotto.

At the base of the stairs, I stumbled over two more bodies. Neither had any sign of wounds. Their weapons remained at their sides. They were both still warm but as limp as wet towels.

I tiptoed to the opening of the grotto which at night was shrouded in several layers of heavy curtain, to keep the light in. I slipped between the layers and peered around the parting. Yet another body sprawled on the floor by the entrance, his arms still clutching a pair of rolled up sleeping mats—the quartermaster.

Shadows danced behind bowls of glowing root strands that wiggled like flames. At first I thought the grotto was empty because she kept so still, it took a few moments to spot her. Victoria stood by the saw horses that held the captured cracker column.

I was so relieved to see her. I brought down my sword, relaxed and took a deep breath. I assumed she had gotten here first and subdued or scared off the attackers who had taken out the guards.

I was tempted to call out but didn't want to disturb whatever spell she was conjuring. She stood with her back to me, her arms stretched out straight. One end of the cracker began to levitate off its saw horse, pivoting up vertical.

I watched, mesmerized. Her powers were so strong she needed no sword or staff or scepter to focus them. Wisps of mist emanated from her fingertips as she manipulated the device.

The column hovered a foot off the floor, bobbing like a buoy in a lake. She went over and pushed in a ring of knobs halfway up the column. It descended and upon making contact, began to spin. The stone beneath it gave way as if it were mud, heaping up around it to create a rim of re-congealed stone. The column embedded itself several feet deep, just enough to stabilize it so it did not to teeter or topple.

Victoria pulled down a set of prongs from the top of the column until they projected horizontally like a ring of spike. She turned the uppermost segment until the bumps at its base matched those atop the next segment causing it to vibrate and hum. She did the same for the next segment, pulling down its spikes and rotating it until the bumps matched the one below it.

This was a cracker and she was activating it! I stepped through the curtains and moved towards her.

"Victoria? What the fuck? What are you doing?"
Chapter 42: Treason

Victoria's head whipped towards me. I stood there gawking just inside the blackout curtains beside one of those guttering bowls of glowing root strands simulating flames.

She jabbed her index finger at my feet. The cold stone instantly liquefied and surged up around me like a wave, solidifying around my ankles. She then slapped the back of her hand towards me and my sword went flying against the wall of stone behind me. It adhered to surface and turned as dark and tarnished as a fossil.

"My apologies, but you are witnessing the end of New Axum, Mr. Moody. And ... the end of you, I'm sad to say. These are to be your last moments in the Liminality. But no worries. I hear that you navigate quite well through realms. I have no doubt we will see each other again."

"But why are you doing this?"

She shrugged and turned her weary gaze on me. She smiled sadly.

"Because. I ... am ... fed ... up. I am done ... with Zhang ... with all of these people, this place. My future lies with Penult. I am tired of waiting, of searching for souls with skills to match my own. Now I realize that my presence here was in error. I was meant for Penult. The surface must be restored to the worthy."

"That's bullshit!" I said. "These Seraphs are no better than us."

"Maybe. But there are more than Seraphim and Hashmallim and Messengers and Cherubim in Penult. You know nothing of their Lords, the Erelim. You have seen nothing like them. They are the true powers-that-be. It did not me long to realize this as their prisoner that my future belongs with them. They are the truly enlightened. So this deed I am doing will be my penance, to take down this mountain, destroy this so-called resistance will prove my worthiness. In return, I am promised a chance to seek my rightful place in the after realms."

"You're a freaking traitor!"

"Oh, on the contrary. I am a redeemer. A restorer. A fixer."

She continued to work on the column, her fingers moving rapidly and intricately, peeling down the spines and rotating segments. She raked her fingernails through the air just above the surface of the column and etched deeper and more intricate grooves into its side.

"Such a humble weapon they managed to capture. Not the best in the arsenal. But I can make this one better. Stronger. There is a lot of stone in this mountain and the roots are firm. Much more power will be needed to smash it down. Still, it is quite the windfall to find this one here intact. I was afraid I would have to craft my own from scratch. And as you know, mister wing builder, they are quite intricate."

"No! You can't do this!"

"And who is going to stop me?" She chuckled musically. "Not you, surely. Without your crutch of a sword. You know, for a so-called savior, you seem rather pathetic. I've studied you, James. I know all about your clunky spell craft, ejaculating prematurely, if at all. Sometimes you get lucky, but not always when you need it most. Such a dysfunctional little wizard you are."

I was dumbfounded.

"What the hell? I used to ... admire you. What happened to the Victoria who used to rescue souls from pods? Save them from Reapers. Lead them to freedom on the surface ... to Frelsi? The one who put Luther in his place?"

She smirked. "I am who I've always been, just a little more enlightened these days."

Repeatedly, she dug her fingers into the air a few inches away from the column, a virtual space that controlled the device by proxy. She folded down another crown of spikes, twirled it and locked it into place. Segment by segment she worked her way down. The column vibrated at lower and lower frequencies until the floor of the grotto began to shake.

The blackout curtain parted. Olivier burst into the room, bearing a crooked staff, his hair all mussed, his clothes disheveled.

"What the fuck is going on here? Did you two get a cracker going? Turn the damned thing off before—"

Victoria flung her hand towards him and sent a ripple of power blasting straight for his head. Olivier dove to the floor of the grotto, stretching and reaching his staff towards her. A bolt of energy sizzled forth and scorched the ceiling above Victoria. The sorceress took aim with her palm and summoned another burst. Her aim was true. The plasma struck Olivier's staff and splintered its business end.

You know that feeling I get? That loosening in my stomach when I'm about to project that weird force that is an extension of my will? Well, it came on super strong and fast this time. And I knew this time that I would need no sword to help me focus and direct it. My target was obvious. My intention, righteous. All I needed to send it on its way were my eyes.

The bolus of power separated from me without the slightest bit of strain or effort. It blasted out of my core as a diffuse glob of plasma. Victoria, astonished, had only a moment react. She thrust her palms out. A misty shield materialized before her.

The plasma I had conjured came together on the fly, consolidating into a dull and opaque mass the size of a cannon ball. Victoria's shield was still cross-linking and acquiring density when my will struck and tore it to a million wisps and bits. My plasma flashed bright blue when it hit. It spread and clung to her skin, enveloping her entire body.

I had no conscious premonition of what I intended that blob to do to her. I just wanted to stop her. My emanation was fury and panic made physical.

And stop her it did. Every pore and appendage of her exploded with roots. Fine tendrils swarmed from every hair follicle. Thick corms sprouted from her toes. Wiry roots stretched from her fingers, her ears, her nostrils, from every bump and crevice in her body. Her scream was stifled by a root that transformed her tongue into a thick and gnarled trunk that stretched to the floor of the grotto and anchored her firmly to the stone. When the sprouting ceased, the only sign of life she displayed was a pair of anguished and flickering eyes staring from behind a brow of rumpled bark.

But the cracker column continued to thrum and shake the grotto. Stones and bits of gravel started to rain down from the ceiling. I tried to go to it, but my feet wouldn't budge. I teetered and fell backward. I was still anchored up to my ankles in the re-congealed stone.

"Olivier! I can't move. You have to do it. You have to turn it off."

He looked down at me helplessly, still holding his splintered staff.

"How?"
Chapter 43: Expedition

Olivier rushed over and tried to help me. He whacked and pried at the stone binding my feet with his shattered staff. But he only managed to jam a splinter into my toes.

The shaking intensified. The waves emanating from the base of the column grew in amplitude. Cracks appeared in the grotto wall. Several of the cracker's segments had not yet been activated. If they had, the mountain would already be coming down.

Olivier stared at the vibrating column and the thing that Victoria had become.

"What the fuck were you guys trying to do?"

"It wasn't me, it was her! She was trying to take down the mountain."

I kept wrenching and twisting and flexing my ankles, struggling to free myself, but the stone held me firm.

"Step back!" I said.

I relaxed, took a deep breath and let my will build inside until I got it churning. I focused hard and cast it down as forcibly as I could at my feet. The blast struck the stone and dissipated, scattering like mercury across the cracked floor. My feet remained trapped.

It was no wonder Victoria's spell craft held firm. Her weaving skills were way out of my league. Unlike me, she could manipulate objects and substances that had long differentiated from root and her rearrangements were permanent.

"Listen, you're gonna have to turn it off. See those spikes? Grab 'em and spin each segment until they're out of alignment. Then you fold them up into their slots. Start at the bottom and work your way up."

Olivier just stared at me. He looked befuddled.

"Go! Turn the damned thing off! I told you how. Now do it!"

The floor was heaving. The bedrock below had shattered. Random blocks of stone rose and fell. Olivier picked his way through the chaos block by block, barely able to keep his feet. When he reached the cracker, he latched on to the lowest ring of spikes and pulled.

It yielded slightly, but the column continued to vibrate.

He grunted. "It ... won't ... budge ... any more!"

"Fuck!" I said, straining with frustration at my trapped feet.

Olivier leaned back and threw all his weight against the spikes. The segment gave way. He kept pulling until it rotated to a place where the knobs were no longer aligned and the spikes could fold up flush. He did the same with the next segment and the next until the vibrations eased and the column grew still.

The air in the grotto was filled with stone dust. Bits of grit rained down from the shattered ceiling. The floor shifted. The block of bedrock holding my feet cracked, freeing one of my feet.

A band of Duster warriors surged into the grotto ready to blast us to bits with their gnarled and knobby scepters.

"Easy, easy!" said Olivier, holding up his palms. "Everything's cool here."

***

The Dusters helped me free my other foot from the grotto floor with a hammer and chisel. A contingent of Frelsians hovered at the grotto entrance until they were comfortable that the cave would not collapse on their heads.

When they learned that Victoria was now more or less a tree, they sent off a runner to inform Zhang. Meanwhile, the others strapped the warty, mangrove-like monstrosity that she had become onto a litter and draped her with a tattered, old curtain.

Once I was freed, I borrowed the tools and went to work extracting my now fossilized sword from the grotto wall. I was relieved to see that although it was now entirely black, it remained metallic. Victoria had not transformed it into stone.

I managed to chip it out more or less intact, though it was encrusted with bits of stone that remained fused to the surface of the metal, now warped with waves and ripples. I didn't care. All I cared was that it remained sharp and pointy.

Olivier went and stood over Victoria as the Frelsians secured her to the litter with long and wiry strands of root.

Olivier stroked the burl that encrusted her forehead. "Will you look at this gal? So full of hate. Not one shred of remorse."

I joined him and saw her eyes all inflamed with horror and rage and pain. She would be screaming if she had a mouth.

A Frelsian soldier of middling rank came up to us. He looked a little nervous.

"Excuse me. Would you mind if we ask you two a few questions? Comrade Zhang expects a full accounting."

***

Olivier and I sat on a bench near the entrance and did our best to satisfy the Frelsian officer's endless inquiries. He asked us to describe step by step everything that had gone on down here from Urszula telling me to get myself a saddle to finding the dead guards on the stairs to Olivier turning off the cracker.

Several of the Dusters gathered around to listen in on us. The Frelsian found it difficult to believe that Victoria would have unleashed a cracker on their doorstep. The Dusters seemed to have an easier time believing.

When the questioning was done, Olivier and I were left sitting on the bench. Now that morning had come, the blackout curtain had been pulled back. A mist hung over the cloud forest. Mantids hunted in the treetops. The clearing below swarmed with soldiers gathering for patrols.

Olivier looked up at the cracked ceiling. "This place isn't going to collapse on our heads, is it?"

"Nah," I said. "What was gonna fall already fell. Everything else is wedged in tight."

"Well, I'm glad you think so," he said, as he picked splinters of the end of his shattered staff.

Six Frelsians passed us with the litter bearing Victoria. I had to look away. The weird mix of anguish and disgust in her eyes still haunted me and I had no desire to see that again. It was almost as if I feared her gaze might taint my soul.

"She's not right in the head, that one," said Olivier. "The Lords must have messed with her. Tampered with her soul."

"Yup," I said, averting my eyes until the litter bearers had turned the corner onto the stairs.

"That stuff you did to her. Is that something you can undo?"

"I'm not sure. The stuff I do, I can't always control."

He smirked and patted my arm. "Remind me never to get on your bad side. He looked up at me? "Hey, did you ever get your saddle?"

"Nah. I guess I'd better go grab me one."

I got up and sauntered over to the wall of the grotto where all the Dusters stored their gear. Everything piled against it was covered with a thick layer of grit and dust. The dragonfly saddles were all humped and vertical like motorcycle seats, designed to prop the riders high so as not to interfere with the wings. Mantid saddles were flatter, and looked more like something you could use on a horse.

I chose the saddle that had the least blood smeared on it. It looked a little too small for me, but maybe a lighter saddle would be good for getting Tigger used to it. I could always upgrade later.

As I slapped off the dust, a large gaggle of people appeared at the entrance, led by Zhang and Yaqob and a pair of Old Ones, both women, the latest in the rotation of their leadership. In their communal system, any Old One was empowered to speak for all.

"Is it safe here?" said Zhang.

"Oh yes sir, of course," said one of the officers who always seemed to be near him. "The lower terrace is firmly under our control."

"No. I mean the armory. It looked a bit damaged."

"Oh, it is quite stable. I can guarantee."

"Good. We're meeting here, then," said Zhang, striding into the grotto.

"You. Come here. Now," said Yaqob, looking at me.

***

I was glad to see Kitt and Tyler in the entourage, back from whatever fade or scouting mission had taken them away. Kitt had her wings with her, all mended and redecorated over my bleaching. Urszula had come as well. She smiled when saw me with the saddle and gave me a thumbs up.

We convened in a circle on whatever benches and stools Zhang's people could throw together. The cracker column had been removed from its socket on the floor and replaced onto the saw horses beside us. Yaqob scrutinized its knobby surface closely studying the fresh grooves Victoria had added. He glanced over at me.

"This is not the same device we captured."

"Yeah it is," I said. "She modified it. Made it stronger. She wanted to take down the whole mountain."

Yaqob's eyes twinkled.

"Can you make another just like this?"

"Uh. I doubt it. Not one that works."

"Why not?" he said.

"Because ... they're complicated."

"Have you tried?" said Zhang.

"Not really. But I ... I don't even know where to start. I mean, give me some roots and I can make a pole that looks like one of these. But it won't be functional."

"Can this one be reactivated?" said Yaqob.

"Probably," I said. "I'd rather not try. Not here, anyway. Any more shaking and this cave is coming down."

"But you could start it if we brought it to Penult? Give the Pennies a taste of their own medicine?"

"Yeah. I think so."

Excited murmurs swept through the grotto.

"We must form an expedition as soon as possible," said Yaqob. "The Cherubim in the basin are preparing another assault. This column will not be safe here."

"And yet more Cherubim come to reinforce their brethren," said one of Yaqob's scouts. "A new flotilla has arrived on the shore.

"Will they bring more columns?" said Zhang.

"Undoubtedly," said the scout. "Their vessels bear cargo. But we couldn't get close enough to see for certain. Their falcons drove us off."

"I volunteer!" said Kitt.

"Me too," said Tyler.

"Hold on," said Zhang. "I have been having second thoughts. I am wondering, is this really wise? After all, Penult is a place we all should aspire to ... someday. No? There are some among us who believe it might be ... actually Heaven. Do we really want to bring harm to such a place?"

"None of you are meant for Penult," said Yaqob. "The Lords would never allow you. They see all who pass from the underground as unworthy. They would never accept us. Any of us."

"Unless ... we take it for ourselves," said Olivier.

"Steal Heaven?" said Zhang, raising an eyebrow.

"Bah! Why you think we need Penult?" said Urszula, sputtering. "This land is good enough. Yes, they ruin much, but there is still plenty they don't damage."

"And what is destroyed can be restored," said Yaqob. "The Old Ones shape and mend stone. They are creators, too. Not only Penult. You think the surface has always looked like this? They made this land what you see. They can raise mountains."

Faint smiles appeared on the women representing the Old Ones.

"We hit the hard," said Olivier. "They might think twice about what they're doing here?"

"Is a single cracker gonna be enough?" said Kitt.

"Maybe," said Olivier. "If we find the right place to deploy one, and if it was powerful enough."

Olivier looked at me as if I could do something about the situation.

"Comrade Zhang, do you concur with this plan?" said Yaqob.

Zhang was looking troubled. He said nothing.

"We need to act quickly," said the Duster scout. "There is another wave of vessels coming in off shore."

"Zhang?" said Olivier. "Are you cool with this? You onboard with us?"

The Frelsian leader hesitated. His eyes met Olivier's directly. "I ... suppose. If it's only to be a limited raid. A single column. It would show them we are serious."

Olivier turned to the Old Ones. "What about you ladies?"

Both women nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Good! It's a go then," said Olivier.

"How many fighters do we send?" said Yaqob.

"Only Freesouls," shouted a Frelsian on the periphery. "We can't afford to lose any faders."

Urszula pushed her way to the table.

"Fuck that sheet," she said. "I am a Hemisoul. I go and so will James."

"Oh, I don't see the value in sending James," said Zhang. "It's a simple task. And we need him here. Penult will be well defended. He can show someone how to initiate the column."

"No. James will come too. We will need him."

Urszula sought me with her eyes. I wouldn't have minded staying behind, but the fire in her gaze made me assent.

"Yeah. I'll go."

"I'm there too, fella," said Olivier.

"We keep the raiding party small," said Urszula. "A small party we can sneak. But we will make sure they feel us."

"I too will go," said Yaqob.

"No, Yaqob!" said Zhang. "Your people need you. We need you here."

"I shall go!" roared Yaqob. "I am sick of watching and waiting while the Pennies peck away at us. No worries, Zhang. I will designate a capable steward. Our warriors will continue defend New Axum."

Zhang looked a little unsettled, but I could tell he had crossed a threshold. "Whatever weapons or provisions you need from us, they are yours. I am afraid we can't support you with fliers. Our winged Reapers are too few and they do not have the range. But we can provide an escort to the shore."

Yaqob huddled with his lieutenants. A pair of them peeled off and bustled out of the grotto.

"This meeting is done," said Yaqob. "All who wish to participate in the raid must convene in the main plaza at noon."

I was about to walk away when Zhang waved me over. I made my way over to his side.

"Before you leave, I am going to need your help."

"What kind of help?" I said, startled.

"Victoria. Can you undo whatever it is that you did to her?

"Are you sure you want that? I mean ... she's dangerous."

"She is my dearest companion. We were Hemisouls together in Root. We were among the first parties of refugees that broke through to the surface. We helped settle Frelsi. She tamed the first Reaper. She was even one of the first Freesouls."

"Mr. Zhang, the person they sent back to us. She may look like Victoria ... but she's not. The real Victoria is gone."

"Nonsense. I know my friend. I've spoken with her. Yesterday, she was fine. A little under the weather, maybe.

"You need to keep her confined," I said. "She's too strong. Too dangerous to be set free."

"Not to mention, pissed," said Olivier, inspecting the socket the cracker had made in the floor of the grotto. "If looks could vaporize, we'd be mist."

The glare his comment induced from Zhang glare was almost as potent.

"I will have my best flesh weavers look after her. All weaving can be unwoven."
Chapter 44: Lessons

Olivier helped me lug the dusty saddle up the stairs to the upper terrace. We found the rim promenade bustling with a contingent of Frelsian defenders fresh from the side valley they had abandoned to the Cherubim. A heavily-scarred Reaper, its wounds still weeping, lumbered along beside them, guided by handlers wielding multiple tethers.

"I'm almost afraid to ask ... what do they plan to feed that thing up here?"

"No shortage of Cherubs down below," said Olivier.

I shuddered at the thought. We were standing at the base of the steep, cobbled lane that separated the warren from the more heavily damaged eastern sector of New Axum.

"How about we meet up on the main plaza after your lesson?" said Olivier. "Got some shit I need to do. Get a new staff for one thing. He held up the shattered stub he was still hanging onto.

We shook hands and he disappeared into the warren. I trudged up the hill and found Urszula waiting in the upper meadow with Lalibela while Tigger buzzed about overhead. Another bunch of Frelsians were digging wide trenches in the turf.

"Those look awful big for fox holes."

"They are for Reaper pens," said Urszula, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Wow. That's gonna really stink up the place."

"Those beasts were not allowed up here before, but now we have no choice. The western valley is no more ours."

I watched as Tigger zoomed back and forth over head, diving down to buzz some workers repairing a rooftop, veering away abruptly at the last second.

"If he flies like that with me on him, I'm gonna have a hard time staying in the saddle."

"That is why we train," she said. "But ... small problem." She rolled her eyes. "I cannot get him to come down."

"I thought you were the dragonfly whisperer."

She shrugged. "Young bugs. They not listen so well sometimes. They no behave."

"Okay. So what the hell do we do?" I plunked the saddle down onto the grass and used it as a stool.

"We have some time. We sit and wait. He likes to be near Lalibela. Eventually he will land. Worse comes to worse...."

"What?"

"You ride with me." She smirked.

Tigger to cruise overhead, challenging any mantis or beetle that entered his air space, perfectly happy to remain aloft, as if he knew there was a saddle and a hundred fifty pounds of clumsy rider waiting for him on the ground.

Below the meadow, the main plaza brimmed with Dusters and Frelsians organizing battle groups, accumulating stores, getting all kinds of things done. As we watched, a procession made its way up the central lane. A dozen or so Dusters bearing slings had carried the cracker column up from the grotto.

"Why'd they bring it here?"

"The terrace is under threat," said Urszula. "Too many attacks come now from Cherub. We don't want them to take it back, no?

A mob had formed near the main council chambers. A group of Dusters came out of the building bearing Victoria's litter. Several frantic and shouting Frelsians. Soldiers rushed to the scene.

"What the hell? Where are they taking her? Is that Yaqob?"

Yaqob and several Old Ones led the way down to the plaza. His guard shoved aside any Frelsian who attempted to bar their way.

"What the fuck is going on there?"

Urszula showed no surprise or concern.

One of Yaqob's people scanned the meadow as if he were looking for someone. Urszula stood up and waved, pointing down at me.

"What the hell?"

"They want you to come with them," said Urszula.

"What for?"

"You go and you will see. Meanwhile I will get Tigger to come down. Maybe you make him scared."

"Him? Scared of me?"

"You'd better go. Yaqob does not like to wait."

***

I made my way down between the ditches and onto the plaza where the Dusters and Frelsians continued to squabble over Victoria. In full armor, brandishing weapons, some of the Frelsians seemed on the verge of going to battle with the more lightly armed Dusters.

"Get Zhang!" shouted one of the Frelsians. A pair of runners ran off across the plaza.

Yaqob stayed calm. He kept his eyes on me as I approached. He was standing between Victoria's litter and the cracker column that had been in the armory. The two women currently representing the Old Ones stood with him, their faces blank as mannequins. A cordon of Dusters and Old Ones kept a group of agitated Frelsians at bay, including the well-dressed flesh weaver who had been working on her.

"What's going on here?" I said,

"We need your help," said Yaqob. "We are attempting interrogation."

"You want my help?"

"You have communed with the Singularity? No?"

"Well, yeah. I guess that's what you'd call it. Why?"

"We need to search this one's soul." His eyes flicked down to Victoria, stiff and prostrate on the litter. She was looking a bit trimmer and less vine-cluttered thanks to some nifty flesh weaving. Still, she bore a striking resemblance to a mangrove tree.

"What for?"

"One column is not enough. If we lose it. We are lost. We need more." He rapped his calloused knuckles against her side. "This one. She knows cracker columns. Come. Join us."

The two lady Old Ones had already tucked their hands into the woody grooves striating Victoria's chest. Yaqob placed one hand over Victoria's rough and flaky brow and the other on the cracker column that had just been hauled up from the grotto.

"Now you put your hand on me," said the old Duster who, for some reason, was wearing only a breech cloth, displaying his centuries of battle wounds accumulated in two realms.

"Uh ... okay." My hand hesitated over his scarred and scabrous skin as I searched for a patch I was willing to touch that would gross me out the least. I finally cupped my palm and clapped it against one of Yaqob's massive and bony shoulders. He was a head taller than me and outweighed me by at least fifty pounds.

Olivier arrived on the scene all breathless, escorted by another pair of well-armed Dusters.

He seemed puzzled at first, but needed only a glance to assess what was happening and join in without questions or needing to be asked. He placed his palm flat against the small of Yaqob's back and winked at me.

"Now ... carefully ... put your other hand on Victoria," said Yaqob. "But be careful. She bites."

"Bites?"

I took him literally, but as I reached out, the back of my hand brushed Victoria's woody flesh and in an instant I understood his warning. Victoria's consciousness surged into mine and she lashed out. Now I heard the scream in her eyes that she could not physically voice. Her mind remained frozen in the moment I struck turned her body into wood.

"Man," said Olivier, though he didn't need to speak. "You really did a job on her. Nice work." He must have seen or felt my anxiety. He looked at me directly. "Don't worry. She can't hurt you. She's all boxed up in there."

Bits of Yaqob, the ladies and Olivier swirled around my own thoughts. In milliseconds, I came to learn more about Yaqob, Olivier and the Old Ones than I had ever known about my own parents. I absorbed every fragment of their histories, hopes and heartbreaks.

Yaqob was a simple man from a simpler time, not exactly the leader I would have presumed, but nevertheless a well-read and highly respected farmer from an Eritrean village where he raised teff and oxen. He was fluent in English and Italian along with his native Amharic. He had attended college in Asmara but had returned to the semi-arid highlands near the border with Tigray to manage his family farm.

One by one, various calamities had conspired to claim his wife, two sons and three daughters in turn until he had no reason to persevere. He had ended up claiming his own life with a bowl of cyanide-laced maize porridge.

The Old Ones—Hoda and Yaris—were both Turks. Hoda was a city girl from Istanbul, Yaris, a Kurd whose family had fled Iraq when it was still under British rule. Hoda, lovelorn and ill-fated, never made it out of her teens. Yaris had a full life but simply grown weary of growing ever older.

Olivier was French Canadian, a tinkerer and electrician from Trois Rivieres, Quebec. His American-born wife was lost in an accident between a ferry and a barge in the St. Lawrence Seaway. That one incident was the source of his despair but Olivier's labyrinthine mind remained more opaque to me than the others. His baffling patterns of thought were so abstract and intricate and circuitous that they almost seemed encrypted. He was way more brilliant than I ever imagined.

I thought for sure they were learning as much or more about me. The Singularity strips all souls down to their essence that way, peeling away all pretension and show, revealing one's soul in all its naked glory.

But no. None reciprocated. They stayed within themselves. They were waiting for me, interested only in keeping the portal open for me to act. They were mere vessels. They wanted me to do the interrogation and they were growing impatient.

Startled as I was to find myself as the centerpiece, I didn't want to disappoint my friends. I dug down and did my job. I surrendered myself to the Singularity. It surged and swept me deep into the mind of Victoria.

There was a power to the flow that far exceeded that which I had tapped into during my recent dream excursions. This was no back eddy. This was the real thing. The experience felt more like the channeling I did while communing with Old Ones in the long sleep.

Victoria's mind had been consumed with reconfiguring the cracker when my spell struck and froze her. Her mind remained suspended in that state. She revealed to me every minute detail of the cracker and how she had intended to expand its power.

Like Alice in Wonderland, the Singularity downsized me much as it had done to me with the sixwings of the Seraphim. It carried me deep into the design, blasting me through a patterned cityscape of atoms and molecules, spaced with random and chaotic hinterlands interlaced with angular networks of grooved canals only nanometers across. Baffling tangles of hollow channels hexagonal, heptagonal and octagonal in cross-section filled the interior, emanating from clusters of crystalline seeds that the Singularity dwelled on in particular, hinting to me that they were key to the functionality of the weapon.

When my free hand brushed my blackened sword, the forces of the Singularity surged down my arm and through my fingers and into the metal, exploring, revealing and explaining its molecular structure to me.

I was stunned to see that my interior of my sword had an internal structure mirroring the interior of the cracker column. Was the Singularity confused? Was I misinterpreting things? How was that possible?

Victoria had been engaged with modifying the actual column when she struck my sword away with her spell. Perhaps her intention to modify the column had become entangled with her desire to disarm me and she had transferred the molecular rearrangements to my sword. That might explain its odd finish and texture.

But the details continued to baffle me. My mind simply could not grasp the full complexity of a cracker column. Parts of it made sense to me. The fractal nesting of its patterns served to amplify forces in a similar way as the wing joints. I understood how natural vibrations in the crust were made to grow into monstrous earthquakes but there was just too much complexity for me to handle. I didn't have a mind capable of replicating such structures.

It made me appreciate Victoria's genius if nothing else. But I was just James. I might be special in some ways, but even special people have limitations. I felt bad for disappointing my friends. Yaqob, Olivier and the Old Ones all felt what I was feeling. They were here and knew my failure.

But it was okay. They didn't hate me. And that was a revelation. They had my back. They understood. They were glad I tried.

I pulled my consciousness free of Victoria and I could feel the tension deflate. But I wasn't ready to leave the Singularity just yet. The power of its main flow was too intoxicating not to subvert a little of it to my own selfish desires. Just a peek was all I wanted. Olivier left us but Yaqob and the Old Ones remained engaged. They let me explore.

My mind tore away from our group and into the crowd of onlookers. I went head hopping across the terrace until I found a Hemisoul in the midst of fading and used her consciousness to cross over into the living realm. Relaying through minds in scattered houses I crossed a rural landscape to the nameless city where I had previously visited Karla in my dreams.

The Singularity knew exactly who she was and where to find her, leading me like a bloodhound straight to a treed raccoon. It bounced me from motorist to motorist, down one street and around a corner to a row of warehouses that all looked exactly alike. It drove me through a wall of corrugated steel into the chilly interior of a pallet-filled shipping bay.

Karla slept not on a bed but on a pile of quilted movers' blankets. They smelled musty and were tainted with engine oil. She lay in a dimly lit corner, alone but for a night watchman who sat on a stool by the entrance. I could hear her snuffling breaths as she slept.

Unlike my other excursions, this was no fuzzy, ambiguous impression this time. My senses were fully engaged, her presence much more vivid than my feeble dreams would ever allow. It was like I was really there and standing over her.

This time I had no doubt. I could confirm that it was really her and she was really alive. Relief washed over me, only to be replaced by a backwash of doubt. What was she doing in this warehouse? Had she escaped from her father? Was she on the run? Why hadn't she gotten word to us? We would have rushed across continents to gather her up and protect her.

The Singularity was kind enough to let me linger a while to sample Karla's jumbled dreams and assess her disposition. Asleep, she provided few clues, certainly nothing about her present location. But her heart was calm. She bore no injuries, felt no distress other than a diffuse ennui and mild hunger. She missed me, and that was good. I could confirm that she was not being held against her will, and that too was good. Or was it?

The Singularity began to nudge at me. My hosts were growing impatient. But I was not done looking at Karla. I missed her so much. I resisted its tug for now but its power was too great. When it wanted me to go it would take me.

Without warning, Karla cried out and sat upright, heaving the moving blankets off of her.

She squinted into the dimness. There was nothing there for her to see.

"James?"

She sensed my presence.
Chapter 45: Never

Karla's hair was mussed and flecked with bits of sawdust. Stray strands screened her puffy eyes.

"Is that you, James?"

I struggled against the Singularity's pull. It tore at me, ripping off shreds of my consciousness and whisking them away.

"Where are you?" I said, voicing it to the crowd surrounding Victoria on the main plaza. But Kara heard or understood as well.

"Where are you? Are you inside my head? How?"

"The Singularity."

Her eyes widened. She stood up and brushed herself off.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"You're there right now? In the Liminality? Is it over? The war?"

"No."

"Where are you, Karla?"

She started to speak, but she paused. I could see that she wanted to tell me. "I can't say."

"Come back. We'll meet you ... back in Brynmawr."

"I ... can't."

"Why not?"

"Because. That will make you ... happy."

"So why can't I be happy?"

"Because we need you ... there ... in the Liminality. The resistance ... they need you. And you get ... too happy, when you're with me. And so you get stuck here. But there's nothing for me here. I'm done with this place. My future ... our future ... is in the Liminality. But only if we can stop Penult from ruining everything. Drive them back, James. Get them to stop. I know you can do it. I believe in you."

"What if I don't care? I don't care if I ever come back here. What if I just want to be with you?"

She frowned.

"We can't be together here ... in life. It doesn't work ... for me. I told you. I'm done with this place. I'm just waiting for you ... to finish what you've started. I'm proud of you, James. You've done very well so far."

"You've been here? In New Axum?"

"Yes."

"Come see me. Find me."

"Not now. When you finish. If I see you now, it will make you fade. They need you ... present ... and focused on the war. And you need to stop doing this. You need to stop using the Singularity to come after me."

"But I miss you."

"I miss you, too. But you need to go, James. Go and do your job."

"Where are you? What city? What country?"

"I can't tell you."

"I need to know that you're okay."

"I'm fine. Surviving. Don't worry about me right now. Just ... do your job."

"It's Wendell. Wendell is helping you."

She scrunched her eyes in my direction. "No. I'm doing this on my own."

The strength of the Singularity inched up like I had taken a step deeper into the main current of a river.

"But he said ... he threatened ... that we would never see each other again. Will I? Will I see you? Ever?"

"I ... I can't say."

"Tell me! I need to know."

Her face stilled. Her eyes grew cold and calculating.

"No," she said. "Not in this world. Not here. Never."

"Karla ... what are you talking about?"

And then whatever leverage I had against the Singularity crumbled and I was at the mercy of the flow. It ripped my consciousness out of that warehouse and a flitted between souls in the night, some wakeful, some sleeping, with a randomness that made sense only to the Singularity.

For a few short moments I paused in the bedroom of a country house in the middle of a forest. I could smell the evergreens. The man whose mind I shared wanted only death. The roots were coming to take him. But while they did, I had a chance to ruminate on my encounter with Karla, and the despair I shared with this despondent man combined to blow us both through the barrier between the realms, him to a pod deep in the darkest tunnels of Root, and me flitting through souls to the surface, skipping through the hearts of refugees braving the Cherub-infested valleys to the terraces of New Axum.

My hand slipped off Yaqob's shoulder and I collapsed onto the cobbles. Olivier lunged and caught me before my head struck the pavers.

***

Zhang had arrived with a detachment of Frelsian warriors who bulled their way through the crowd and took Victoria back into their custody.

"Yaqob! I warned you to stay away from her."

"This had to be done. Someone had to do this."

"And what did it get you? Did you manage decipher the cracker?"

Yaqob looked at me. He knew I had failed. He was in there with me.

"No. But we had to try."

Zhang caressed Victoria's brow.

"From now on, you keep your scabby hands off my friend. Understand? Too many of my people are already questioning the wisdom of this alliance. I'm beginning to think they have a point."

"What's done is done. We will trouble her no more. Though, I suggest you be careful about how much you free her. This one is bitter. And her heart remains with Penult."

"You let us worry about her," said Zhang, casting disappointed looks at me and my fellow conspirators Olivier and the Old Ones.

Olivier hauled me to my feet. He kept a hand on me to steady me. I was still feeling a little wobbly. There was an emptiness in the pit of my stomach that could have accommodated a black hole.

"You went off on a tangent there, kid."

"Sorry."

"Nah. That's cool. Some things you just gotta do. Did you work things out with her?"

"No. Not really."

Olivier gave me a worried look.

"Come on, let's get you some food in you. You're looking kind of frail."

***

Olivier arranged for some bees to come and share their nectar with us. This nectar was different. It had a purplish tinge and there was something stimulating about it. A couple sips and I was buzzing around like I had drunk a double espresso.

He led me down into the warren and took me directly to my quarters where a pair of Duster gals were arranging a platter of manna and pollen cakes for us. We sat and chatted a while, before he excused himself.

"Don't you fade on us now. We need you here," he said, as he left my entry.

I didn't care if I faded or not. My trip through the Singularity had taken a lot out of me, and that included any shred of motivation for raiding Penult. Karla's words left me hopeless in both worlds, though I think she was only aiming for one.

I dragged myself into the stony nook and collapsed onto the sleeping mats, half wishing that the Singularity would invade my dreams again and give me another glimpse of Karla, another chance to reason with her.

But there was to be nothing of the sort. I slept the sleep of a stone. And my dreams were merely dreams. Apparently the Singularity had enough of me for one day.

Still, I could sense its presence hovering all around my consciousness. I was more attuned to its presence now, or at least no longer tuning it out, the way people with tinnitus or who live next to a freeway learn to do to keep from going insane.

I could never feel truly isolated or alone again knowing that a superhighway of consciousness surged all around me, only a mood swing away.

***

I slept early and I slept long. In the morning, I awoke to a veritable crowd of guests. A honeybee sat on my windowsill eager to share its fresh cargo of purple nectar and yellow pollen. Meanwhile, Olivier and Urszula sat on my stone bench snacking on the bowl of manna chips intended for my breakfast. I salvaged a few before they were gone. They might look like peeled off scabs, but they tasted wonderful, sort of like a cross between fruit leather and beef jerky.

Urszula had encased herself in full Duster battle gear, with clinging scale-like armor and a peaked helmet. Olivier had washed his thinning hair and put on a neatly-woven Hawaiian shirt, khakis and flip-flops—not exactly the attire of a warrior.

"Are we ... we're not raiding Penult today are we?"

"No. Not today," said Urszula. "Yaqob is not ready. He is still indoctrinating his steward."

"Indoctrinating?"

"Reznak," said Olivier. "He's showing him the ropes."

"What did you do with your saddle?" said Urszula.

"My saddle? Um. I must have left it up in that meadow."

"What? You need to take care of your things. How am I supposed to teach you how to ride Trigger?"

"Tigger," I corrected.

Urszula's eyes widened and a rare smile gripped her. She looked like a little girl who had spotted a pony.

"Your bug, he is listening to me now. I got him to come down. He obeys me but only when I am with Lalibela."

"Sorry Urs, but I've got first dibs on him today," said Olivier. "We're going straight to the grotto. Maybe he can fetch another saddle from the armory and you can give him his flying lesson down on the lower terrace. But not till we get some shit done."

"Why are we going to the grotto?" I said.

"Because ... Yaqob insists on you making some cracker columns to bring with us on our raid ... when we go ... if we ever go."

"But you were there with me in Victoria's head. I have no clue where to start. Do you?"

"Nah. But the Pennies don't know that. Yaqob figures if we bring along some fakes ... and I mean some convincing replicas ... we can better protect the real one. Fake them out with some misdirection while we plant the real one. And who knows? We build something close, maybe we can tweak it and get it to work."

I sighed. "Alright. I'll see what I can do."

"Midday," said Urszula, her eyes admonishing as she clambered up and over a wall. "We have appointment. Clearing outside of armory. You be there."
Chapter 46: Replicas

Dazed and lost in thought, twice Olivier had to ask me to come with him before I dragged myself off my mats. I could not stop thinking about my encounter with Karla in the Singularity and her admission that Wendell had nothing to do with her disappearance. So she had gone off on her own. I had suspected as much. I understood what drove her to do it. But I could not quite get my head around how I was supposed to feel about it.

I still missed her badly. I wanted and needed to be with her. But I couldn't help but feel a little betrayed, though that betrayal did not change how I felt one iota. My heart still longed for her. I the only way to hasten our reunion was for me to continue to do my best to help the resistance.

I took solace in believing that failure was an option. If things didn't work and New Axum fell and we were all driven back underground, she would know I had given it my best shot. She would have no reason not to come back to me. The only way I would lose her would be to completely give up on this quest. Then Wendell might enter the picture and make sure we stayed apart. But Karla would never forgive me if I didn't at least try.

I don't know what I was going to tell the ladies of Brynmawr whenever, if ever I got back to Glasgow. How would they take the news that Karla need not be found anymore? They were having such a blast on this missing persons hunt. It would be such a letdown for them to be sent back to Brynmawr without finding her.

And maybe I held out the slightest hope that they would succeed, that we would find Karla somewhere in Scotland, and that would trump her scheme to keep me in the Liminality. If only we could see each other in person I knew I could make her see the hopelessness of ever defeating Penult. Maybe then some gears would shift in head and she would accept the possibility of life with me in the living world.

Olivier led me through the warren with the surety of someone who had lived here all his life. Some people just had a knack for navigation. Me, I could get lost wandering a mall, and I had, frequently, back when my mom used to take me shopping in Orlando.

The Old Ones manning the cliff top were just as silent and oblivious to our presence as the night before. I could only hope that they would respond a little differently if some cherubs happened by.

Sounds of battle echoed across the cloud forest on the rim of the lower terrace.

"Just a skirmish," said Olivier, continuing down the stairs. "No worries. We still hold the high ground." Three mantids came diving over the cliff edge, their spiked forelimbs ready for action. "Not to mention air superiority."

As we made our way down, Urszula came swooping across the cliff face on Lalibela's back. Tigger trailed close on their tail like a fledgling duck.

"I don't know why she's fussing about lessons," said Olivier. "It's not like she's teaching you how to pilot a Piper Cub. These dragonflies pretty much fly by themselves. Even the babies. It's probably easier than riding a horse."

"That's good."

"Why's that?"

"Because I've never ridden a horse."

"Honestly? Not even a pony ride? Such a deprived child."

We reached the bottom to find the entrance to the grotto well-guarded, including a new pair of bunkers flanking each side. There was a gouge in the floor where they had pried Victoria free of the stone. It was studded with bits of hardened root, traces of her woody cocoon.

"Zhang's not really gonna set Victoria free, is he?"

"Jeez, I hope not," said Olivier. "He still thinks she can be rehabilitated. Personally, I think she's a lost cause."

The saw horses that had held the cracker column were empty but there were still pieces of damaged columns strewn about the armory, some cleanly broken off at the segment, others crushed or torn apart.

I went up to one of the larger chunk and studied it, intimidated as always by the sheer complexity of its internal structure. Bundles of unmodified root writhed in sacks beside it.

"How many of these things does he want us to make?"

"I don't know," said Olivier. "It would be nice to have a couple replicas, at least. Then we could do a little three card monte with them.

My eyes traced the intricate patterns of ridges and bumps, the practically seamless junctures between segments, the perfectly inlaid rings of spikes that unfolded when the device was deployed, like so many crowns of thorns.

"I ... I don't where to start."

"Don't worry about it. We're making replicas, remember? We just gotta make them look good. Realistic."

Olivier crouched and tried to lift a cracker fragment off the mat. He raised it easily, without having to strain.

"Holy Christ! It feels like Styrofoam. Like a movie prop."

"Yeah. They're basically hollow with lots of space in their internal structure. Billions of tubes, one molecule thick. That much I could see."

"Tubes, huh?"

"And they're wrapped around each other in spirals and helices."

"Sounds to me like you're getting it."

"Not really. That's about as far as I can go in describing them."

"Don't overthink it. It's probably something simple. Like those wing joints turned out to be."

"This is still about making replicas. Right?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean ... whatever. Make them look real and that's fantastic. If we luck out and get one that actually works, well then, that's ... gravy. But don't think about what you can't do, think about what you can. Otherwise you just psych yourself out."

"I thought weapons were your specialty?"

"Me?" Olivier shrugged. "I know me a few tricks. I can raise a dust cloud that never settles. I can make will bombs. But that's about it."

Something crashed into the trees ringing the clearing below us. As Olivier pulled aside the curtain to see what was going on, another projectile came hurtling over the lower rim. Both guards ducked inside but Olivier stood calmly as it struck the cliff wall somewhere above us, sending a shower of rubble cascading down over the entrance. When the avalanche ceased Olivier stepped outside to peruse the cliff face.

"Oh shit! That hit just took out the up staircase. No worries, though. The other set looks okay."

"Do we need to clear out?"

"Nah. You keep at it, kid. Our forces have firm control of the lower rim. I'll let you know if things get out of hand. Besides, Urszula's out here. We can always evacuate by bug."

The fighting kept me uneasy, but I tried my best to ignore it. I unstrapped one of the many bundles of extremely lively, unconsolidated roots that apparently had been gathered somewhere in the lowlands. Most roots up here in the heights fixed and ossified into structures that were difficult to undo. In fact, after what Victoria had done to me, I was pretty sure that most in not all of the stone we saw was nothing more than transformed root.

The lowland roots proved extraordinarily malleable. Sword in hand, I easily stirred them into place, aligning and tightening them into a column that approximated the girth of the cracker I was using as a model. I unwrapped more bundles and stirred them into the structure, lengthening it until it was about twenty feet long.

Once I had myself a pillar of about the right size, I went to work on the surface texture and internal structure, adding a pebbly grain, dividing the fibers, hollowing them out, twisting them around each other the way they were inside the column the Singularity showed us.

I was mighty pleased with how my work was going until Olivier came over and tried to lift it.

He strained to get it off the ground.

"Whoa! This is like ten times as heavy as the real one. No was a bug is going to be able to carry this."

I sighed. "I can work on making them lighter. This was just a start."

"Yeah, sure. Keep at it, kid. I didn't mean to interrupt."

But once I broke my train of thought, my progress slowed. I thinned up the walls of each tube and removed a bunch of weight. I carved deep indentations at the juncture of each segment, but couldn't figure out how to make them rotate without screwing up the central core. The column looked pretty realistic if you didn't get too close, but this was about the best I was going to be able to do.

Olivier stayed by the entrance, mingling with the guards and monitoring the progress of the battle raging outside. It was hard to tell what was going on through the thick forest, but from the way the mantid riders in the treetops kept retreating in an ever wider arc, it sure looked like the enemy had established a beachhead.

"Jimmy boy, we might need to clear out of here real soon. I'm not liking the looks of things out there."

I tried lifting the copy. It was much lighter than wood now and raised up easily off the ground.

"I'm almost done, I think. Got one replica made, anyhow. Light enough for a bug to carry. Can probably shed a few more pounds if I work at it."

"Any chance we can get it to generate some rootquakes?"

I looked at him like he was nuts. "Nah. No way. The knobs are just for show. The segments don't even turn."

Olivier tried to hide his disappointment, but I could see it in his eyes and the set of his jaw. His insistence that our only goal was to make a replica had been a ploy. He had just wanted to put me at ease and relax me enough to get me over whatever mental block was keeping me from getting the job done.

"Alright kiddo. Why don't you grab yourself a saddle and go see Urszula. She's right outside with her bugs. She's been waiting on you all this time. Meanwhile, I'll arrange to get this transported up top. Take care ,though. There's Cherubs in those woods."
Chapter 47: Bones

Olivier called down to a unit of Duster warriors being held in reserve in the clearing.

"Yo! Can I get some volunteers up here? We got a cracker here we need to get up to the plaza."

"Why don't you get a bug to carry it?" I said.

"What bug? Every mantid they can spare is battling Cherubs on the rim."

"There's always ... the dragonflies."

I heard Urszula call out from outside the entrance. "Is he finish?"

"Looks that way," said Olivier.

"Tell him to find another saddle and bring it."

I scrambled off the floor and went over to the wall where they stored dragonfly saddles salvaged from fallen riders. Someone had swept up the grit that had crumbled off the ceiling of the grotto and dusted off the saddles. The cleaning only made their blood stains more apparent.

This time I chose one of the larger ones. It looked a little cushier than the others, with extra handholds and storage compartments. It was a little frayed at the corners, but that could be remedied with a little weaving. They were basically padded benches were meant to be straddled like motorcycle seats. The insects they were designed for were too broad to straddle.

When I pushed through the curtains that sealed the entrance, the sudden surge of bright natural light stung my eyes. I found Urszula loitering just outside. She popped to her feet and smiled broadly when she spotted me lugging the saddle.

Lalibela and Tigger were skimming over the cloud forest, hunting leafhoppers scared up by unseen patrols beneath the canopy. Urszula let out a piercing shriek and both dragonflies came winging back to the clearing.

Urszula grimaced when she saw my saddle.

"What is this? A seat for some fat man? This is no warrior's saddle."

"What can I say? It looked comfy."

Odd pinnacles of stone sporadically pierced the cloud forest, many manned by lookouts. Lalibela hovered over one just outside the clearing.

"Come." She picked her way down the rubble-strewn path and made her way across the clearing to the pinnacle.

She pointed to a puzzled Frelsian manning the precipice.

"You. Leave."

Lalibela alighted the moment the sentry left, digging her claws into the crumbly stone. Urszula skipped nimbly up the ledges and hauled herself onto Lalibela's back. One slap of her heels and Lalibela lifted off.

"Now you! Trigger come!"

She clapped and Tigger took Lalibela's place atop the pinnacle. I stared up at his stripy wings, amazed.

"What you waiting for? Saddle him, you fool."

I clambered up the pitted rock, my bare feet slipping on the loose gravel, grabbing loops of thick vine to help me ascend. Once I reached the top, I approached Tigger from behind and heaved the saddle onto his back. The dragonfly reacted, beating his wings, threatening to flee before another shriek from Urszula made him stay put.

"The straps! Tie the straps quick!"

I crawled between Tigger's forest of legs and beneath his thorax to fasten the first cinch. Once it was in place, it held together by some kind of nano-velcro. They tightened themselves securely, like shrink wrap under a heat gun.

"Watch the wings! No block the wings!"

"I'm ... trying," I said, through gritted teeth.

There were three sets. I pulled them all tight, and crawled out from under. Tigger wheeled around to face me, touching his mouthparts to my head and shoulder, tasting me, feeling me.

"Good boy!" said Urszula. "Now come!" She shrieked again and before I got myself secure in the saddle, Tigger launched himself like a rocket nearly tossing me off the precipice. Luckily, the fat man's handholds saved me and I managed to hang on.

"Watch me," called Urszula, flying Lalibela directly below Tigger. "Watch my hands and feet. It is how you tell him how to go. Just do what I do!" she shouted. "Trigger learns fast. He is a smart one."

She jabbed both heels against the top of Lalibela's shell and the dragonfly dropped like a stone.

Tigger, playing monkey see, monkey do, was already dropping and following after Lalibela before I could even react. I stomped my feet anyway, figuring the beast might make an association between my signal and the action I requested.

We fluttered all around the cloud forest, passing close to the cordon of mantid riders fending off the Cherubim who had established themselves. I was astonished to see how many bodies had accumulated on the ledges. And yet they kept on coming up the cliff face.

"Too close!" shouted Urszula, as Lalibela dipped down to cut us off. "Watch out the slingers!"

A hail of stones came hurtling in our direction. Tigger again reacted before I could kick, responding to his own instincts for self-preservation. We easily outraced the projectiles, cruising back to the clearing below the grotto. Under Olivier's supervision, the Dusters had hauled my replica column halfway up the undamaged stairway. A work crew was already attempting to repair the damaged section of the stairs.

Urszula motioned for us to return to the upper terrace and we followed her and Lalibela back up the cliffs and over the city to the meadow above the main plaza. The skinny saddle I had picked out the other day was still sitting there in the grass, but I planned to keep the one I had. Fat man saddle or not, all the extra handholds made me feel secure.

When we landed, Urszula hopped off and came over.

"Not bad for first flying but he is still following Lalibela mostly. Did you try for show him where to go?"

"Um. Kind of. Not exactly. He kind of did his own thing."

She sighed. "Well, at least he didn't try to dump you like the other poor fellow."

"What other poor fellow?"

She rolled her eyes. "I had a friend try to ride him yesterday when you were busy. No worry. He will be okay. Bones can be fix."

"Bones? You know could have told me."

I climbed off the saddle and hopped down onto the grass.

"If I tell you, you too scare to fly him, no?" She shrugged and walked back to her dragonfly. "So tomorrow ... we go."
Chapter 48: John

I blinked at Urszula, my nerves surging and waffling between anxiety and excitement.

"So it's decided? We're going? Tomorrow? For sure?"

"That is Yaqob's wish," said Urszula, as she unstrapped Lalibela's saddle. "Zhang wants to wait some more time. He think somehow a truce still possible. I don't see how. He send emissary. But the War Council is meeting again at sunset. We should both be there."

I didn't know how to take this news. It would be good to get out from under this siege and off this mountain. The Cherubim were getting way too close for comfort. But I had friends at risk in New Axum. Family. Bern and Lille. Karla. Maybe even my mom.

For once, being a Hemisoul seemed a detriment instead of an easy escape from unpleasant responsibilities. For once, I wanted to be here when the big stuff went down.

"You know, it's been a while. What if I fade?"

Urszula shrugged. "No way to predict or prevent. If we go, there is nothing to be done. Whoever of us is here, will go. If I am not here. You take Lalibela. Leave Tigger behind for me. She easier to fly."

"Sheesh. I wasn't counting on doing this on my own."

"We will not be alone. We will have Yaqob and Olivier. The scouts. Some others. It is not left up to us. But you should realize, once we leave, maybe we don't come back. There may be no New Axum to return to here. I am not happy about what we saw on the lower terrace. The Cherubim make too much pressure. Our fighters cannot hold out for much longer. And once they have the cloud forest they will take this city easily."

"Are there any plans to evacuate?"

"Not official. But some are already leaving," said Urszula. "But it is a long trail to the marshes. Very exposed to attack. If everyone goes they will be harry, every step of the way. The loss will be big."

"The marshes can't possibly hold all of these people."

She raised her eyebrows. "Where else is there to go? Everywhere else is desert or ruins." She pursed her lips. "There are hills around the bog. Maybe some can go there."

"What about ... underground?"

"Of course. There is always that. Back to the Reapers we go. Not too many will be happy about that. But maybe there is no choice. Maybe this is the end of life on the surface. Or maybe we go back to the Deeps?"

She shared a smile that bore equal parts mischief and grief.

I was thinking I had to warn Bern and Lille right there and then. Maybe if they got a head start they would have a better chance of reaching the next refuge unharmed. The problem was, I had no idea where to find them. I hadn't seen them we arrived in New Axum.

"I go now," said Urszula. "Come back here once the sun is down. Yaqob needs you there. We need you. You need to have your say."

***

For hours I wandered through every nook and cranny of New Axum searching for Bern and Lille. I plunged deep in to the Warren, turning corners at random, not caring how lost I got as long as I kept covering new territory. All those calm and cheerful faces puzzled me. So few realized or cared how close they were to being slaughtered by the Cherubim and their overlords currently driving our fighters back across the lower terrace.

I have to admit, I kept my eyes open for Karla too, but somehow I was not as eager to find her. Something had shifted inside me. The warmth and thrill that thoughts of her used to inspire me had dwindled and cooled like the embers in an untended fireplace.

The blue sun hung low in the sky, but still had plenty of room to drop when I crossed over the wide lane that bisected New Axum into the ruined eastern sector where most of the newest refugees had settled because that was all that was left. So many able bodies here, I wondered why not all of them had mobilized to fight the siege. Did they not realize what was happening? Had nobody bothered to tell them?

A young man with wild and frizzy hair hopped through a window and ran straight up to me. He held out his hand for me to shake. I was taken aback because I did not recognize him.

"James! Do you not remember me? The name's John. I was with you guys on the long march. Remember? When we brought the Seraph here?"

The man looked only vaguely familiar but I pretended to know him.

"Oh. Hey! I've been looking for you guys! Is Bern here with you? Bern and Lille?"

"Bern. Oh no, they're settling up in the heights past the plaza. Near the gardens."

Of course, that made sense. Those two liked their privacy. They were never the type to settle near a crowd, expect for Frelsi where they had no choice. Bern, in particular, liked to have himself a modicum of elbow room.

"Can you ... show me?"

"Of course," said John. He wheeled around and started up the lane. "Follow me."

***

This time, my friends had no quaint, little cabin, no pastel-painted cottage with a porch suitable for hosting tea with guests. They didn't even own a teapot. I found Bern and Lille huddled under a sheet of canvas suspended from the branches of a tree with feathery leaves.

They were deep in conversation when I found them and when they saw me, only Bern rose up to greet me. Lille just stared at me all red-eyed, her face streaked with tears.

"Hey guys! Uh. What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry you have to see me in this state James," sobbed Lille.

"We've just gotten a bit of bad news from the other side," said Bern. "Lille's doctors are planning to take her off the respirator. It seems she filed a living will not to be kept alive by artificial means. In her few lucid moments she has tried to rescind it, to no avail. One of her family members has appealed the decision, but it seems she might have only days left."

"You guys are both still Hemisouls?"

"Yes. Which would mean, of course, that Lille is about to be yanked out of this existence. Off to the Deeps, most likely."

"Jeez! That sucks. But ... maybe there's something we can do."

"Like what? Go back to Frelsi? What's left of it? As if we could even make it there intact. Is there even a mountain anymore?"

"There are other mountains."

"Bah. These hills we see are all too low, too close to the core. There is no way for a soul to get free."

"But ... what about ... flying?"

He squinted at me.

"Flying?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean, you don't have to be standing on the ground to be free of the core, right? You just need to be up high enough. It's like ... gravity ... for souls. I have my own dragonfly now. I could take Lille up when the time comes."

"They actually gave you a bug?"

"Yeah. His name's Tigger. He's a bit wild still, but he's coming around."

"The thing is," said Lille. "I would need to be up high enough at the precise moment the deed is done, when they pull my plug and my heart ceases. And there is no way of knowing that from here. One can feel it happening, the transition, they say. But I rarely fade anymore, and when I do, I'm not always conscious. It was pure luck I was able to overhear the doctors speaking with my nieces. The event could be as soon as two days from now, or it could be weeks, depending on how the judge rules."

"Shit. I'm not gonna be here tomorrow. We're kind of launching a raid."

"What about those wings?" said John.

"What wings?"

"The ones you made."

"Wings? Holy shit. The Seraph wings! You guys can use those! When you feel it happening just put them on and fly up as high as you can get. And when it happens, you'll be a Freesoul."

"Me? Fly?" said Lille. "But I don't know how to fly."

"You don't need to. It's as easy as chewing gum. And besides, you have some time. You'll have time to practice."

Lille and Bern looked at each other in amazement, their faces aglow with love and hope.

"Hang on! I'll be right back.
Chapter 49: Retreat

I ran down the central lane as fast as my legs could carry me with John keeping pace at my heels. We found the promenade in chaos. Casualties from the fighting on the lower terrace were sprawled all along the rim, being triaged by flesh weavers. Some of the wounds we saw were truly—horrible: bashed in faces, shattered limbs with bones poking out.

In the living realm, these souls would be screaming in pain, but things were different here in the Liminality. A body could withstand unfathomable beating and keep on ticking. Pain was an afterthought.

Soldiers blocked the stairway. Work parties were busy bolstering the retaining walls along the rim with stone scavenged from ruined buildings.

We tried squeezing through a gap in the wall but a guard held me back.

"You don't want to go down there mate. The Pennies are kicking our ass down there. We're about to evacuate whoever's left."

"But we need to get to the armory."

"Step back, please. Ain't nobody going nowhere."

A Frelsian officer stepped to the fore. "What's going on?"

"I need to get down there. To the grotto."

"Not possible. Our last few units in the forest are executing a delaying action. Don't expect them to hold up much longer."

"The stuff in the armory. Did they get it out in time?"

"I seriously doubt it." A wounded Frelsian hobbled over to us and leaned against the wall. "The bastards broke through both flanks, encircled our front line. We broke out but they pushed us all the way across the terrace."

"The clearing. Do we still hold it?"

"Yeah, but not for long."

I burst away from the guards, hopping the makeshift wall they had thrown up to block the stairs. No one gave chase expect for John who eluded the grasp of a guard with a nifty pirouette. We flew down the stairs to the damaged first landing where the repair crews had abandoned their work half done.

John and I picked our way carefully down the damaged sections carefully. The steps had been stripped away down to slick, steep bedrock. Sheer cliffs dropped away to the talus heaps below.

"You really didn't have to follow me," I said.

"But I want to help."

A series of hollow thuds erupted from the edge of the lower terrace. The Pennies had apparently transported several root cannons up onto the mountain. The projectiles they fired were shaggy and massive. The whole cliff shuddered when they struck. Sheets of rock sheered away and collapsed.

We inched out way down, making use of whatever remained of the stairs when we could as a slow but steady barrage persisted.

Mantid riders still patrolled the cloud forest but now they had been driven back within a stone's throw of the clearing. Trees shuddered and fell. A battle raged unseen beneath the canopy.

No stairs remained at the base. John and I had to hang by our fingertips and drop the final ten feet because the lowest landing had been demolished. The heavy blackout curtain that had enclosed the entrance to the grotto lay crumpled in a heap. We dashed into the cave which was awash in the last rays of the setting sun.

Contrary to what the Frelsian soldier had told us, it looked like most of the weapons and equipment had been salvaged. The insect saddles along the side wall remained in place, but then again there were too few bugs surviving to put them to use.

I wound my way through a mess of broken crates and empty shelving to the back of the room where I had seen the wings. More of grotto's ceiling had come down and covered all that remained in grit and dust. I poked around and pulled up a set of wings that seemed intact. There were bits and shreds of membrane and a few salvaged joints but only one complete set.

These were not mine, nor were they one of the copies we had fabricated. The membranes had the platinum sheen of the originals Luther had confiscated from the Seraph Petros.

"There's only one set, John. Here, you take them."

"What? Me? Nah. I ain't putting on no wings."

"John, I mean it. Put these on! There's no way you're making it back up those stairs without them."

"Fuck that. You take them. You're way more important than me."

"Put them on! And I want you fly straight back to the gardens and give these to Bern and Lille."

His jaw went slack. "What the fuck? Fly? I can't fly."

"Shut up and strap on those wings!"

Another projectile crashed low into the cliff-side and one corner of the grotto entrance collapsed. John pulled the wings over his shoulders and yanked the straps tight.

He tried flapping his arms and not surprisingly, nothing happened.

"This ain't gonna work. I don't know what I'm doing."

"Use your shoulders. Just squeeze your blades together, that's all you need to—"

But John was already hurtling towards the ceiling of the grotto, nearly beaning his head on the stub of a stalactite.

"Whoa! I'm ... I'm doing it. I'm flying!" He careened around the cavern, eyes wide, guffawing like a goofball.

"Gentle movements now. Flex one shoulder at a time, but go easy. Just a twitch. Just tense them up a bit. That's it! That's how you steer. Now get your ass out of here before this whole place comes down on us."

I guided him to the entrance and once he was out in the open air, he soared up the side of the cliff like a runaway balloon. I watched until he had safely cleared the rim and I stepped out into the clearing, my sword ready at my side as the mantid riders drifted back. An arc of trees surrounding the clearing began to shake. The shouts and grunts of battle drew near.
Chapter 50: The Stand

The surviving warriors—a ragtag mixture of Frelsians and Dusters—emerged in twos and threes from the cloud forest to make their last stand against the base of the cliffs. Whatever distinctions had separated their units had dissolved in the chaos of battle. I stared agog at how few they were, and how many Cherubim were pressing them through the dense stands of trees.

I climbed atop a heap of freshly fallen talus, pointed my sword tip and summoned my will. For once my spellcraft flowed naturally and without effort. One bolus of energy after another rolled out of my core with no more resistance than a burp. I aimed specifically for the Hashmallim who, like puppet masters, guided and amplified the battle efficacy of their brainless, soulless troops. One by one, with unerring accuracy, my blasts smashed into them and struck them down, leaving them twitching and flopping on the ground like bluegills on a dock.

Something big whistled out of the forest, struck a boulder, bounced off the ground and struck my midsection hard, knocking my wind out and bruising my ribs. Had the projectile struck me directly it would have easily disemboweled me.

The blow only sharpened my focus and intensity. My sword sizzled with pulse after pulse. The warriors cut down these leaderless Cherubim and those that came behind them were held up by their puppeteers while they peeked around the moss-covered boles to see what was doing this to them.

A flight of falcons popped over the rim and were immediately intercepted by a pair of dragonflies that zoomed in out of nowhere to slash and crumple their wings. One falcon made it through and sent a ballista bolt shrieking in over my head. It hovered, maneuvering around to better aim another shot at me when a mantis lunged out of the canopy and ripped it out of the sky with its fore claws.

A huge beetle landed in the clearing. Frelsian and Duster warriors swarmed it and clambered aboard its back. Its wings exploded into action and it took off from the clearing, heading for safety on the upper terrace.

Our fighters were evacuating. To cover their retreat, I stood my ground and fired pulses into the forest as fast as I could summon them. If worse came to worse I could duck into the grotto and hold out there under cover. I didn't care what happened to me anymore. Whatever happened, happened.

Another mantid, already partially laden with troops, landed on the talus beside me. Hands reached down. A score of eyes beseeched me.

"Save yourselves!" I shouted. "There's too many of you. I'll just weigh you down."

"Screw that! Get your butt up on this bug, you dumbass!" screamed the mantid rider from his saddle.

The urgency of his request convinced me to scramble onto the board. I latched onto a loop of harness. The mantid's wings thundered open and thrummed like a helicopter as we rose along the cliff face.

***

The sun was mostly set when we alighted on the promenade, only a part of its purplish orb still poked above the cracker-ravaged hills across the basin. Soldiers on the rim were busy rolling boulders off the top to further demolish what was left of the stairways. Seven, battle-scarred mantids had survived and were being attended to, their wings shredded, wounds in their shells weeping yellowish blood.

I went over to the Frelsian officer who had tried to prevent John and I from going down. "That kid I was with. Did he make it up here okay?"

"You betcha. The little bastard was damned lucky we recognized him. Bunch of my guys were ready to shoot him down. Took him for a Seraph."

Relieved, but feeling depleted, I dragged myself up the central lane which was all abuzz with news of the collapse of our defenses on the lower terrace. Braziers of glowing root flickered all along the avenue. Perceptions were all over the place. Some felt that doom was imminent. Others remained confident that the upper terrace would hold.

The Reapers were moaning in their new pens at the base of the meadow. Their keepers tossed them scraps whose identity I was glad remained obscured in the fading light.

At the War Council's bunker atop the hill, I found Olivier standing outside the entrance. It soon became clear that he was out there waiting for me.

"Jeez kid. Thank God you're here. I thought you had faded or something."

"Nah. I was ... just helping out some friends. They meeting yet?

He hauled me aside before I could edge past him. "Before you go in, that replica you made? Anybody asks. For now, we pretend it works. Okay?"

"You want me to lie? What for? If it doesn't work, it doesn't work."

"Listen. Some in the council might not be too keen to send us on our raid if they know we only got that one column. They won't let us go if we can't guarantee we'll make a big enough impact. Zhang's already making some noise about surrendering the mesa and negotiating some kind of deal with the Lords. Safe passage to the underworld or whatever. I say fuck that. I wouldn't put it past these assholes to turn us into Cherubs ... or worse. So, anybody asks you, we got three working cracker columns. Got it? We don't want this expedition to be called off."

"Three? Do we need three?"

"That's the number Zhang seems to consider the bare minimum to justify a raid. Listen. You and me know for sure we got one that definitely works, okay? For me, that's more than enough to make this worthwhile. We just got to be strategic about where we place it. And who knows, maybe we can get that dummy you made up and running. Let's not count it out yet. Worst case scenario we have one cracker column. Best case? Sky's the limit. We get one copy working, we can make a dozen. Hey, you did it with the wing joints."

I took a deep breath. Why was the pressure always on me?

The purple sun had dipped below the horizon and the stars that might not be stars were showing themselves.

"Come on," said Olivier. "Let's go see the Council."
Chapter 51: Decision

The council chamber was crowded with onlookers from each faction of the resistance occupying New Axum. Even the Old Ones were well-represented. I had not seen so many active at one time since my attack on Frelsi. I looked around for Mr. O, but couldn't spot him. Maybe some remained in the long sleep.

As usual, the big shots on the Council sat in the center of the room on stone benches surrounding a circular stone table. Each had a pair of round things the size of poker chips in front of them, one green and one red. I watched Yaqob snatch his up and clack them together in one hand.

I whispered to Olivier as we pushed out way closer to the table. "What are those colored things?"

"Ah, they're for voting."

"Where do we get ours?"

Olivier narrowed his eyes at me. "We don't vote. Only the Council reps vote."

After all the meetings we had attended, I hadn't realized we weren't members of the War Council.

"So what are we doing here? Moral support?"

"They value our opinion. Some of them, anyhow."

I was startled to see Victoria seated next to Zhang. The flesh weavers had pretty much restored her human shape, though her body still seemed a bit stiff and lumpy in the wrong places, her hair all wiry and askew.

She seemed dazed until I entered her line of vision. Something snapped and her eyes latched onto mine and stared right through to the bottom of my soul. It made my skin prickle. A shiver rippled down my spine. I had to look away.

I spotted John lurking in the back of the room and peeled away from Olivier to go see him. He seemed nervous as I approached, almost as if he were afraid of me.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm technically a refugee," he whispered. "Refugees ain't supposed to be here."

"Don't worry about it. I'm a refugee too. Technically. Did you manage get those wings up to Lille?"

"Yeah."

"So what did she say?"

"She said thank you."

"So is she gonna use them?"

"She said she would think about it. Bern said he's take them for a spin so he can show her the ropes."

"God. I hope he doesn't crash."

"James!" called Yaqob, gruffly. "Come here."

I pushed back through the throng.

"You stay with us," said Yaqob. "Stay close."

Olivier was chatting with Urszula. Though he had come from the Deeps, I didn't usually think of him as a Duster, but he looked right at home among these guys. Conversely, Urszula would always be a Duster in my eyes, even though she no longer shared their chalky, grey complexions.

Through my peripheral vision I could sense Victoria still staring at me. I tried my best to ignore her.

The Old Ones' leadership had rotated once again. Two Old Ones, a man and a woman this time, sat together across from Yaqob. Each had red and green chips in front of them. I had to wonder how these people kept track of who was in charge at any given moment.

Yaqob was flanked on either side by Hailay, his top lieutenant and Reznak—a grizzled Duster with scars to rival Yaqob's. Across the table Zhang sat with Victoria and a studious-looking Frelsian who sat quietly with his hands folded on his lap. I noticed that he had a pair of chips in front of him but Victoria did not.

A young Duster clad in scaly armor sidled over to Yaqob and engaged him in an intense discussion. He spoke the guttural tongue of the Deeps.

"Who's that guy?" I whispered.

"That's Ubaldo," said Olivier. "One of the new crew. He came over with us from Deeps."

"Oh yeah. He looks sort of familiar."

"Good fighter. He might come on the raid with us if we go. But let's not put the cart before the horse. The Council first has to agree to send us. Apparently, Zhang's trying to monkey wrench the whole idea."

Yaqob cleared his throat and glared across the table at Zhang.

"Why you bring her?"

"Miss Victoria?" said Zhang. "No worries, Yaqob. She will not be voting."

"We would prefer she not be privy to our deliberations," said Reznak.

"Oh no, it's fine," said Zhang. "My people have been working with her. They've reversed most of the modifications. She's almost all the way back to the way she was. I do so value her judgment. As much as you all value James." Zhang smiled and winked at me.

"She should not be here," said Yaqob. "What if she still communicates with the Lords of Penult?"

"Oh! No worries," said Zhang. "The Erelim do not speak to her. But since she has witnessed the other side, she may have perspectives, insights worth sharing. She deserves her place at the table."

Through all this discussion, Victoria made no attempt to defend her presence. She kept staring straight ahead, her expression as blank and inscrutable as the Old Ones.

"We should have tossed her to the Reapers," said Ubaldo.

Zhang's mouth dropped. "I beg your pardon?" He turned to Yaqob for support, but the old Duster would not even look at him.

"Honestly, when you think of all she has done for Frelsi ... for ... our cause. You are talking about one of the original founders of our colony."

"Perhaps she can stay for now," said Reznak. "But if any sensitive discussions arise ... operational details and such ... she should leave."

"One might say this whole discussion here is pretty sensitive," said Olivier.

"I assure you she has no means of communicating with the Erelim," said Zhang. "If she did I would have had no need to send envoys."

Yaqob sighed long and deep. "You send envoys? To the Lords?""

"Well, yes but just as an overture. To assess their appetite for negotiation. It is useful to have options, is it not?"

"And what do your envoys tell you?"

"Well, only one has returned so far, but the Lords seem willing to listen. What we ultimately offer them is certainly open for discussion, but I propose that we offer to leave New Axum. There are indications that those willing to return to the underworld would be allowed safe passage."

"That's nothing new," said Reznak. "What of those who wish to remain on the surface?"

"We're still working that out. But I am hoping they will allow some of us to stay."

"How so?" said Reznak. "When their goal all along has been the total eradication of all surface dwellers?"

"They are taking huge losses," said Zhang. "Their invasion has entailed an enormous investment of resources on their part and yet here we remain, thanks to the valor of our citizens. And so, they may be open to compromises."

"This makes no sense," said Yaqob. "Where would they allow us to stay? Why don't they just leave us be here ... in New Axum?"

"Well," said Zhang. "Victoria has indicated that some of us ... the Freesouls among us at least ... might actually be welcome in Penult."

"What foolishness!" said Reznak. "They would never have us there. They consider it Heaven."

"Actually, they might. Not you perhaps, but some of us. Victoria tells me they recognize that the natural vetting of the Liminality has not always been perfect. They have suggested to Victoria that some among us ... many perhaps ... might be offered entry into Penult ... as was offered to her at one point."

The crowd in the chamber burst out in spontaneous outburst of discussion and expression. I sensed excitement, derision, disbelief and relief.

"Silence!" said Yaqob.

"So where would we be welcome?" said Hailay. "Those of us who come from the Deeps, who among us would be allowed into Penult?"

"Well, Penult would be out of the question for some. But of course you would be more than welcome to return to the underworld."

"To Root?"

"And maybe, perhaps, we arrange for the allowance of some small enclave on the surface. Remember, we are still in the midst of negotiating."

"Fuck them," said Hailay. "I say we stay and fight."

Murmurs of approval erupted amongst the onlookers.

"As I have told you all, I am not entirely against the action you propose against Penult," said Zhang. "If it could be guaranteed that we could make a significant impact, a successful raid would grant us leverage. If we fail, though, it would be disastrous. We would lose all credibility, all chance of mercy."

"We won't fail," said Olivier. "I guarantee we'll hit them hard."

"I wish I could be as confident," said Zhang. "But as I see it, we have no choice but to work a deal. The resources of the Erelim are inexhaustable. We have done very well to persist here as long as we have against them. They have underestimated everything about us. Our wits. Our strength. Our resolve. But we cannot hold out indefinitely. Almost half of our forces are Hemisouls. How do we sustain a defense with warriors who disappear and reappear at random? Our Freesouls do not suffice to provide our forces the stability they require."

"All the more reason to hit them," said Olivier. "Hit them so hard they beg for a truce."

Zhang snickered. "Beg? The Erelim do not beg."

"Not yet," said Olivier. "But only because they've never been punched in the face hard enough. These guys need a taste of their own medicine. I say we take them down with their own weapons of mass destruction."

The crowd again grew excited.

"Oh?" said Zhang. "And how many columns do we have now? Has wonder boy here managed another breakthrough?"

Olivier elbowed me and I nodded.

"Even if we have ten columns, a hundred, I am still not convinced this is the right course to take," said Zhang. "Miss Victoria has indicated to me that such an approach may not achieve the effect you seek. It may only serve to inflame our ... partners."

"Partners?" said Reznak. "Do you not mean enemies?"

"Partners ... in negotiation. If we are going to speak with them in good faith, we need to treat each other like the fellow humans we all are."

Olivier cleared his throat and raised his voice. "I propose we let you go ahead and talk to them through your envoys. But in the meantime we show them what we can do. Only then we come to terms."

"We have no time for such follies," said Zhang. "Their forces are literally at our doorstep. How long can we hold out? What use is a raid if New Axum falls before you even reach Penult's shores?"

"According to the scouts, we only need two days max if we go by bug," said Olivier. "One day to reach the shore. Half a day to cross the straits. And then just a couple hours maybe to reconnoiter and deploy the crackers. Who here doesn't think our defenses can hold on for just another couple days?"

"At the rate things are going," said Wilson. "I doubt we last a day."

"How can you say that?" said Olivier. "Have you even seen your people fight? The defenders on the lower rim fended off seven attacks before they were forced to pull back. Your people ... Frelsians ... Dusters ... fighting shoulder to shoulder. And we still have the Old Ones in reserve."

"Vote!" said Reznak. "I call a vote."

"Second!" said Yaqob. "But first we remove the traitor."

Zhang looked hurt. "It does no harm if Victoria stays. She will know the outcome anyway."

"Remove her!" Yaqob bellowed. "Now!"

Zhang sighed and had his aides come over to help Victoria to her feet and lead her out of the chamber. Her face remained blank. In her current state, she seemed to pose no more threat than a radish, but who knew what calculations were cranking behind those vacant eyes?

"In Victoria's absence, I appoint my most trusted advisor, Mr. Harold Wilson to vote in her place," said Zhang. Wilson smiled and nodded.

"Agreed," said Yaqob. "Reznak and I will vote for our people."

Zhang turned to the Old Ones. "You two are the current representatives I presume? I'm sorry, I didn't catch your names."

The Old Ones said nothing. They just sat and blinked at Zhang.

Zhang looked around the table. "Are they ... even aware? Of what is happening here?"

"Don't you worry," said Yaqob. "They know what's what."

"So let us vote. Now," said Reznak.

"Olivier. James. I hope you will forgive us," said Zhang. "You've only arrived quite recently and we haven't yet agreed whether the underworld should be represented."

"Not a problem," said Olivier. "Not sure we want to represent Luther anyway. But thanks for the chance to state our case."

"Alright. Those in favor of peace will please place a green chip on the table," said Zhang. "Red chips will represent assent for going forth with a raid on Penult. Majority rules. Any tie will be decided by the council chair."

"What? You?" said Yaqob.

"Yes. Me. As you might recall, those were the ground rules when we formed this council."

Yaqob grimaced at Reznak. I leaned over and whispered to Olivier. "The Old Ones haven't said a word the whole time. Which way do you think they're leaning?"

"Kid. I haven't got a clue. It wouldn't surprise me if they abstained. You never know where their heads are gonna be."

Zhang slapped a green chip on the table. Wilson quickly followed with a green chip of his own. Yaqob and Reznak surprised no one by slapping down their red chips.

The Old Ones just sat there as if they were daydreaming. I suspected they were tapped into the Singularity and were reading the tides, fishing for whatever consensus they could gather from the myriad souls that made up their constituency. At no point had either showed their hand by expressing an opinion one way or another in the deliberations. In all of the recent fighting, none had contributed to the defense of the lower terrace.

The room went silent as life gradually flowed back into the Old Ones' faces. Their expressions softened. Their eyes grew bright and alert. They reached out their hands, chips clasped firmly in their shriveled hands. Each placed a chip down on the table. Both were red.
Chapter 52: Escape from Aberdeen

That night, back in my quarters deep in the warren, I was way too nervous for sleep. In the morning I'd be flying on the back of a giant man-eating insect to a place unfamiliar and dangerous. Not the best combination for a good night's rest.

Without sleep, there were no dreams, and no escape from the darkness closing in on me. There was no possibility of communing with the Singularity, no glimpses of Karla. It was horrible, sitting there in the chilly darkness of my stony room. I flashbacks to the feeling I had as a prisoner in that church basement.

At least all was quiet in New Axum. It was one small mercy that the warriors of Penult never attacked at night.

And then everything changed. Every perception shifted. Sounds, odors, touch. I could hear a motor whirring somewhere close, an engine whining in the distance. The dust and must of the stone chamber was replaced by some kind of floral perfume blended with the aroma of dirty socks. My rough, homespun canvas blanket was replaced by sleek and smooth cotton sheeting.

And I realized I was no longer in the Liminality. I had faded. This was not the same luxurious hotel suite I had found myself in Glasgow. The shades were drawn but the light of a grey dawn seeped around the edges. This room had two double beds packed in close with a night stand between them. I occupied one. Helen and Jessica occupied the other, sleeping soundly after another long day of amateur detective work.

I pulled my covers off and sat up, nearly fainting from the rush of blood. I was parched and hungry and my head throbbed like a hammered thumb. There was a half empty bottle of Highland Spring and some leftovers in a plastic container on the TV stand. I polished off the bottle and wolfed down hunks of cold lasagna with my hands.

I checked the clock. It was a little five a.m.. Various brochures and maps were strewn about the desk. I raised the shades slightly to let in more light and saw that every pamphlet had something to do with Aberdeen. Why Aberdeen? Had the ladies gotten a hot lead on Karla's whereabouts? My heart started to thump. I wasn't even sure I was ready to see Karla in person yet. I just didn't know what I would say to her, I was so upset about what she had done.

I noticed a sheet of paper on the floor next to the door and an envelope beside it. I tiptoed over to avoid waking the ladies but I shouldn't have worried. There was a mostly drained bottle of scotch on the bed. They slumbered deep and drunk.

The first sheet was a note from the hotel staff warning that the credit that had been provided had failed to clear authorization due to a hold and to please stop by the front desk as soon as possible to arrange for an alternative form of payment.

Then envelope was addressed specifically to me. I slipped out the note it contained and unfolded it. My stomach quaked as I read the scrawl.

"Leave Aberdeen ASAP or die. The Friends are on to you and after you."

My heart commenced to thump and I threw on the clothes someone had folded neatly for me on the bedside chair. I stuffed an extra pair of clean socks and underwear into the pockets of my hoodie and grabbed a pen and a sheet of hotel stationery from the desk.

Dear Helen, Jessica, Fiona and Britt,

"The chase is over. It's time for me to go somewhere quiet and lay low. Thank you so much for all you did for me. Just so you know, you guys don't need to worry about Karla anymore. I saw her. She's fine. No one ever kidnapped her. She ran off on her own. So you can all go home now.

Love,

James

P.S. Be very careful around Aberdeen. Someone appears to be looking for me.

It was a bit terse, but I hope it conveyed my gratitude and warned them sufficiently of any potential risks they faced.

I slipped out the door and closed it behind me as gently as I could. As I made my way down to the lobby, I fished around my pocket for the ivory credit card that was no longer worth the plastic it was printed on. I sighed, seeing how little cash I had left, took the card and stuck it in a heat register along the wall. I should have known that it would only be a matter of time before the Friends of Penult figured out I had broken my promise.

I was actually surprised it had taken them so long to intervene, and that fact alone gave me hope. It told me that they were less than godly. They were not nearly as all knowing and omnipresent as they liked to make people believe. They were just people like me, and capable of laziness and incompetence.

I left the hotel without the slightest of where I should be going. It was cool out. Overcast, but the pavements were dry. The sky looked more like it wanted to clear than to rain.

I decided my priority should be to get out of town by the least predictable means possible. So I turned down the first narrow alley I came to, followed it to the end, and at the juncture, flipped a coin to determine which way to turn. It turned out to be a stupid thing to do, leading in a circle that would have taken me back to the hotel had I not abandoned that plan.

When I came upon a larger street I just went straight, keeping my hand clasped around the pen I had taken from the hotel, hoping might serve as a suitable focus for my will in lieu of a sword.

The streets proved empty except for a single drunk man in a tie and raincoat. I played hopscotch with a newspaper van delivering bundles of freshly printed tabloids to every newsstand along the route. When I came to a bridge, I crossed it, and on the other side found a road sign pointing to Inverness, 240 km. That was the last place I wanted to go at this point, but I continued onward, seeking only to get the hell out of Aberdeen and put some distance between me and the ladies, for their safety if nothing else. Maybe at some point I could veer south, though I realized that might send me into the Cairn Gorms again, the mere thought of which made me shiver. Better to hug the coast maybe, to Dundee and Perth.

A small blue Vauxhall pulled out of a space and rolled slowly up to me when I reached the main drag. The passenger window rolled down. A youngish man with sideburns and longish red hair peered out.

"You look like someone who could use a ride out of town."

"Um. Thanks, but no thanks."

"No. Seriously. Get in. It's not safe for you out here."

I took a step back.

"How do I know you're not with the Friends?"

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a card.

"Here." He handed me a black, carbon fiber credit card just like the one I had once gotten from Wendell, with my name in glossy black letters over a matte background.

"Keep this one. It's yours. The white card they gave you? Destroy it. It's how they track you."

"I already got rid of it."

"Good! Now hop in. We need to whisk you away from here."

"Was it you who stuck that note under our door?"

"Reggie's the name. Didn't expect you to go rambling off on foot, but glad to see you took us seriously."

"Do you work for Wendell?"

"Let's just say we share the same employer. Come on. Hop in. I'll get you out of here."

Footsteps clattered on the pavement behind me.

"James!"

"You know her? Is she a threat?" Reggie lunged over and reached into the glove compartment.

I turned. Jessica, flannel shirt dangling over pajama bottoms, was running across the bridge barefoot.

"No. It's just Jess."

Something popped across the street. The driver's side window splintered, forming a many-pointed star. Reggie grunted and slumped. A perfectly round and blood-rimmed hole had appeared in his temple.

I yanked opened the door and dragged him out of the driver's seat, taking his place. Jessica arrived breathless and aghast at the sight of the dying man lying in the roadway.

"Get your ass in here and get down!"

Another pop. The next bullet took out what remained of the window glass and passed inches from my cheek, miraculously missing my face. I could almost smell it as it hurtled by.

Jessica was halfway in the door when I squealed away from the bridge, forgetting where I was for an instant and driving on the wrong side of the road. This was the UK, you idiot.

***

It took a good five minutes for Jessica to catch her breath.

"James. What is happening here?" she said. "Who shot that poor, poor man? And why did we steal his car?"

"It's the bad guys, Jess. The bad guys are onto me."

"May I ask ... which ... bad guys? Sedevacantists? Those assassins? The drug dealers?"

"Nope. None of the above. This time it's the Friends."

"Friends? I'm sorry?"

"The Friends of Penult. They work for those angel wannabes in the Liminality. They're trying to exterminate us, first there and now here."

Jessica looked confused. I didn't blame her, but I didn't bother to explain it any more detail. Maybe the less she knew, the better. I already felt bad for dragging her into this web.

As I drove, I spent more time looking in the rear view mirror than through the windshield. So far so good, the only headlights I saw were not keeping up with us.

"Where are we going?" asked Jessica.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Any suggestions?"

"Why don't we go to the police?"

"Fuck no! If they detain me I'll be ... we'll bit sitting ducks for whoever is coming after us."

She sighed. "Alright. Would you rather we go somewhere and hide? Someplace remote, perhaps, with limited access?"

"Yeah. That sounds good. What do you suggest?"

"Well. My aunt has a cottage in the Orkney Islands. We go there on holiday from time to time but no one's living there at the moment. I know where she stashes the key."

"How do you get there from here?"

"Follow the A96 to Inverness, and then go north on the A9."

***

At first we drove evasively, without apparent aim, turning south along the shore then west towards the mountains, before making our way back up north to catch the A96.

The wind blasted Jess through the shattered window. She daubed at specks of poor Reggie's blood with a Kleenex and tossed away bits of broken window glass.

We passed endless farms and fields. Around every curve, at every junction, I expected roadblocks. Every car that overtook us, I feared was the police or the Friends. But for four hours we drove unmolested, stopping in Inverness only to use the loo and grab a sandwich. We were headed now for a place called Thurso, where Jess said we could catch a ferry.

"Do you know any place we can ditch this car?"

"The ferry terminal has a car park."

"Well, no. We need someplace where no one would find it right away. Otherwise, it'll be traced to us on the island. You realize we're gonna be murder suspects."

"M-murder? Oh my." Her eyes glazed. Her posture stiffened as she considered the implications of my remark.

"Are there any cliffs around maybe we can roll this thing off?"

"Actually, yes. Up on the headlands, there are plenty." She patted the upholstery and frowned. "But...."

"What's wrong?"

"Such a shame to ruin this nice Vauxhall."

"Never mind that. I'll buy you a new one. Come on, show me how to get there."

We drove a little further down the paved road, passing Thurso town and the ferry port, and continued north to some fields and moors where we turned up a rough track leading through some overgrown and shrubby ledges to the edge of the cliffs.

The brisk wind whistled through our broken windows. Whitecaps topped the breakers rolling in off the North Sea. I half-expected to encounter a brigade of Cherubim scaling these bluffs. Even the seagulls make me look twice and count their wings.

We got out. I left the car running, found a big enough rock to weight down the gas pedal, reached over the seat and threw it into gear. The car rolled over the edge and flipped over, crashing upside down into the rocks below. Unfortunately, the tide was out and the vehicle remained completely exposed in the rocky shallows. At least it hadn't burst into flames.

"Oh my, this is not ideal, is it?" said Jess.

"It's fine. When the tide comes in it'll be underwater. Come on, let's go catch that ferry."

***

It took us the good part of an hour to reach the ferry port. On the plus side, there was absolutely no one around to witness our approach. There was a farmer on the far end of one of the worked fields, but he was too intent on his haying to even notice us.

Doubts began to harry me. "Are we doing the right thing? I mean, going to an island? There would be no place to run."

"It depends. I still don't understand why they are chasing you. These ... Friends ... as you called them."

"Simple. They don't want me meddling in ... in ... their business. In the afterlife."

"I see. Well ... on the plus side ... I suppose Stromness would be the last place they would expect you to go. I doubt very much I'm on their radar. And they surely don't know my Aunt Meredith."

"I hate to say this, but if they were able to track me all the way to Aberdeen, they probably know all about you gals."

"Nonsense. I have no skin in this fight. I've never even been to this Root place. I've got no plans to go, frankly."

"You're helping me. That's enough to make you a target."

She stared out over the docks in the harbor. "Regardless." She shrugged and gave a sneer. "I have no regrets. Seems a worthy cause, regardless of the consequences. Unfortunately, this means our search for Karla is over. For us, anyhow. I suppose the others will carry on. I didn't get a chance to tell you, we have some solid leads."

I let my breath out in a burst.

"Did you not you read my note? I'm all done looking for her. Turns out, she's no hostage. She ran off on her own."

"Are you sure about this?"

I sighed. "Pretty damn sure. Turns out, she ran off to put pressure on me. To make me feel bad so ... so I would cross over."

"Well now. That certainly sheds a different light on things."

"Listen, Jess. I'm just thinking ... for your safety, it might be best if we split up."

That suggestion rattled her a bit. She frowned at me. "I'm not worried about safety, love. Honestly. I'm all in."

"But you don't need to go to this island just for me."

"Honestly. It's a good a place as any to hang out, now with the farm gone. And things were getting a little too cozy for my taste in Fiona and Britt's little townhouse. Don't get me wrong, they're lovely gals. I just need my private space."

"Okay. Then ... let's go."
Chapter 53: Stromness

We followed the road down from the bluffs, arriving at the piers of Scrabster Harbor Terminal just as the 1:15 p.m. ferry to Stromness was loading up. The black card Reggie had given me was burning a hole in my pocket, but I wasn't quite ready to use it to book passage. Might as well blow the rest of my cash while we were still trying to remain incognito.

I had never been on a boat this large before and worried I might get seasick. But I was fine. My stomach lurched a bit, but everything stayed where it was supposed to.

Jess and I hung out on the upper deck by the smokestacks, staring at the surf. The water looked as impenetrable as steel. I was feeling down and defeated. There was a hole in my heart where my feelings for Karla had been and it didn't seem fillable.

I still loved this beautiful, ugly world. This was where I wanted to be, surrounded by this ocean, this land and this sky. The roots knew this, and that's why they stayed away.

An hour and a half later my ferry-conditioned legs were still yielding and flexing against imaginary swells as we walked the solid cobbles of Stromness. The island town was all narrow lanes and grey stone buildings. Every village in Europe looked like a fairy tale to a kid from Florida.

Jessica led the way to the grassy heights above the town. We picked up some cheese and bread from a grocer along the way. Aunt Meredith's cottage looked abandoned, its shingles retaining whitewash only in the deepest grooves.

She fished a key out from under a heap of broken flower pots in an herb garden bursting with lavender, sage and thyme. The heavy oaken door creaked open to a musty parlor crammed with ancient furniture draped with crocheted afghans and doilies. Jess and I pushed open some windows to air the place out.

I collapsed into an overstuffed easy chair in the main room while Jessica raided the cupboards of a tiny kitchen.

"Do you like mussels? Smoked in a tin?"

"Beats smoking them in a pipe."

She ignored my quip. "They might go nice with our cheese and bread. Ah! And it looks like Auntie has some spirits stashed behind everything. Would you fancy a shot or two of schnapps? Might take the edge off our nerves."

"Sure. Why not?"

We lunched in the sitting room. Neither of us had much to say. But eventually, after her second hit of schnapps, Jessica's curiosity got the better of her.

"These Friends of Penult, I take it this man they shot was not also a 'Friend?'"

"Not of Penult, anyhow. You might say he was friend of Frelsi. One of the folks who help souls transition to the afterlife. Permanently. To become Freesouls. He's kind of like a mercy killing assassin."

"Mercy ... killing?"

"You could call it assisted suicide. He kills people who really, really want to leave this world, but don't want to go to the Deeps. You do it the right way and you could get stuck in the Liminality. But that's a good thing. Or at least, used to be. It pays ... really well."

"So, let me see if I understand this. The Friends of Penult kill mercy killers because they want to keep the people who want to die alive? That seems a bit non-sensical, don't you think? Kind of like the pro-life folks who kill doctors."

"They believe it goes against the natural order not to let the Reapers choose who goes and who stays. There's like a war going on between those who become Freesouls through the back door, against the rules, so to speak ... and the Freesouls who did it the proper way ... or so they say."

"These Friends of Penult might have a point, don't you think? Suicide, assisted or not, is not what God intended ... for anyone."

"Well ... that's assuming there actually is a God ... and that He actually gives a shit about what any of us common folks do."

"You speak of angels and afterlives and yet you suppose there might be no God involved?"

"I'm just saying ... maybe there is a God but He gave up on us. Or maybe ... He's dead. No one seems to be minding the shop over there."

"Not even these angels of Penult?"

"I keep telling you, these guys are no angels. And they're not in charge of anything. They're just sticking their noses into things that are none of their business. That's why I'm helping out the other side. And that's why these so-called 'Friends' are after me."

Jessica sat there, contemplating her glass of schnapps.

"What will they do with you if they catch you?"

"Kill me ... most likely."

"And your soul ... where then would it go?"

"I'm not sure. The Deeps, I guess. Unless there's some other place I don't know about."

Jessica slid back her chair and went to a cupboard near the mantle.

"My uncle used to own a handgun, I remember. Auntie used to nag him to make sure the cupboard was locked when the nephews and nieces came to visit. If only I can find the key."

"Jess ... I don't need a gun. I have ... other ways."

"So you tell me. But I don't have any of these ... ways. If you conk out again, I need to be able to protect myself."

She slid her hand along the mantle top. Her eyes lit up.

"Found it!"

She scrambled to unlock the cupboard, and removed a very ancient looking revolver, with a cracked grip and a tarnished barrel.

"And there are bullets too!"

"Jess. If these guys come after us. Just run away. Don't try and mess with them. Don't protect me. It's not worth it."

"Yeah right. I'm just going to let them barge right in and assassinate or mercy kill you. Fat chance I'm going to sit idly by or, God forbid, run off if that happens."

"Jess, please."

"Will you shush? I am a grown woman capable of making my own decisions! I will assess the situation at hand and react appropriately."

"Not that I can stop you once I'm crossed over. Just ... be careful."

***

Our schnapps-lubricated lunch went to our heads and made us both a bit loopy. Jess told me about growing up in small town Wales as a weird mix of tom boy and blue-haired emo artist. Not only did she collect and repair old lawn mowers, she liked to carve winged dragons from uprooted tree trunks. She showed me pictures of her work on her phone and they were amazing. I had seen her whittling off and on at Cwm Gyrdd farm, but I never suspected she was a sculptor.

Every now and then, one of us would peek out a window to make sure no strange people were stalking us. We never found cause for alarm and never saw anything out of the ordinary apart from a stray pig that wandered by chomping on a corn cob.

The cottage had no TV or radio, not that it mattered. I was completely out of touch with the world at this point. China could have invaded Hawaii for all I knew. The Miami Dolphins could have won the World Series.

With night approaching, it was time to scrounge another meal from the well-stocked pantry. Jess improvised a dinner from pasta and tomato sauce and canned sausages that was worthy of a candelabra.

We locked the doors and shuttered the windows. Jess gave me a quick and furtive hug before retiring up a narrow staircase to the loft that held her Auntie's bed. I collapsed on an overstuffed sofa in the parlor.

I was out in a flash.

***

Simple dreams awaited me, but the Singularity's flow never strayed too far from my subconscious these days. My dreams were jumbled. Me digging holes in my backyard in Fort Pierce, finding tangles of worms. Me driving north on the interstates, thunderstorms in the distance, huge insects splatting on my windshield. Not Lalibela huge. More like sparrow and robin dimensions.

I fled these annoying dreams and escaped into the Singularity, surprising myself with the ease of my entry into its flow. I let the stream carry me wherever it wanted to take me. I was done with forcing it to hunt for Karla. But having no aim meant drifting aimlessly, flitting between heads with no discernible pattern.

These souls I traversed, I could feel their longings and anxieties, but they remained strangers to me, their souls only briefly engaged and released. Hundreds of souls later, the Singularity finally found me a familiar face, and it was a notable one.

Wendell.

He was in London, standing outside a hotel, waiting for a valet to bring him his rental car. He instantly sensed my presence. He chuckled and winked into the void.

"Hay, hey! No worries kid. Pay no mind to that Zhang. You're doing just great. You stay put, right where you are. The cavalry is on its way."

And as quick as that I flitting back out of London. My mind might have been over her, but my heart still pined for Karla and the Singularity strived to serve me. But I drifted nowhere, circling, doubling back, before stalling. I don't know whether the Singularity had abandoned me or had no clue where to send me. Maybe she was nowhere to be found. What that suggested about the status and disposition of her soul disturbed me.

I tried to hang out longer and find out more but I had no more control of my direction than a minnow in flash flood. Uncertainty converged with fear and frustration. Despair sank its fangs deep. The roots came up and took me.
Chapter 54: Volunteers

For once, the roots dumped me in a comfortable landing spot—smack-dab on my sleeping mat deep in the warren. I was not alone. Ubaldo stood over me, goggle-eyed and gawking.

"He returns!"

Olivier burst in from my little walled-in patio. His eyes too were wide and excited.

"Sheesh! You picked a fine time to fade, kid. But maybe that's a good thing. Now that you're back, maybe it means you'll stick around long enough for us to finish. Yo, Baldo. Go tell the others we got the kid back."

The young Duster flew out the door and into the warren.

"Finish ... what?" I said, my head still foggy.

"What do you mean 'what'? You were there. You heard. We got the go ahead. We're getting ready to raid Penult."

"Oh, right."

"Come on, we gotta get our asses moving. Cherubs hit the upper rim last night and it looks like they're regrouping for another go. They're throwing everything they got at us. At this rate, I'd be shocked if New Axum holds out another week. We're lucky they're out of columns. At least, I hope so. I suppose if they had any, they wouldn't be shy about using them."

For some reason I was having a harder time than usual clearing the cobwebs from my brain. It didn't help that I didn't want to be here. I just wanted the Liminality to go away and leave me alone. I stared up at Olivier, unable to budge.

"The rest of the assault party's up on the plaza getting their shit together. We got eleven volunteers plus you, me, Yaqob and Baldo. Bugs for everyone, all saddled and provisioned. Three pairs of Seraph wings. Three cracker columns. And ... uh ... there's something else up there ... you gotta see."

"Three columns?"

"You heard me. We're taking three. And as far as everyone else knows, they all work. Got it?"

"Okay. But I only made one replica. Where did the third come from?"

He sighed. "I whipped one up while you were away. Pretty feeble. Not as pretty as yours, but we've got them all shrouded up so no one's the wiser. I got a feeling your copy isn't all that far off from being made functional. It just needs a little more inspiration and perspiration."

"I'm not so sure about that. Hey, does anybody know for sure where we're going exactly?"

"Of course. What, you think we would go in blind? This isn't a suicide mission. We'll be doing this in two jumps. First we head to the shore where we rest the bugs, get them fed. We'll be setting down pretty close to where the Cherubs land their boats so it could get a little dicey. But it's the shortest route across the strait."

"Penult's ... an island?"

"You betcha. Yaqob sent scouts back in the early days when they first invaded and we didn't know where the fuck these bastards came from. But it's been awhile since we sent anyone back that way. I suspect the island hasn't moved, but it'll be good to have an update, see what we're getting ourselves into. If all goes well, we should hear back from Urszula sometime tomorrow. It's a half day flight, there and back. We'll rendezvous on the shore."

I hauled myself off my slab of a bed, my stomach full of butterflies.

"Urszula went ahead ... on her own?"

"Nah. She's got Kitt and Tyler with her. No worries. Everyone's got a bug. The Pennies don't have anything that can keep up with a dragonfly."

I fished my jeans from a tangle of blankets and pulled them on. It was nice not to have to weave a new set from scratch, although these didn't smell too fresh. I pulled on my hoodie, zipped it and grabbed my blackened sword.

I resolved to go through the motions and do whatever Olivier wanted of me. What else could I do? I couldn't just sit here and wait for the Cherubim come swarming through the warren.

***

The plaza was arrayed with the strangest assortment of insects. Tigger was there, of course, along with three other dragonflies fresh from the bogs from the looks of their unblemished wings and cuticles. Yaqob and his aides were busy equipping a strange, two-winged creature with a long snout and a nasty-looking barbed tail. It almost looked like a winged scorpion.

The shortage of dragonflies had apparently forced the Dusters to press other insects into duty. Ubaldo sat astride a lanky and menacing white-faced hornet. A pair of scarabs lapped at some brown slurry in a trough.

I didn't see any mantids around. It made sense. Though they excelled in battle, they were not at all suited for long distance flights. They were probably all down defending the rim.

Reznak and Hailay came over with some Old Ones to huddle with Yaqob. The Frelsian brass strolled separately through the formation, reviewing the preparations. Victoria was looking a little more spry and alert and that worried me. She wore a sly smile that made her look like a cat about to kill a sparrow.

Olivier I passed among the volunteers, who were milling about, strapping weapons to saddles, adjusting their armor. One stood apart from the rest, lacing up a pair of boots. I stopped in my tracks, not believing what I was seeing. My stomach dropped. My head swam. I wobbled.

"Karla?"

She looked up at me, her face all wary and stiff as if she were not particularly pleased to see me. The sheer coldness in her eyes stung me. She never looked more like her father. The essence of Edmund Raeth stared back at me, all smug and righteous and dismissive.

"What are you doing here?" I said, my voice quavering.

"Doing my part," she said, calmly. "You did yours. So now I do mine."

"You're going on the raid with us?"

"Obviously."

I turned and looked at Olivier. "You knew she was here? Why didn't you tell me?"

"She showed up ... after you faded. I figured you needed to see for yourself."

Karla stepped closer like she expected me to hug her. I kept my arms to myself and stepped back, which induced her to smirk.

"You have every right to be angry with me. I understand. But I told you, we were desperate. But you dismissed me. It was looking like you might never return here on your own. I needed to find some way to get you here. We need you."

Normally, I would have held back, self-conscious of all these faces watching us, but I just tuned them out. It was like the whole plaza was empty but for me and Karla.

"We? What about you? Do you need me?"

"Of course. Why would you even ask?"

"This place was never our problem, Karla. We didn't ever have to come back here again. We had lives to live."

"You ... had a life. I had nothing."

"You had me. We had a whole life in front of us, there for the taking, but you rejected it ... for no good reason. You rejected life ... with me. You rejected me."

"This has nothing to do with you. It is only my life I do not want. If you want to live, then live." She gave this little shimmy of a shrug and bit her lip. But then her face shifted and this sad look came over her. "Please. Do not hate me."

"I don't hate you. I could never hate you. I'm just ... disgusted."

"Disgusted? How?" She scrunched her face. "Listen. I know you did not want to come back here. I know ... I forced you ... to become miserable like me. But I had no choice. The Liminality ... is our future. Life ... yes, there are nice moments ... but they are gone in a flash. This afterlife is our future. It is forever. We have to preserve our future, no?

I just stood there shaking my head slowly. "I'm sorry ... but life ... real life ... is way better than this place will ever be. That world we were all born into is ... special. Why not enjoy it? Give it a chance. The afterlife can wait."

"You don't understand," she said. "I'm talking about preserving our immortality. I'm talking eternity here. You are talking about ... eighty years maybe ... if we are lucky."

"Eighty years? That's a long time, Karla. You'd didn't even give us a year. We didn't even have a month together, for Chrissakes. What the fuck? You ditch me for this place? This ain't life. It's not even close."

"No, not yet. But we can make it special," said Karla. "This can be made ... a very nice existence. But not ... with Penult ... here. And ... I think you know this ... there is no guarantee we control our destiny, that we end up here when we die unless we arrange to become Freesouls. If we leave it to chance, let the afterworlds choose where we go, we can end up in other places. Horrible places. More horrible than the Deeps. But here, we can cheat the universe. Make a nice place for ourselves. Forever. But not with Penult doing what they do. They need to be defeated."

"And if we fail? What then? Would you go back? To the living world?"

She ground her teeth. "I am already still there, unfortunately. But I do not think I can stay for much longer, no matter what happens here. I need to find my sister. To whatever realm has taken her. I will go. Maybe you can help? Maybe this Singularity can find her, like it found me?"

"You would go ... like ... even to the Deeps? Seriously? You would go back to the Deeps?"

She bobbed her head. "If she is there. You don't understand. But how can you? You were an only child. But she is my sister. My baby sister."

My mouth dropped. I liked Isobel and I felt bad for whatever happened to her, but how did I fit into Karla's view of existence? Did I even matter to her?

"Well, now. I see your priorities. And they don't involve me."

"That is not true."

I started quaking like I had a fever. Stuff was loosening in the chest and threatening to break free. I thought I was going to explode and spatter my guts all over the plaza, all over all the faces watching this whole awkward encounter. I turned to Olivier "She can't come with us. I can't handle it."

"She volunteered."

"I don't care. I don't want her coming along."

"James. We need every volunteer we can get," said Olivier. "I was hoping for fifty. We only got fifteen, not counting the scouts."

"Fuck it, then. I won't go. It's either her or me. You decide."

I stood there, gazing off down the wide, steep avenue that led down to the rim. A flight of falcons dodging plasma blasts pursued a mantid rider along the cliff top. Something large flew up at the mantid and missed, slamming into a partially restored building. Its wall collapsed and crumbled. A band of armored Frelsian troops rushed across the junction and down the promenade to meet yet another threat. New Axum was not going to hold much longer.

Olivier leaned over, his voice hushed. "James. It's cool. I'll make sure you don't have to work with her. Just let her come along. Please."

"Fine," I said, sighing. "But keep her out of my face."
Chapter 55: The Shore

I slunk away across the plaza, seeking a quiet place to be alone, buy some time to get my head together. I was tearing up and I didn't want anyone to see me cry, especially not Karla.

What the hell was she thinking, showing up now? I was doing what she wanted, attacking Penult, however futile the outcome of our piddling raid was to be. Why did she need to go and butt in now? How was I supposed to concentrate on anything important with her around?

I kept my head averted and ducked behind a stone fountain at the base of the meadow. This fountain been dry last time I had seen it. Someone had recently restored the flow.

Gravity-fed spring water gushed a few feet up into the air from the central aqueduct, cascading down six spillways to the pebble-lined channel that encircled it. It emptied into a deep groove that slashed across the plaza carrying clean water deep into the warren.

A bunch of insects came flying in, all bearing riders—another scarab beetle and several sleek and nimble creatures I hadn't seen before, not in the Liminality anyhow. Whatever they were, they landed close to Tigger and spooked him. He took off and flew over to the meadow next to the Reaper pens.

I strolled towards Tigger, not because I thought I could comfort him, but figuring he was my responsibility and I should keep him from straying too far. He preened his antennae as he watched me approach with those huge compound eyes. He let me come right up to him without threatening to taste me or attempting to flee. I was impressed.

I climbed up behind his wings and checked my 'fat man's' saddle, finding it perfectly configured with the cinches and straps all snugged up tight. Someone had already gotten Tigger prepped and ready to go for me.

My Tyvek-patched Seraph wings were folded up and lashed to the base of his abdomen. Water skins were slung from loops. The saddle bags were stuffed with manna chips and some gooey, smelly crap wrapped in leaves that I hoped was meant for Tigger's consumption and not mine.

Olivier whistled to get our attention and waved for us to join him. Tigger let me climb aboard, no problem, but I just sat there in the saddle kicking and stomping and patting his shell, trying to get him to go.

"Giddy-up! Yee-haw."

I might as well have been trying to get a boulder to take wing. He remained oblivious to my commands.

Tigger continued to ignore me, but as soon as Ubaldo let out a piercing shriek, the damned insect responded, buzzing us back over to the others on the plaza. My Duster friends had apparently been getting him trained up while I was away. I wasn't sure I was capable of replicating Ubaldo's scream with my reedy voice. This was going to be a problem.

Tigger set down right next to the three cracker columns. They were laid out on the cobbles like missiles on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. Encased in their shrouds, I had no way of discerning which one was real.

"Alright people, we're about ready to roll," said Olivier. "This is how things are gonna go down. We want three dragonflies to fly point with Iggy on the lead bug. Three others will take up the rear. Beetles with their payloads will fly in the center of the formation. Two robber flies will flank either side in close escort. Yaqob and Ubaldo will roam free to scout ahead and intercept any threats. No matter what happens, no one breaks formation unless they want help, and then it'll be robber flies out first. If we get attacked by anything we can't handle, we abort the mission, and head straight to the bogs. Understood?"

The assembled party offered various grunts of assent. I looked over the group and saw mostly Dusters and only a few familiar faces. There were only two Frelsians joining us and zero Old Ones. I suppose that wasn't too surprising because Frelsians had little experience with bugs. The Dusters coming along were primarily from the old guard—Yaqob and Urszula's generation. Ubaldo was one of the few recent immigrants from the Deeps.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched Karla hop onto one of the robber flies. Since when did she know how to ride a bug? I have to say, those robber flies were impressive creatures. They looked sort of like houseflies, but way more lanky and burly, built for speed and predation.

Olivier came up beside me and Tigger. "Hey James. No offense, but I want you in the rear group with Zhang's people." He clambered up onto a massive metallic-blue scarab that seemed to have a stripped-down easy chair strapped to its thorax. "The Frelsians are still a little shaky with their bugs. It'll give you guys a chance to much around and practice. Less pressure."

"That's fine!" I said, though it came out louder and more annoyed-sounding than I intended. Olivier gave me a weird look. Of course it made sense to have the more experienced Dusters on the lead dragonflies. I was just feeling agitated.

Everybody climbed aboard their bugs and made last minute adjustments to their gear. I was not ready for this raid one bit. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I wish I was still in the Orkneys, in Jessica's aunt's cottage.

The three lead dragonflies took to the air first. The robber flies quickly followed. And then Tigger burst off the plaza without me needing to do a thing. While we circled overhead, the beetles opened their wing cases and lifted off the cobbles, swooping down over the cracker columns, latching onto the shrouds with their claws. The crowd on the plaza cheered as they thundered off to join us.

Each of the bug riders followed Olivier's instructions to a T. All except me and Tigger, of course. As soon as we got up in the air, Tigger zoomed up over the beetles and took up a spot just behind the tail of the lead dragonfly, an impressive specimen with a huge wing span, a golden green body and eyes of iridescent amber.

I tried every kind of slap and kick to try and get Tigger to go back, but he paid no attention to me. He had decided on his own that he was going to be second banana to the big green bug and that was that. When the leader's wing men came over and tried to nudge him aside, he tussled with them, scraping wings, pummeling their heads with his feet.

I felt deeply embarrassed. I could imagine Olivier rolling his eyes at the sight. Ubaldo came zooming down on his hornet and I thought for sure we were in for a scolding.

He pulled up next to me, his face calm and unperturbed. "No worries," he said. "You can stay here. We know your mount is difficult."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, though there was nothing I could have done about it if he had changed his mind. Tigger was determined to follow the leader.

Ubaldo leaned slightly to his left and his wasp responded like it was wired to his brain, arcing wide around our flank. And yet Ubaldo was as new to bug riding as me. Not fair. At least, flying up front, it was easier to keep from staring at Karla.

My feelings about her remained a jumbled mess and I expected things to stay that way. I was pissed at her beyond belief for what she had done. Though, it was tinged with relief that nothing nefarious had happened to her. I was worried about the risk of her coming to Penult, but glad she wouldn't be in New Axum when it fell. The bottom line was, I still had feelings for her. They weren't going away anytime soon, but I wasn't near ready to let her know that.

We passed over the wilder and un-terraced back reaches of the mountain. Here, overhanging cliffs dropped in one fell swoop to a splintered badland of pointy spires and deep, dry gorges, terrain so treacherous it required no defenders. I wondered, though, what one well-placed cracker column might do to tame it.

We followed the one river valley that remained under the control of the Dusters. The route was familiar to me. Urszula had taken me this way to Tigger's bog. Though, when we reached the circle of peaks that cradled those wetlands like the walls of a massive bathtub, we veered eastward, to an area of savanna that reminded me of the pitted plains before crackers had torn them up. Here, too, the land was dotted with pits, portals and vents to the underworld, a place I had no desire ever to return.

We headed for a range of hills backed by yet more ranges in the distance. Hours, we flew. Tigger had a way of flying that forced me to stay alert at all times. Over and over he would spot something that would interest only a dragonfly and veer off and dive without warning to inspect it, leaving my stomach in the lurch somewhere back in the clouds. Then, just as abruptly, he would dart away from whichever dead tree or rock formation had piqued his curiosity and rejoin the formation. I no more controlled this bug than a sack of rice controlled a donkey.

Staying alert for all of these herky-jerky changes in direction was exhausting but necessary to keep from tumbling out of that damned saddle. These things had no seatbelts. I wondered if I could rig up some kind of life line or safety tether, whenever, if ever we landed. At least it would give me some peace of mind.

On and on we flew, over hills and marshes, deserts and forests. I kept hoping we would stop for a rest. Surely these insects needed some refreshment. Their stamina astounded and disappointed me.

Finally, late in the afternoon, the last range of hills rumpling the horizon gave way to a narrow forested plain fringed by gleaming ocean. Chevrons of breakers converged on a strand of golden sand lining the broad curve of a bay. The lead dragonfly led the descent with Tigger close behind.

***

We touched down lightly on the sand. The beetles behind us scraped trenches with their payloads and struck the beach with a thud. I sat there hunched in the saddle, muscles quivering with exhaustion, still clinging to the handholds. The other riders had already dismounted and were dipping into their saddlebags.

Yaqob's scorpion fly hopped over to the surf line to nibble on the remains of some fleshy mollusk that had washed up. The beetles went and huddled over a decaying heap of giant kelp like cows over a bale of hay.

I took a deep breath and lowered myself to the ground, grateful to feel solid earth beneath my feet. Ubaldo came striding up.

"Remove your saddle. There is good hunting in the forest. We will let the insects forage before nightfall."

"We're not gonna tether them? How do we get them back?"

He looked at me like I was a dunce before a trace of sympathy entered his expression. "Don't worry about yours. He will follow the others. He is a good dragonfly. He is just young and stupid."

Yaqob came strolling up. "We can't camp here. Too exposed. The Seraphim will spot us."

"There is forest behind the dunes," said Ubaldo.

Olivier came dragging his chair-like saddle through the sand. "We should lay low and keep a watch for the scouts. We should see them patrolling down the shoreline once they return. Once we have a confirmed visual, we can send up a guide to bring them down to us."

"And if they never come?" said Ubaldo.

Yaqob sighed. "If they don't come, we cross without them."

***

Our fellow raiders helped haul the crackers under the cover of the glossy-leafed trees that backed the dunes. Their canopies spread wide and dense between their narrow, ribbed trunks, while thickets of shrubs screened us from anyone who might approach on foot.

Ubaldo went off to take the first watch atop the dunes, digging himself a foxhole concealed with hunks of driftwood and strands of dried seaweed. We expected the scouts to come up from the south where the crossing to Penult was the narrowest. But that was also where the Cherubim came ashore in their oar-driven ships.

As the sun hunkered low, I wandered the fringes of our camp, keeping my distance from Karla. Maybe I was being immature, but I wasn't ready to talk to her. I needed some space. It felt weird, avoiding her, after a week of trying to hunt her down across half of Scotland and all of the Singularity.

She pretended not to notice me, making no attempt to approach or even look my way. Was she respecting my need for space or did she simply not care anymore? When I spotted her joking around with one of the male volunteers, a wave of jealousy roiled my innards.

My emotions towards her remained too strong, too raw, and I could not handle them any better than I could handle Tigger. It was inevitable that I would be the first to break my self-imposed silent treatment. Maybe she knew that. Maybe she was just being patient and understanding. Maybe she was just a selfish and conniving bitch.

But I had to stick it out a little longer. I had to send the message that she had been wrong to manipulate me and that these were the consequences.

As the dusk deepened, our insects settled down for the night. The beetles dug shallow burrows in the sandy loam behind the dunes while the robber flies and dragonflies perched high in the canopy. From all the cricket parts I found strewn beneath their roosts, I could tell their hunts had gone well.

I found Olivier sitting with Yaqob in a little glade ringed with shrubs and joined them. It was getting so dark I could barely make out their faces, and the canopy of broad-leafed boughs overhead only made things darker. Giant crickets began to creak in the distance, their chirps as loud as chainsaws.

"When the time comes, I can spell Ubaldo on the watch."

"Nah. We're all set for tonight," said Olivier. "Why don't you concentrate on getting some rest? But don't you fade on us now. We already lost one gal."

"Lost?" My heart thumped. "Karla?"

He shook his head. "One of the Frelsians. "She faded right after we landed. Hemisoul. She knew the risks. Who knows, maybe she's a short-timer and we'll still be hanging out when she gets back."

The night clamped down. With no moon, and just a smattering of those so-called stars, it became difficult to discern Yaqob and Olivier's outlines against the shrubs.

"It'd be nice to have a fire," I said.

"No fire," said Yaqob. "No glow roots. Our enemies' beachhead lies just beyond the bay."

"Just saying. It would be nice."

A man came thrashing and stumbling through the underbrush.

"Yo?" said Olivier. "Who's there?"

The man chuckled. "I'm fucking lost."

"That you, Jasper?" said Olivier. "Follow my voice."

The man called Jasper pushed through a thicket of shrubbery and settled down beside us in the sand. "Hey all. I'm just back from the beach."

This was the guy who had been joking with Karla. I recognized his voice.

"How goes it?" said Yaqob.

"Well, no sign of any scouts. Spotted a couple falcons cruising way out by the point at sunset. But things are quiet."

"Jasper, you ever met James?" said Olivier. "He's the man-shaped smudge to your right."

We tried to shake and missed each other's hands in the darkness. After a couple of flubs, we successfully completed the ritual.

"Ah! The James. Nice to meet you finally. I'm a fellow Lutheran, in case you didn't know. Though, I didn't follow Luther when he went back under."

"Lutheran?"

"That's what the Frelsians have taken to calling us underworld types," said Olivier. "As if they didn't hail from there, too. Like we're disciples of Luther or something."

"It's just a shorthand nickname," said Jasper. "I don't mind it. I grew up Catholic myself."

"Me too," said Olivier.

"I've ... always been an atheist," I said. "Still am."

"Still? After all you've seen here?" said Olivier.

I weighed my response carefully. I didn't want to offend anyone.

"To tell you the truth, I can't make heads or tails out of everything I've seen. If there is a creator or creators, they've got some serious problems. They've given me no grounds for determining they're someone ... or something ... worthy of worship.

"You can't deny their power," said Jasper.

I scratched an unseen circle in the sand with the point of my sword.

"Why not?"

"Listen to him! Such a heretic," said Olivier.

"The thing is ... from what I can tell, there's nobody in charge of things here. Nobody who cares what happens."

"Why should they? We're just garbage," said Olivier. "We're the lost."

"What do you mean?"

"In case you haven't noticed, this ain't exactly Heaven. Our souls are pretty much ... damned."

"But why? What did we do? We're not bad people."

"We refused a gift, for one thing. We gave up on life, did we not?"

"I did at one point, but ... that was a long time ago. I've ... changed."

"Too late. You can't return a gift and expect a second chance ... unless you steal it back."

"You're saying this is hell?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe something in between. Maybe it's just the Liminality."

"Whatever this place is, who the fuck is minding the shop?"

"Nobody," said Olivier.

"It wasn't always so," said Yaqob.

"Oh?"

"Something happened. Before my time. Long before. There was a ... Caretaker. But something happened and the Caretaker is gone."

"Dead?"

"Gone or lost? How? I don't know. But the Lords of Penult, the Erelim, they came to fill the void. They believe they follow the Maker's wishes. They believe Caretaker and the Maker are one and the same. They believe they are blessed. But ... they delude themselves. They are no better than us. They are not virtuous, smart or just. They came first to the surface. That is all. They discovered Weaving first. Before us latecomers. Even the Old Ones are latecomers compared to them. But being first makes them believe they are the Chosen and that this is their Promised Land."

"But I thought ... don't some souls go straight to Penult ... even now?"

"Petros implied as much," said Olivier. "I'm not sure I believe it. They're tapped into some flow, that's for sure. Otherwise they wouldn't be wasting so many Cherubim. To be honest, I think they're parasites. They've found a way to move between the lower realms and take what they need. Siphon off souls, modify them to do their dirty work. You saw them in the Deeps."

"How many realms are there?"

"More than what we've seen, I'm pretty damn sure," said Olivier. "Petros wouldn't say. Just they not all were as wonderful as this place."

"Why so many?"

"Why did Dante describe so many levels of Hell?" said Olivier. "To punish us, for various crimes and misdemeanors, I guess. Whoever ... whatever used to drive it fell asleep at the wheel. So now the lunatics are running the asylum. Pardon me for mixing my metaphors, but that's just how I see it."

"Shit," I said. "That's all fucked up."

"Yes. It is bad," said Yaqob. "But ... maybe someday ... the Maker ... or the Caretaker ... will return."

I stared out into the darkness and thought about all those churches and holy men and women around the globe preaching and practicing their faiths with a level of certainty that seemed outrageously pretentious. The night ahead was only going to get darker and lonelier for me.

"Sure would be nice to have a fire," I said.

"No fire," said Yaqob. "I told you."

"Nope. Sure way to get our asses whooped in the morning."

"Just saying it would be nice," I said.

"Get some rest," said Yaqob who thrashed in the sand, burrowing himself a shallow den into the side of a dune. "Soon we fight."

***

The forest roared with crickets. Yaqob was already snoring. I did not expect to sleep much knowing we had the enemy within walking distance and that we were flying across a strait to attack a hostile island in the morning.

A cool wind came off the water. The sand felt damp and clammy. I kicked and scuffed around, trying to make myself more comfortable. What I would give to be back in a comfy bed in Stromness. If only I could fade at will. With my luck my next one would hit me in Penult and I'd be stranded there with all those killer angels.

"Hey James," whispered Olivier. "What's the deal with that girl of yours? Why aren't you with her? Why aren't you two talking?"

I reflected a moment before answering.

"She's ... not my girl."

"Why? What happened?"

"She manipulated me. Made me think she was kidnapped ... or worse. Just to get me over here."

"And that's a bad thing?"

I sighed loudly. "We could have had a life together. A good life. But ... no. She never even gave it a shot! I was in prison. I get out. We finally get together and ... five days later ... she leaves me. She's not kidnapped. Not murdered, thank God. She just ran off without even leaving a note. I mean, what the fuck?"

"It worked, didn't it? I mean, you're here, aren't you. And I, for one, am grateful to have you here. Everyone—Frelsians. Dusters. Old Ones—we all respect you. Having you with us has been great for morale. I'm very sorry that you didn't want to come here, but ... now that you did ... you just might be the difference between our complete destruction ... and our survival."

"I think you're vastly overestimating me. All of you. If Karla wanted to come back here so badly she should have left me out of it and come back on her own."

"How? You wanted her to off herself?"

"No, but ... that's basically what she wanted for us. She wanted us to be Freesouls. Slam the door on life altogether."

"Not telling you what to do, kid, but If I were you, I'd cut her some slack. She's Luther's grandchild, isn't she? From what I hear, she had a rough time of it growing up. Can you blame her, being disenchanted with this life thing? I mean, look at us. We've all been suicidal. That's the ticket here, isn't it?"

"I got over it. Why couldn't she? That family stuff was all behind her. We had nothing in our way. We had the whole world to ourselves. Fucking all expenses paid. Why couldn't she give it a chance?"

"Listen James. Some of us just never fit in ... over ... in that other place. Life ... if what you want to call it that. Some lives start off fine and go bad near the end. Some turn to shit in the middle. Others of us were never even meant to be born and we realize it young. For those of us who feel that way, the Liminality is good news. Maybe Karla's one of those. She's meant for this place. It might be nothing personal. Didn't mean you had to follow her."

"I fucking hate this fucking shithole," I said through my teeth.

"But here you are. Go figure."

"Once we do this raid. I ain't ever coming back here again. I am done."

"That's fine," said Olivier. "If you can get happy and stay happy, the more power to you."
Chapter 56: Rendezvous

Tree crickets wailed and droned in cycles that rose and fell, sometimes meshing, sometimes clashing with the slosh of the waves. Yaqob's snoring was just as loud but much less predictable. His throat would seize and he would gag as if he were being strangled, before forcing out a raspy rumble like Harley Davidson with a rusted out muffler.

"Are you sure he's okay? I mean, he's not gonna stop breathing on us, is he?"

"He's fine," assured Olivier. "A little sleep apnea never hurt anybody."

"Should we ... roll him on his side or something?"

"Yeah right." Olivier chuckled. "That'll go over real well. Sometimes, kid, you just gotta let sleeping dogs lie."

Yaqob fell silent. The silence dragged on. He had to be turning blue by this point. And then he erupted, expelling all the stale air in his lungs in one huge gasp, before rattling in a fresh load.

"I'm sorry, but that just does not sound healthy."

"It's nothing new. He always snores like this," said Olivier. "My hooch was across the courtyard from his in New Axum. Coming from the Deeps, where breathing is optional, this is music to my ears.

"Music."

Out of the darkness, a hand clamped onto my shoulder. I jerked around and lunged for my sword, grasping it blade-first, lucky that Victoria's transformation had dulled it.

"Stop. It is only me, Ubaldo. I am back from watch."

My heart was pounding in a panic. He could just as well have been a Cherub coming to slit my throat.

Ubaldo settled down beside us on the sand, his body a dark pool in the sandy glade, lit only by the subtle glint of star light.

"You had no problem finding us," said Olivier.

"Thanks to Yaqob."

"See? Isn't this a problem?" I said. "Shouldn't we muzzle him or something?"

"Why?" said Ubaldo. "Pennies never roam on foot after dark. Though, a falcon did come down the shore after the sun went down. Returning late from patrol, must be."

"They spot our camp?" said Olivier.

"I don't believe so. They did not deviate from their course. Probably in a hurry to return to their beach head."

"We were lucky they came by late," said Olivier. "Any light and they for sure would have spotted our bugs."

"Any sign of our scouts?" I said.

"No," said Ubaldo.

"Man, they're way overdue," said Olivier. "That's not a good sign."

"So what do we do? Wait here another day?"

"Nah. We can't hang around here. Too risky," said Olivier. "Looks like we cross over blind at first light. We need to run that by Yaqob, of course, but I'm pretty sure he'll agree."

"Looks like will be a one way mission," said Ubaldo. "No?"

No one said anything for the longest moment. We yielded the night to the symphony of waves, crickets and snores.

"You ... okay with that?" said Olivier.

"I am at peace," said Ubaldo. "If I must return to the Deeps. So be it. At least it is a place I know. Some things ... I miss."

"Really? Like what?" said Olivier.

"To exist there requires no care," said Ubaldo. "No fuss. No pain. Never hungry. Never tired. Never cold."

"Not me. I don't miss any of that crap," said Olivier. "That cold was damned intense. Sure, we could tune it out, but I was always aware of it."

I remembered the cold acutely. It was a marvel that a body could remain flexible in such frigid conditions. It was almost as if souls in the deeps inhabited a different kind of matter, halfway between human and spirit. I took a deep breath, glorying in the cool, salt air seasoned with a blend of resinous, herbal overtones suggestive of seaweed, juniper and sage.

"You know," I said. "Here ... I feel alive. It's really not much different ... here ... from life."

Again my companions fell silent, the pause coinciding with yet another disconcertingly long gap of interrupted breathing from Yaqob.

"Good to know," said Olivier, finally. "It's been a while for both Baldo and me. One tends to forget what life was really like. All the more reason to keep on fighting for this place, I suppose. I doubt there's any other realm as close to life as the Liminality."

"True," I said, though my thoughts had snagged on Ubaldo's suggestion that none of us raiders heading to Penult would likely ever return intact. That disturbed and agitated me greatly. I pined for Stromness, a place I had visited for less than a day.

***

Normally terse and stoic, Ubaldo turned quite chatty fellow once he got going on something he cared about. That topic turned out to be futbol. A Hemisoul in New Axum had filled him in on the results of the most recent World Cup and so he went on and on about it, lamenting the poor performance of his beloved Azzurri and marveling at the shocking defeat of Brazil by the Germans.

"How long have you been dead?" said Olivier.

"Fifteen years," said Ubaldo. "I didn't make the grades for university. I stepped in front of a train."

"That's a pretty dumb reason to off yourself."

"Yes, well. Too late now. Yes?"

Olivier somehow managed to maneuver the discussion to hockey and how, in sheer skill and entertainment value, it was a superior sport to football. I could see he was just trolling Ubaldo, and he was effective in getting our Duster friend extremely agitated.

I couldn't get my head clear with all their chatter so I dragged myself over to a quieter place behind the shrubs, but close enough that I could still hear them chatter over Yaqob's snoring, it was much less obtrusive.

I crawled under a bush, tore off some branches and scraped together some leaf litter to make a sorry bed. I hoped to Heaven that I faded out of this place before the morning.

But sleep wouldn't come. I was doomed to lay and listen to the wind and the waves, the drone of the crickets.

The Liminality wasn't a bad world. It had its charms. The relative ease at which spell craft could be conjured here increased its possibilities. Now that I knew that Weaving was possible in life as well, that was no longer as strong a selling point. Still, I could imagine myself settling here when life no longer was an option.

The wall of bushes separating me from the little glade rustled. I heard footsteps in the sand.

"James?" A whisper. It was Karla.

I kept silent.

"Are you here? James?"

I lay still, wondering if I should answer.

"James?"

I couldn't help myself. "Who told you where to find me?"

"Olivier."

A foot scuffed sand against my cheek. A twig crunched next to my ear. Soft fingers reached down and brushed the hair from my brow.

"Oh, there you are. You have made a little nest, I see."

"Karla, I don't think you should—"

She slipped down onto my nest beside me and snaked an arm over my chest, pulling herself tight against my side. I turned on my side, keeping my back to her, but she wouldn't let go of me.

"This is awkward," I said.

"Awkward? Stop being a baby. I'm here to make up with you."

"That's not possible."

"Oh stop. You act like I killed your puppy."

"You forced me to come back here."

"Is that so bad?"

"It's dangerous here. There was no need—"

"Inverness is dangerous too. And so is Glasgow. And in this place, we are trying to make less dangerous again."

"What was wrong with Brynmawr?"

"Brynmawr! Give me a break. That is your idea of paradise?"

"We had a bottomless credit card. We could have gone and lived anywhere in the world. New Zealand. Patagonia. Tokyo. The Galapagos. Anywhere."

"But eventually we all die and then what? Become slaves of Penult? You would be happy with this? You see what they do to their Cherub. And most of the souls in Penult are slaves. They are Cherubim. Only the elite get to be Hashmallim, never mind Seraphim. You say you didn't like Frelsi ... but this place is much worse than Frelsi."

"How do you know we would even end up in Penult?"

"Oh? Then where? Heaven? Hell? The Deeps? Are you satisfied with someone else deciding for you or would you rather choose the place you will spend the rest of eternity?"

"First things first. What about living life?"

"Life is just a flash."

"Maybe so, but we only get one chance at it. Or ... two ... in some cases. Not that you deserved it. I bring you back and you turn around and can't wait to throw it all away."

"I was scared. I did not want to lose this place. I could not live knowing it was in peril. I just wanted to save the Liminality ... for us. But only if you still want there to be an 'us.' Do you?"

I lay still, her arm a dead weight over my torso.

"Well, do you? Do you still ... love me? Do you?"

When I didn't respond, she retracted her arm abruptly. And with the loss of her touch, I felt myself slipping over a brink into a dark and empty void. Desperate, I panicked, squirmed around and flailed out my arm. My hand caught her wrist and clasped it tight. I pulled her close.
Chapter 57: The Scouts Return

Desperately and without words, Karla and I made love in my nest of twigs and leaves. Engulfed in scents—turpentine, salt spray, the musk of unwashed skin—I lost all sense of self. We may as well have been wafting through the Singularity, our souls all smudged together, blending like smoke.

Afterwards we lay side by side, my hoodie draped over our bare and dewy skin. A cool breeze lapped at my bare side. Karla nuzzled my neck with her nose and made me shiver.

This was everything I had wished for and more, yet a weird residue of disappointment and relief lingered. I never should have given in so easily. How would she ever take me seriously going forward?

But what was done was done. I stared up at the strangely faded stars that wandered the skies of this world. I wondered if they were mere decoration—some sham created for the viewing pleasure of spirits of some higher station. But what if those were real worlds revolving up there, other after-realms for humans or whatever alternative intelligences might exist in this universe? Maybe one of those points of light was Heaven itself. Coming to the Liminality had revealed a few mysteries, only to hint at the existence of a thousand more.

I had no idea what to do about me and Karla, how we moved on from this reconciliation, if that's what it was. What had just happened between us had come natural, but it didn't mean we were back together.

Things were different now between us. Her leaving had left a taint on our relationship. Our connection would never be as simple and pure as our first days together in Root. It was harder for me now to imagine a future that involved the both of us.

"There. You happy now?" she asked, as if she were reading my mind. I wasn't ready to admit to her what I was really thinking.

"Sure." The word slipped from my lips like a sigh. It was a white lie.

"Don't you fade on me again. We have things left to do. I hope we are not doing this too soon."

"What about you? Are you happy?"

She paused.

"It takes more than a romp in the sand to improve my mood."

"Romp? Is that all this was to you?"

"Shush! I am just saying. I am joking. You should know better. Happy is not my thing."

A blast of wind shook the trees and swirled the bushes. Sand devils danced. Karla snuggled closer. I let my arm slip over her, but it still felt strange holding her, as if she wasn't really here, but just some figment of a daydream.

"Do you have any idea what we're getting into, going to Penult?"

"No," she said. "But I am not worried. Not if we have you with us."

I sighed. "People expect too much of me sometimes."

"All I expect is for you to try. Amazing things happen when you do. I have seen them. In every realm."

"Sometimes ... I fail."

"We all fail. You are only human. You do what you can. That's all you can do. All we can expect."

"What if I do nothing? What if I don't go to Penult. Would you stop having anything to do with me?"

"Don't play games with me," said Karla. "I know you are committed. You have eyes. You have seen what Penult is doing. I have faith you will do the right thing."

"And if I do, you will come back ... for good? Stay with me on the other side? No matter what?"

"Maybe. That is possible. Is that what you wish?"

I stared at the stars. "I'm not sure anymore."

"We fix things here. Make them stop. Maybe then there can be room for some life. We do this first and then we see. Yes?"

I took a deep breath and sighed. "Okay." I closed my eyes and shut out the stars.

***

The early morning rays sent the insects preening and sunning themselves high on their perches. A flight of bees came buzzing in to share their nectar with us.

The word shuttled swiftly through the camp. Yaqob had given his assent. We had waited long enough for the scouts. We would make the crossing without them.

A work party went off to a spring at the base of a hillock to refill all our flasks and skins with cool, fresh water. Other volunteers made the rounds to saddle their mounts, unpacking various foul smelling slurries and pastes that the Dusters had tucked away in each saddlebag—supplements to boost their energy for the long crossing.

Karla pecked my cheek and went off to attend to her robber fly. It came zipping down out of the canopy like a faithful dog when she called it. I had to wander the forest a good twenty minutes before I located Tigger high atop a fig tree. He had my spare wings strapped to his side, but my saddle remained on the ground, stacked against a tree with several others.

I tried coaxing him down with a sheet of pemmican I peeled out of a saddle bag. No matter how much I shrieked and whistled and waved the leathery flap at him, he ignored me, preferring instead to gorge on the turkey-sized aphids crowding the tender, outer branches. I tore off a chunk of pemmican to try myself. It looked much better than it tasted. Sour and putrid, like dried-up vomit, I had to spit it out.

A damselfly with indigo wings and a purple metallic fuselage came skimming over the treetops bearing a lone rider. It was coming from the wrong direction to be one of the scouts. I recognized the rider. It was the young man from the bog—the nymph whisperer who had summoned Tigger from the depths.

Olivier came dragging his saddle. "Who the fuck is this?"

Viktor landed damselfly in the glade and dismounted.

"Hello! Am I too late to volunteer?"

"Never," said Yaqob, who came strolling out of the shrubs, his chest and arms bristling with freshly applied armored scales. "You are welcome."

"I am afraid I bear some bad news," said Viktor. "The second valley has fallen. New Axum is now surrounded on all sides. Zhang is negotiating terms with the Lords of Penult. They have begun evacuations by air."

Yaqob looked vexed. "We agreed they should wait for the outcome of the raid. Did we not?"

"Master Zhang says they have no choice. Reznak dissents. The Old Ones are withholding their judgment for now. Every insect in the bog is being sent to the mountain, but we have not nearly enough wings to bring every refugee to the bog lands by air."

"Reznak will set things straight," said Yaqob.

Viktor noticed Tigger flitting about the treetops, He beamed.

"How's your young mount shaping up?"

"He's ... uh ... got a mind of his own."

"My robber fly is extremely well behaved," said Karla. "Just ... not very fast."

"Oh, but those robber flies maneuver well in tight quarters," said Viktor. "They can take a hit too, and keep on flying." He pulled a fistful of pale, chalky flakes from a sack. "Frog jerky, anyone?"

Karla accepted a piece, but I decided to stick with the manna for now. Ubaldo climbed atop a dune and stared out across the across the bay. I went up and joined him. There was some action in the sky out over some distant shoals. From this distance, they just looked like a bunch of specks.

"We'll have to go north before we turn east," said Ubaldo. "We stay low, close to the wave tops. Otherwise they will spot us."

Something flashed at ground level and went flying up towards the specks. A rumble followed a few seconds later.

"Hey, those are ... some of those are bugs!"

"The scouts!" said Ubaldo. "Merde! They are being chased. I see only two. We lost one."

Olivier and Yaqob emerged from the forest and hurried up the side of the dune, their faces concerned.

"Fools!" said Yaqob. "They passed too close to the beach head. They were spotted."

The two dragonflies were being followed by a flight of seven falcons, sleeker and quicker than the ones we had tangled with in the valley. These had a single pilot, and instead of talons they had gleaming blades on the tips of their wings. Three condors escorted by several standard falcons followed close on their tail.

Yaqob exchanged words with Ubaldo in the guttural language of the Deeps.

"Everyone! Call your flies."

Ubaldo shrieked and his hornet immediately took wing. Hurtling over the forest it pounded into the sand beside us, its eyes gleaming, abdomen pulsing, its saddle already in place. Yaqob's scorpion fly came buzzing down beside it, also already saddled.

"Keep the beetles grounded," said Yaqob. "But I want every swift bug in the air."

He and Ubaldo swung up onto their mounts, with Ubaldo right behind him. They sprang off the dunes and darted out over the bay, skimming low over the wave tops.

The scouts had spotted us and altered their course. They remained ahead of their pursuers were steadily losing ground. The new falcons were swifter than anything Penult had in the air previously, and nearly the equal of any bug. They spat out projectiles that left spiral, greenish vapor trails.

The dragonflies made quick and twitchy adjustments to their flight path to evade the objects coming at them from behind. The bulge of their compound eyes gave them, in effect, eyes in the back of their head.

Volunteers variously screeched and clapped and whistled for their beasts. The canopy bounced and swarmed with bugs sorting themselves out and seeking their riders. I attempted to mimic how Ubaldo had called Tigger the other day, but my voice cracked before I get out a decent screech and I was reduced to a fit of coughing.

Karla's robber fly came buzzing down into the glade and she leapt on its back, wielding a scepter like a knobby wooden baton. Her fly had no saddle.

"You're riding bareback?"

"There is no time!" she said, her eyes anxious. "Where is your bug?"

"I don't know," I said. "He was just up there."

I screamed again for Tigger. My shriek was a little more convincing this time, but it still got me nowhere. I gazed up hopefully at the dragonflies flitting back and forth overhead but none bore Tigger's distinctive broad striping.

In quick succession, one volunteer after another alighted from the dunes until half a dozen were winging out after Yaqob and Ubaldo.

"Enough," said Karla, and she too took to the air, followed by several more stragglers.

"We're heading into the trees to get the beetles tethered," said Olivier. "They're not equipped for aerial dog fights."

"I'll stick around here," I said. "Maybe Tigger will show."

I was the last dragonfly rider left on the dunes. When the last of the robber flies took off, I was alone, feeling useless and impotent. I couldn't even strap on a pair of Seraph wings. Tigger still had them lashed to his side.

I kicked my way through the light, fluffy sand to the crest of the tallest dune and watched as the volunteers closed on the first wave of attackers. Behind them, an array of old-style falcons escorted a pair of huge, lumbering condors carrying something large and bulky in their talons.

Ubaldo's hornet raced into the lead, accelerating past the scouts. He homed in in on the lead falcon, weaving erratically to avoid the barrage of bolts emanating from the bristling nose of the enemy craft. His hornet swung its abdomen stinger first and pierced the Hashmal pilot through his cage. All six wings instantly ceased and the craft went tumbling into the surf. Yaqob came zooming up behind him, his scorpion fly flailing its spiked tail, raking and slashing at the other falcons. Pieces flew off and another falcon went crashing into the sea.

The volunteers caught up just as the second wave hit, firing a massive barrage of ballista bolts, some of which found their mark. A robber fly spun away from the formation, its wing damaged, spiraling down to the water. It made its way back over the shoals, staying just above the waves until it crumpled onto the beach, spilling its rider in the sand.

I ran down the dune towards the beach, fearing it was Karla who had fallen. But it was a guy, some Duster fellow I didn't know. He rose from the sand and tried taking a step, but couldn't put any weight on it. He fell back down and just sat there, staring at his robber fly which was just as battered, its wings torn, thorax pierced with bolts.

I rushed down to help him. His foot jutted at an odd angle from the rest of his leg. He had badly broken his ankle.

"You okay? Is it just your leg?"

He nodded, grimacing. I helped him up and over the dunes and got him tucked away under the trees.

The battle in the sky had drifted closer to shore. A wild dogfight was underway, flies and falcons dodging, diving, firing bolts, exchanging bursts of plasma. A cluster of falcons harried Ubaldo like nesting sparrows chasing a crow, but few bolts struck the shifty hornet.

Yaqob's scorpion fly fought like a winged demon, whirling and slashing at any falcon that came within reach. Several falcons had already begun to retreat back to the beach head, their cages shattered, six wings reduced to four or five.

Amidst the chaos, I noted a set of striped wings on a rider-less dragonfly. Tigger was up there battling without me.

I noticed the cracker columns sitting out into the open on the forest side of the dunes. Someone had hauled them out to make it easier for the beetles to pick them up. The Pennies were bound to spot them. I didn't care about the copies, but the real one had to be protected.

I ran back out onto the dunes and peeked under the shroud of each column, looking for the real one. Olivier's was easy to spot. It was crudely carved with grooves too shallow, bumps too rounded. But the other two were practically indistinguishable. I grabbed the lines securing each or their shrouds and dragged them towards the underbrush. They weren't heavy at all, just bulky.

A condor hovering over the shoals fired a blast from the device dangling from its talons. A fiery orange blob came thundering into the side of a dragonfly, tearing it in half and unsaddling its rider who went plummeting into the drink.

Distracted, I tripped over some driftwood and went chin first into the sand. But I kept on going, hauling the columns the rest of the way on my hands and knees. Once I got beyond the first line of trees, I ripped some branches off some saplings and arranged them to conceal the columns as best I could.

I went back out onto the dunes. The sky directly above me was now a chaos of darting bugs and falcons. Ballista bolts and plasma bursts flew every which way. I saw another Duster fall from a dragonfly, her long grey hair trailing like a streamer. Her dragonfly continued to fight, slashing at a falcon with its claws. I held out my sword, searching for that willful feeling in my middle, but things were so confused overhead, I held back. I feared hitting one of our own.

A condor landed on the beach, not downed but rather executing a hard, but intentional landing. Viktor on his damselfly, swooped down to harass the armored Hashmallim who poured out of its cages. He engaged them with bursts of his scepter, nimbly dodging the bolts they shot back his way.

I retreated back into the trees as the Hashmallin ran up and over the dunes, heading straight for the column I had left behind. I watched them bash it to bits with their heavy staffs. They were welcome to whack away at Olivier's replica all they wanted. I stood ready to defend the real thing with my blackened and blunted, but still potent sword.

One of the Hashmallim spotted me lurking in the trees. Before he could do anything, I leveled my sword at him and let loose a blast. I had no inhibitions today. A tight little baseball-sized wad of supersonic energy struck his side and slammed him down. His staff went flying. The Hashmal I had hit writhed a bit and then went still.

Emboldened, I came out of the trees. The other Hashmallim brandished their staffs at me, grasping them by the middle. The staffs flattened and curved into bows. They peeled perfectly formed arrows from the bodies of the bows and strung them on what seemed to be invisible bowstrings.

As they raised their newly conjured bows, my sword shuddered. A blast ripped out of the tip and flared out wide, striking both Hashmallin with one hit, crumbling their bows, stripping off their armor and vaporizing their arrows.

They looked at me with some astonishment before turning and running back towards the condor, abandoning their fallen comrade in the sand.

The condor pilot witnessed all of it was already preparing to flee. He raised his wings and turned the craft to face the wind while the fleeing Hashmallin sprinted across the beach and clambered aboard.

I stalked after them, stretching my sword out at the condor just as it lifted off and turned out over the ocean. It was still gaining altitude when another blast thundered out of my sword tip. This emission, wider and more diffuse, caught the condor, shredded its membranes and splintered its frame. The condor collapsed in on itself and crashed into the surf.

I looked up and found the sky still full of bugs. Five of the sleeker falcons remained engaged in battle but the other surviving craft were retreated south down the shore.

A volunteer on a robber fly took down a falcon with a burst from a scepter that gummed up its wings and stuck them together. Tigger zoomed down to give it a bump for good measure before it crashed into the trees, unable to recover from a steep dive.

Ubaldo's hornet was a killing machine, systematically destroying each falcon it encountered, latching on and stinging each pilot through the cockpit cage. Wings would go slack, the hornet would release, and falcons would drop, limp wings trailing like the feathers of a shuttlecock as they crunched onto the beach or splashed into the surf.

This dog fight had turned into a rout. The last two falcons disengaged and fled, zipping away at top speed to catch up with the other retreating craft. Bugs began landing on the beach and dunes all around me. I was heartened by how many had survived the battle. But where was Karla?

"Damn good show!" said Olivier, striding up behind me.

Two beetle riders came slinking out of the scrub where they had taken cover with Olivier. One by one, the rest of the bugs landed on the dunes, some without riders. Tigger did not join them but instead flew back to the fig tree and its aphids. I looked around for Karla and her robber fly but could not spot her. My stomach dropped.

"Looking for me?" I turned to see Urszula smiling back from atop a dune, beside her dragonfly, her short but sturdy scepter propped over one shoulder.

"So ... how did the scouting go?" asked Olivier.

"We have a few problems," said Urszula. "There were many marches of new Cherubim moving to the boats. We hide in the tall grass until the night came. The bugs were restless. But coming back ... we came too close to their ships. They have new weapons. They are using the plasma now. One hit destroyed Tyler's fly and he went down into the water. That is how they catch him."

"They got Tyler? Shit!"

"But ... there are targets. We find many good targets. We can show you."

Urszula tore a branch from a shrub and stuck it into an urn slung from her saddle. She slathered some kind of resinous balm over some severe abrasions in Lalibela's shell. It looked like someone had taken a chainsaw to her.

Olivier stared out across the bay at the retreating Pennies.

"We'd better get a move on. Now that they know we're here, they'll be back, by air and ground. Maybe even by sea." He started counting heads. "Alright now. Who did we lose?"

"I saw at least three volunteers get hit," said Ubaldo, still astride his hornet. "Plus one of the scouts."

"Kitt?" said Urszula, alarmed.

"She took a direct hit from one of the condors," said Ubaldo. "I saw it happen."

Viktor came screaming in low over the trees.

"Yaqob's fallen. In the forest."

"Shit!" said Olivier.

"We need some help over here!" someone shouted.

A group of volunteers had gathered around a limp body sprawled in the sand—Kitt. She panted heavily. Her flannel shirt was soaked with blood.

Urszula rushed to her side, skidding to her knees in the sand beside the fallen scout. I kept looking around for Karla. Where the hell was she? I was beginning to fear the worst.

I went over and crouched down next to Kitt, placing my hand gently on her arm. Besides all the bleeding, there was something terribly wrong with her mid-section. There were lumps and dents in all the wrong places.

Urszula shook her head. "The bones in her chest are crush. They have new weapons—a kind I have not seen them use before. They now use the plasma like us."

Kitt's face was bruised and bloated, her hair matted with blood and sand. But her eyes were open and alert. She beamed at me with bloody teeth.

"Hey James. It's nice to see you." Her voice was croaky and weak, but she sounded almost cheerful. She writhed around and took my hand, squeezing it tight.

Her manner was much too chipper for the situation. It threw me for a loop. What do you say to a dying person acting so nonchalant?

"I guess I'm headed ... to the Deeps, finally. "

"I'm so sorry, Kitt. We'll find a way to get you back here."

At least ... I won't be alone." "Tyler's probably there already. Did you hear?"

"Yeah. Urszula told us."

She pressed her eyes closed, grimaced and grunted.

"You're gonna be all grey next time we see you, though. You're gonna be a Duster."

"That's okay," she said. "Some of my ... some of my best friends are Dusters."

Two men came down off the dunes carrying Yaqob, clearly struggling with his girth and weight. Thick ballista bolts pierced his chest and belly. The hole in his chest wheezed and foamed pink as he struggled to breathe.

The men laid Yaqob down beside Kitt. Three others who had fallen were assembled in a separate group down the beach where their comrades mourned the souls who had already passed into the next realm. I was afraid to look too closely over there just yet.

"Hey Yaqob, those wounds look patchable," said Olivier. "You're not bleeding too bad. Someone get a flesh weaver over here."

"No need," said Yaqob, wearily. "It is my time." He took Kitt's free hand and clasped it gently.

"Will you show me the ropes, Mr. Yaqob?" said Kitt, struggling to be brave, but her voice was strained.

"I ... will not ... be joining you," said Yaqob.

Oliver reached down and put his palm on Yaqob's chest. "His body, it's getting cold. His breathing is slowing. He ain't dying. He's shifting modes. He's heading off to the long sleep."

"Crap," said Kitt. "I was hoping for some company. Any chance I can go with you to the Singularity?" She dug her fingers deep into Yaqob's fissured palm.

"I am afraid that you are not an old soul, Kitt," said Yaqob.

"Listen, the Deeps aren't so bad," I said. "And maybe Tyler's already there, scouting ahead."

"Not to mention, the three volunteers we lost," said Ubaldo.

"You guys stick together," said Olivier. "Stay away from the marches. Ignore the fucking Horus."

"Find one of the free settlements," said Urszula. "Go there. The Hashmallim stay away. And it is safe there from the Horus."

"I still have friends there who didn't cross," I said. "Like Urszula said, find one of the free towns. Ask for Lady An. She knows me. She'll take good care of you guys."

As we gazed into Kitt's eyes, they dulled and took on the terrible and unmistakable glaze of death. I felt a pair of arms slide around me and hug me tenderly from behind. I turned and buried my face in Urszula's dusty hair.
Chapter 58: Regrouping

From the tangled rat's nest that was Urszula's hair, I looked up to see Karla standing a few feet away with a group of other volunteers gathered around Kitt's body. Karla glanced at me and smirked, before looking away, feigning disinterest, though she blinked a few too many times to make her apathy convincing.

Urszula saw what I was looking at, she pulled away like she had suddenly found herself in the embrace of a hot, pot-bellied stove.

"Your woman? She is back?"

"Yeah. She's back, yes. But ... she's not my ... uh...."

"Not your what?" said Karla, with a lopsided grin, her eyes now fully engaging mine.

"You're a friend. Just a friend. That's all."

Her smirk only deepened.

"And what is she?" said Karla.

"I am friend too," said Urszula. "We are all friends. She backed away towards Lalibela, but then stopped and faced Karla. "But you had better watch out. Be nice to him, or I will make him more than friend." That erased Karla's smirk pretty quick. Urszula winked at me, turned deftly on her heels and skipped across the beach to her dragonfly.

"Glad you made it back okay," I said, feeling awkward. Should I go to her? Hug her? Make up for the affection I showed to Urszula? But I just stood there, gawking. "So ... how'd it go out there? The fighting?"

Karla stared at me a bit, before answering.

"You saw, no? I did not get any good shots in, if that is what you are asking. Your dragonfly did better than me ... and without you. You stayed behind, I see?"

"Yeah, well. I guess don't have the knack yet for wrangling bugs."

Olivier came bustling over, one side of his face crusted over with freshly clotted blood. Ubaldo followed behind him, looking sullen and pensive. He stood at the edge of the surf and let the waves lap at his ankles as he stared across the bay to where the Pennies had retreated.

"Come on people!" said Olivier, clapping. "No standing around. We got shit to do. Need to figure out who's coming, who's staying.

"Whoever stays behind will need to go inland from here," said Ubaldo. "This camp is no longer safe."

"We have some wounded for sure who will need to stay back," said Olivier. "Bugs and folks."

"This one will not be able to make the crossing," said Viktor, examining a dragonfly with a crumpled hind wing. "It will need a splint and a patch. But she can make it to the bogs, I think."

I saw one dragonfly go down in the water," said Karla. "I think it might have drown."

"And we're short at least one robber fly," said Olivier. "Alright, let's patch up whatever, whoever we can and make our assessment. I'd like to clear out of here within the hour."

***

We buried Kitt and the other fallen behind the dunes, just on the edge of the forest. Some of the volunteers decorated their grave with a scattering of scallop shells and sand dollars. No one said a thing. There was nothing that needed to be said. We all knew Kitt was brave and spunky and we would all miss her.

A party of the more able-bodied carried Yaqob to an outcrop of ancient coral in the middle of the scrub forest. They stashed him under an overhang where he would be protected somewhat from the elements, not that it seemed to matter with Old Ones. They weathered well even out in the open, gathering moss and lichens without ill effect.

After that, folks just spontaneously sorted themselves out to accomplish the various tasks that needed to get done. Karla helped tend to the injured volunteers with Ubaldo and a Frelsian who had some skill at flesh weaving. The Frelsian—a short, bald Algerian named Ydris—had a knack for sealing wounds and mending broken bones through unbroken skin.

I joined a crew that tended to the bugs, most of whom had suffered some sort of injury. Tigger, again refused to come down out of the trees when I called, but from the looks of things he seemed fairly unscathed.

Lalibela, on the other hand, seemed badly injured, her cuticle cracked in several places and leaking profusely. Viktor and Urszula labored to patch her with resins reinforced with sheets of thin but tough membrane that Viktor carried for such purposes. Her wings were intact, other than a few rips and holes in the clear parts.

Urszula shinnied up a fig tree to snag her a couple aphids. She knocked several down off their perches and they fell like coconuts. While she slid back down the smooth bark, I cornered an aphid against a tree trunk. I could see organs pulsing behind its translucent green cuticles.

Urszula snatched it up and tucked it under her arm like a football with legs. She handed it to Lalibela who snatched it up greedily in her forelegs. Oliver strode over with Ubaldo, hovering as usual in his orbit.

"So you're the last scout standing."

"So it would seem," she said, wrinkling her brow with puzzlement.

"We've got a few more questions for you. How stiff are their coastal defenses? I mean, what are we facing?"

"Defenses?"

"Yeah. I mean, what can we expect? Do they have air defenses. Falcons on patrol?"

"They have nothing," said Urszula. "No real defense. It is as if they have never been attacked, and they think they never will be. They are the attackers. Their focus is all on this place. We saw many Cherubim marching to the shore, with only a few Hashmallim attending to them. They were going to the boats. We did not dare challenge them, but they did not seem very alert. They wore no armor, carried no weapons. Their limbs and skin are not yet modified. They were not expecting any threats."

"They give us no respect whatsoever," said Ubaldo, grinning. "They think we are sheep. They cannot imagine us coming to them."

"We faced no opposition. Maybe it was a mistake to send us," said Urszula. "Now they will be alerted."

"No," said Olivier. "It's good that we know what we're getting into."

"One problem. The core is very weak over there," said Urszula. "We had trouble making spell craft."

"Now that could be a problem," said Olivier. "Maybe that explains why they fight the way they do. All those conventional weapons. Bows and arrows and slings. I don't think they do it just to be Luddites."

"So what about the cracker columns?" I said. "Will they even work over there?"

Olivier looked at me like I was an idiot. "Those have nothing to do with spellcraft," he said. "They're like the wings. Pure technology."

"Really?"

"Wasn't it Asimov who said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic?"

"I said the core is weak, not absent," said Urszula. "Someone like James can use the core even when it is faint. Even ... in life."

"We'll be counting on you, then," said Olivier. "The rest of us might be firing blanks once we get there."

My stomach churned, but it was just nerves—no conjuring of will.

"Any chance you want to give that other column another shot? Try to get it working?"

I just looked at Olivier.

"Are you kidding me? Honestly ... I've got nothing. Not a clue."

Olivier frowned. "Alright. But we'll bring it along anyhow. We already got good use out of that one decoy. We're not going to need three beetles though. Maybe we send mine back to the bog with some of the wounded."

"Yours? So then what will you fly?" said Urszula.

"I was thinking, time to upgrade my ride. I have my eye on Yaqob's scorpion fly," he said, winking.

"We need to leave," said Ubaldo, staring out across the waves. "Before they have a chance to respond."

"Yeah. We're almost ready," said Olivier. "Viktor's fixing to lead a bunch of the more banged up back to the bogs. Soon as we see them off we can ship out."

"How far is it to cross?" said Ubaldo.

"Not far," said Urszula. "The water is narrow like a river. It is not really ocean. How you say? Strait?"

"How long did it take you?"

Urszula shrugged. "A few hours. We see land most of the way. Only in the middle do we see nothing. There were ... some boats."

"Boats?" said Ubaldo, perking up.

"Oar boats," said Urszula. "Rowed by a single Hashmal. Like the condors. The Cherubim they stack like wood ... in the hold."

"Maybe ... we can attack some?"

"I don't think so," said Olivier. "We don't need any diversions. This mission is all about giving the Pennies a taste of their own medicine, delivering a cracker column to their shores."

"Though I worry about the beetles crossing," said Urszula. "Taking over a boat would give them a place to land and rest."

"Our beetles did fine on the way over," said Olivier. "Those bugs might be clumsy fliers, but they have staying power, unlike the mantids. If we get fed and watered well, they should have no problem getting across."

"Perhaps," said Urszula. She and Ubaldo shared a glance.

Olivier climbed up a sand pile and counted heads. "Eight," he said. "Looks like we're down to eight able bodies and bugs. Alright people, gather around. This is how we do it."
Chapter 59: The Boat

We hung out on the beach, nervously eying the far point where the Pennies lurked, until Viktor, Ydris and the worst of our wounded had lifted off and were streaming over the forest, heading for refuge in the bog lands. Riders doubled up on the saddles of the fittest bugs, while the injured insects flew home alone.

I managed to sneak up on Tigger while he sunned himself on the sand, and clambered onto the saddle before he could get away. He first tried to buck me, but quickly settled down, resigned to have me as a rider, this time at least.

"I don't think he likes me," I said to Karla, beside me astride her comparatively well-behaved robber fly.

"He's just a baby," said Urszula, on the other side of me. "Even Lalibela, I had to chase when she was new."

Ubaldo stood in the saddle of his hornet, watching Viktor and his contingent recede across the landscape.

"If the Pennies are watching, hopefully they'll think it's all of us retreating," said Olivier, as his scorpion fly nosed around in a heap of rotting kelp.

"Shall we go?" said Ubaldo.

Oliver gave a nod.

"We stay low, skirt the northern arc of the bay till we're over the open sea."

Ubaldo zipped away on his hornet. It dangled its tarsi, skimming the tops of the waves. The two beetles went next, each hoisting a cracker column. The rest of us followed, keeping as low as we could as we sought our assigned positions in the escort formation.

Tigger kept drifting higher, but when none of the other bugs would join him, he shifted back down to their level. Good thing, because, I doubt any of my kicks and stomps were having any influence on him.

Tigger also insisted on flying fly next to Lalibela, the only other dragonfly left in the formation. There wasn't much I could do to deny him, even though Olivier had intended for us to fly on the other flank with Karla. Urszula just looked straight ahead and smiled like Mona Lisa. I can't imagine Karla or Olivier were too thrilled.

Ubaldo's wasp, by far the strongest flier among us, ranged far and wide, scouting our flanks and the path ahead. Our overall speed was limited to the ponderous pace of the beetles. Their thoraces vibrated like Harleys as they glided over the glistening water. They were flying a little too low for my comfort. I worried what might happen if they dunked one of the columns. Those things were so porous, they would probably suck up seawater like sponges.

Finally, we passed the rocky headlands that formed the northern buttress of the bay and moved out over open water. The sea here was clear and quite shallow. The sun easily penetrated to the sandy bottom, reflecting back aqua and turquoise hues with the occasional cobalt slash of a deeper rift or canyon.

We passed over a pod of huge, long-necked, large finned creatures. They looked too long and sleek to be whales. Some weird kind of fish? Plesiosaurs.

Ubaldo doubled back and did a loop around us to get our attention. He jabbed his finger across the bay to the huge complex of sandbars where the Pennies had made their beachhead. A large flight of falcons and condors had lifted off again were heading back along the shore towards our former camp. Had we lingered another hour, they would have caught us for sure.

We kept low, gliding just above the whitecaps until we were pretty far off the rocks. I thought for sure we would be spotted, but the Pennies never diverted from their course.

As the enemy formation homed in on the old beach camp, Olivier signaled for us to gain a little altitude, now that there was little chance of us being intercepted. The beetles thrummed their broad wings to get high above the waves.

We quickly—too quickly, it seemed—reached a point where land was no longer visible behind us and there was nothing but open water as far ahead of us as we could see. The horizons were nearer here. The planet or whatever it was, had a smaller diameter than the earth, even though its gravity felt about the same.

But now one of the beetles began to flag. The horned beetle, whose rider, a Duster, had named 'Rhino,' kept swooping up and down like a roller coaster, at point dropping perilously close to the water, before struggling back up. Its mate, on the other hand, seemed to have no trouble flying level.

Oliver flew down to see what was wrong. Karla came zooming across, spooking Tigger, who veered away before I was able to nudge him back.

"He should go back," said Karla, shouting above the wind.

"He cannot," said Urszula, hovering just above us. "The falcons would tear him apart."

"But he is not going to make it across," said Karla.

"Which column is he carrying?" I said. "If it's the fake one he should just drop it."

"Fake one?" Karla screwed up her face at me. "Are you telling me that one is not real?"

Shit. I had just spilled the beans. Olivier had apparently kept mum to everyone about the presence of our decoy

"So which one is not real?"

"I don't know," I said, shrugging. "I didn't check who grabbed what. I didn't think it mattered."

"We are already half-way there," said Urszula. "Maybe if we go slower ... he can make it."

"I don't think our speed is the issue."

I leaned over Tigger's shoulder to see Rhino plummeting yet again. This time, before he could pull up, the tip of the cracker column dipped into the water and dragged a bit before he managed to pull it free.

"He should just drop it! Let it go!"

"But what if he carries the real one?" said Karla.

"Real one?" said Urszula.

"It doesn't matter. He should just drop it. If he flops into that water, there's no we're getting him out. Believe me, I've seen enough drowned bugs in pools."

Urszula suddenly wheeled around. "I see a boat!" She pointed down at the water.

The boat was a bulky, angular contraption with twin sets of oars moving in in perfect synchrony. I expected to see oarsmen, but there were none. Each oar was linked to a central mechanism operated by a single Hashmal harnessed to a cage amidships, much like a condor pilot.

Silhouetted against the glint of the sea, Ubaldo's wasp was already descending in a broad arc, circling around behind the craft.

"Holy shit! He's gonna attack!"

Without me having to twitch a muscle, Tigger pulled out of the formation and dove after him. For once, my intentions and those of my beast were perfectly aligned.

***

A Hashmal standing watch on the prow spotted me and Tigger coming at him and screamed into the hold. Several more Hashmallim scrambled out, crossbows at the ready.

Ubaldo reached them first. He swooped low along the hull, his wasp's claws slashing through the water, then popped up and stopped on a dime, blasting the watchman with a tight pulse from his staff that burned a hole right through the thick of his armor.

I had my sword, and my will manifested easily, once again I was shooting blanks. My plasma spread too wide and buffeted the Hashmallim like a strong breeze. But at least it was enough to throw off their aim and delay them from firing at Ubaldo.

Olivier thudded down onto the stern and leapt from his saddle, staff ready for business. The rest of our party, beetles excluded, came screaming down behind us. I let loose a second shot that had more force, though not nearly as deadly as Ubaldo's. At least it knocked one of the bowmen off his feet, and forced the other to retreat behind a capstan.

Urszula and Karla came zipping by to harry the other bowmen with shots of their own. Ubaldo's wasp attacked the oarsman's cage, stabbing through a gap only to be stung itself by a pair of bolts from the crossbows.

Olivier tangled hand-to-hand with the watchman, beating him with the club end of his staff. The watchman countered with a powered mace with blades that spun like buzz saws and chewed into his staff. We hovered just behind Olivier. I was aiming to take the man down with a well calculated blast but Tigger had ideas of his own and took off, flitting all around the boat, acting more like an excited spectator than a participant in this clash.

Seconds apart, a pair of bolts slammed into Olivier's legs, and he screamed and crashed to the deck. "Motherfucker!"

This time Tigger and I were on the same page and he surged after the Hashmallim who had hit Olivier, plucking one right off the deck, snapping his neck with a quick chomp of his mandibles, and dumping him over the side.

As the watchman, blades twirling, closed in on Olivier lying prone on the deck, Olivier swung his mangled staff and summoned a pulse that thudded into the watchman's chest and made him crumple.

The last Hashmal standing threw down his weapon and dropped to his knees, holding his arms high. Urszula had her scepter leveled at his head, a wish away from crushing his sky.

"Spare him," said Ubaldo, climbing down off the oarsman's cage. "He might be useful."

Wings thundered and one of the beetles came alighting down onto the deck, carefully laying down the cracker column.

"Where's Rhino?" said Karla, landing beside him.

Far behind us, a cracker column bobbed in the swells, and beside it, Rhino, wings spread and soggy, his rider still sitting in the saddle.

***

Ubaldo pulled the oarsman out of his cage and strapped himself in his place. Rowing, it turned out, worked pretty much like flying, with the added control of hip motion as a means to turn the rudder. While Urszula tended to Olivier, the rest of us flew off to see about rescuing Rhino and his rider.

Even working together with multiple lines, the beetle proved too heavy for us to extract. But Ubaldo maneuvered the boat close enough for Rhino latch on. The beetle pulled himself partway up the side, water dripping from his waterlogged wings. His rider, a Duster named Georg, had gotten soaked but was otherwise fine, if a bit miffed about Rhino's lackluster performance.

Not much was left of the cracker column when we reached it. It was already soft and soggy, and beginning to come apart like a donut in a mud puddle. There was no way we could salvage it.

Back on the boat, Urszula was still working on getting Olivier patched up. One of the crossbow bolts had struck only muscle, but the other had cracked his femur. Urszula managed to stop the bleeding, but was unable to do much for the other damage. None of us had the skill to heal him on the spot. Ydris might have, but we had sent him back to the bogs with Viktor.

"Assholes! They had to go after my fucking legs."

"What did you want them to shoot?" said to smirking. "Your face?"

"Might improve my looks."

We helped him onto the easy chair-like saddle that we had taken off his scorpion fly.

I went over to our last cracker column and peeled back the wrapping with some trepidation.

Olivier and Urszula watched me intently.

"So? Which one did we lose?"

I examined the pebbled surface carefully, running my finger along the grooves.

"I ... I honestly can't tell."

"Well, we had better figure it out, no? I mean, if we don't have a working column, that kind of changes things."

"The only way to tell would be to try and activate it. This is ... a pretty good copy ... if I say so myself."

"Told ya. Well shit. We got a fifty-fifty chance, right? Not bad odds. Good enough to proceed."

"Are we ... are you ready to move on?"

"Yeah, sure. Once we get Rhino and Georg dried out. Might as well."

Ubaldo dropped anchor and got ourselves and our bugs all watered and fed. Even way out here, this ocean could not have any deeper than the deep end of a public pool. The water was crystalline. We could see right down to the gravel beds and make out every bristle on every crab that traversed them.

The insects indeed seemed grateful for the rest. They snacked noisily on some kind of slurry they had discovered in the cisterns that lined the outer rail.

Olivier hobbled down the deck, ignoring Urszula's request to stay off his feet. He dunked a finger into one of the open cisterns and stuck it in his mouth.

"How is it?"

"Like something between horse crap and mushroom juice." He spat out the traces over the side and wiped his hand on his trousers.

"Yum."

"Whatever. The bugs seem to like it. But if this is what they eat in Heaven, I'm going back to Hell."

Ubaldo had climbed down into the hold with Georg and the only true Frelsian remaining on our expedition, a mild-mannered African named Solomon.

"What's down there?" said Olivier, calling down a hatch. "Anything useful? Cracker columns perhaps?" He looked at me and twitched his eyebrows lecherously.

"Cherubim," said Ubaldo. "I estimate ... two hundred."

"Damn!" I said.

"They any threat to us?"

Ubaldo shook his head. "Their sides are bound ... with some kind of webbing. They are in a deep sleep. Still ... if they awaken while we are still on the boat...."

"Fuck that. I say we toss 'em right now."

"Toss them?"

"Chuck 'em all overboard. That way we don't need to worry."

"But ... there are hundreds."

"Hundreds fewer we'll meeting up again with down the road."

I heard a splash. Georg had already stuffed the first Cherub through one of the ventilation ports.

"Need help down there?" I asked.

"No. We have it under control," said Ubaldo. "It's pretty crowded down here."

I went over and dangled my legs off the bow with Urszula and Karla, who had somehow taken to hanging together. We made an awkward trio. I did my best to alleviate the tension with diversionary small talk.

The trussed up Hashmal lay beside us, limbs appressed to his sides with strands of gooey plasma. He looked like some poor moth wrapped up to be some spider's dinner.

"This must be your doing Karla," I said. "You have a knack for conjuring goo."

"At least I am good at something."

"Remember that time you wrapped up Urszula?"

"Yes," said Urszula, giving me a look so serious it scared me.

I gazed down into the water.

"Wonder how hard it would be to catch one of those crabs?"

"Too big," said Urszula. "They would drag the boat under."

"Really? As big as our bugs?"

"The water here is deeper than it looks. Trust, they are big."

I sighed. "Sure would be nice to have some seafood for a change. Some of these damned manna chips."

"You want food? I can make some," said Karla. "I love cooking. Just tell me what you like and I can make it. It may not look very nice but I guarantee it will taste just like the thing you are expecting. Maybe better."

"Okay. Hot fudge sundae. Fried shrimp battered with coconut."

Karla laughed. "Better make it one thing at a time or else get both all mixed up."

"Okay. Shrimp first."

Karla reached into a pouch and pulled out a handful of lively shreds of root. She stared them down and they transformed as we watched, shrinking, rounding out, turning golden brown. They didn't look so much like shrimp as some kind of low-end, microwavable chicken nuggets.

"Go on. Try one."

I reached over and popped one in my mouth. It was hot and crispy and exploded with flavor, all spicy and coconut-y with bursts of cilantro, way better than the popcorn shrimp we used to get at Red Lobster.

"Holy crap! That's ... amazing."

I looked at Urszula.

"Don't look at me," she said. "I am not making you a sundae."

"Try one! They're good."

Karla was hunched over and squinting at me.

"James? What is wrong your chin?"

"My chin? Nothing. Why?"

"And your fingers. You have no fingers."

"What?"

Urszula sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh wonderful. The times he chooses to fade! Now we will be stuck on this boat ... for how long?"
Chapter 60: Stalked

Spikes of pain jabbed my shoulder where the Hashmal's arrow had struck me back in the Deeps, like some hard-shelled creature using its claws to dig itself from my flesh.

The smell of old feathers, lavender and unwashed dog told me I was back in that that musty, old cottage in Stromness. The fire had gone out, but I was plenty warm with a quilt tucked under my chin.

Light streamed in through holes in the curtains. Jess stood by the window, peering through a gap along the edge of a blind. When I grunted and sat up in bed, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"There are some people out there ... staring at the cottage. Two men and a woman."

I clutched my side. "Crap. It's them. They found me."

"Them? But ... how do you know? Maybe they're just tourists. Maybe they're lost."

"No. The way my shoulder's aching. It's the Friends. Has to be. I took an arrow from a Hashmal in the Deeps. You can't see it, but the shaft, it's still with me."

"We can pretend we're not home. They have no indication this cottage is even occupied. I haven't been outside all day.

"You don't get it. They know I'm here. It's no use. And here we are, stuck on an island with nowhere to run."

"Well, sorry. I thought we'd be safer out here. Hardly anyone comes here this early in the season."

"It's not your fault, Jess," I said. "I never thought they'd find me this fast."

"Well, the door's firmly locked. There's no way they're getting in. And if they continue to loiter, I can call the police. Report them for trespassing."

"Jess. You don't understand. They don't need to get through the door. Physically."

Her cell phone pinged and she slipped it out of her pocket.

"Who texted?"

"It's ... Helen."

"Don't answer."

"No worries. I won't."

"Are they ... back in Brynmawr?"

"Well, no. They're in Inverness and ... oh ... my goodness."

"What's up? They're not still looking for Karla are they, because ... there's no need. I told you ...."

"No. Not Karla. It's Isobel. They've found Isobel!"

"Really?"

Her phone pinged again.

"Turn off the ringer!"

Jess ignored me and it probably didn't matter.

"Helen says they found someone who knows someone who knows Izzie. And now they're trying to get in touch with that second someone to find out her location."

Jess peeked around the curtain again. She gasped.

"One of the men is coming up the walk!"

I threw myself out of bed and wobbled over to the window. I gave my head a shake, trying to rid my mind of cobwebs. A man in a grey suit and a chartreuse tie stood at the door, rummaging through a suede courier bag. Two other people—a curly-haired fellow who looked a bit sleepy and a sharp-featured woman with a blonde ponytail—leaned against the coarse stone wall of a building across the lane.

I backed away from the window and sighed.

"Yup, Belinda's with them. These are the Friends of Penult."

"Remind me again," said Jess. "Are they the ones who killed that poor man in Aberdeen?"

"Yup. It was them."

"But ... these are not those assassins?"

"Nope."

"So does this mean that the old assassins are now the good guys?"

"Maybe. For the moment, anyhow. But things change fast around here."

Something rustled at the front door. A sheet of paper was being shoved beneath it. Fancy stationery. It almost looked like parchment. I had expected to see a message. 'We know you're in there. Come out!' Or something on that order. But the sheet was blank.

As I stood over it, though, it began to fold and curl spontaneously. Paper horns and pincers protruded from an angular little body. It rose up on spindly legs and took a step into the fool, feeling around with its feelers.

Jessica ran to the desk in the corner and pulled a pair of scissors from a drawer. Something glinted from a pit in the center of the creature's head. It had acquired an eye. I grabbed a stone paperweight and chucked it while Jessica stalked the thing with her scissors.

The paperweight thudded against the floorboards, narrowly missing the creature. It had dodged aside nimbly, doing so, scurried within Jessica's reach. She lunged and snipped off a leg. Frantically, it attempted to refold itself, but I took advantage of its distraction and stomped on it, pinning it to the floor. Jessica administered the coup de grace, dismembering the creature with her Fiskars.

"I need to get out of here!"

"Don't you mean we?"

"Jess. They won't hurt you unless you get in their way. I'm the one they want."

"I can help you. Together we're stronger."

"Jess. No. You don't know who you're dealing with."

"Where will you go?"

"Just ... away. I don't want you to get hurt."

"But...."

"Jess, please."

"There's a root cellar down below, where Auntie kept her preserves. At the far end there's a passage leading out to the back yard. When we were kids we used to play hide and seek. It was my favorite spot to go, because everyone was too scared of the spiders to come look for me."

The door knocker slammed three times, making us both jump.

"Don't you dare open that door," I said.

"Don't you worry. And anything that tries to come underneath will have these shears to contend with."

"Once I go, they should leave you be. They'll know I'm not here."

"Grab some food from the kitchen."

"No time! Now where's that root cellar?"

"Down here." She peeled back a threadbare Persian rug in the main sitting room to reveal a hinged trap door with a recessed metal pull.

I pulled on my sneakers, not bothering to tie the laces. Jess lifted the hatch. A steep, narrow ladder descended into the black.

"I'll come back when ... er ... if ... things cool off ... and if you're still here."

"Be careful!"

"You too, Jess. Thanks for everything."

***

The root cellar was tiny, little more than an underground closet. But a narrow stone-lined passageway extended for several dozen meters off the back. As advertised, it was loaded with spider webs, some of them occupied. Slivers of light seeped through the slats of a wooden casement door at the end. I undid a simple and pushed it open, finding myself in a tangle of thistles and aster under a sprawling butterfly bush.

I crawled out and hunkered down under cover of the weeds. A missing stave in the picket fence separating the back yard from the neighbor's garden caught my eye.

The man in the grey suit came around the side of the house, checking every window and door. His colleagues came around the other side of the cottage. They met by the back porch and huddled.

The second man slipped a forked stick from his daypack, holding the two arms like a divining rod. The end the stick began to tremble. The man rotated in place, studying its vibrations. The front door slammed.

The Friends responded immediately, hustling to the front of the house. I prayed that Jessica had gotten away clean. Though, I wouldn't have put it past her to have slammed the door only to create a diversion. That woman was a smart cookie.

As soon as they were out of sight, I scrambled out of the weeds on my hands and knees and made for the gap in the fence. My moves were far from slick. I tripped on a brick and scuffed my knee, but I made it through the fence, crawling and squirming into a strawberry patch. I squished a few berries before regaining my feet and darting out onto the street.

I ran headlong down a steep, cobbled alley towards the waterfront, dodging down random intersections just to make sure I couldn't be easily followed. In the flats, I veered away from the busy piers, following a road that paralleled the shore and led to a series of warehouses that fronted on the pebbly beach.

I blew past three buildings before I found one with its main door ajar and slipped inside. It was dim inside, but there was a small sailboat boat up on stanchions, its hull was badly gouged on one side. I thought about climbing into it to hide, but remembered that was how that Tsarnaev kid—the Boston Marathon bomber—got caught, so instead I made for a pile of smelly fish nets in the corner and burrowed several layers deep.

One advantage of hiding under a bunch of fishing nets was that I wasn't easily seen, but I could keep an eye on the warehouse doors through the mesh. The down side was that it stank like rotten fish guts.

I'm not even sure why I was bothering to hide. Between credit cards, phantom arrow shafts and that weird divining rod thingie, they certainly had many ways of tracking me, however imprecise. The burning in my shoulder was already starting to intensify.

We never should have come here. I should have followed my instincts. I had to get off the island. But how? The passenger ferry was out of the question. Too many people and any one of them could be Friends looking to snuff me.

I had to go someplace wild and far away from everything. Some place they wouldn't expect me to go and where my signal would be faint. That way, when the roots came to take me, I wouldn't be so vulnerable. It would take them time to find me.

Maybe I could steal a boat. It would have to be something powered because I didn't have the faintest idea how to handle a sailboat. I think I knew what direction to go back to Scotland, though it didn't matter to me where I ended up as long as I had room to run. Norway. Iceland. Any large land mass would do.

It would have been so much easier if we had stayed on the mainland. Ironic, that the island that harbored Stromness was actually called Mainland by the locals.

The electrified icicle that pierced my shoulder twisted as the door creaked open, bathing the net pile in a swath of sunlight. I kept still, hoping it was fisherman come to work on his boat—someone who could be a witness and a deterrent to any monkey business.

But no. It was Belinda, followed closely by the guy in the grey suit. So much for getting way. The other guy was not with them this time. I imagine he was outside somewhere covering the back exit. These Friends might not be the most stealthy hunters but they weren't stupid. They learned from their mistakes.

Something slithered out of my back pocket and crawled up my shirt. I slapped at it and snatched it up. It was a folded up piece of card stock—an origami crab—the calling card of Belinda Davolo of the Friends of Penult. I had gotten rid of their Ivory credit card but her calling card—her avatar—had remained in my wallet. They had more than that phantom shaft to keep tabs on me. They had backups.

They came straight for the net pile, fanning out, looking a little wary. I felt like a cornered rat. My face flushed. My heart drummed like a thrash punker. I threw off the nets covering me and backed away from my pursuers.

"It's no use, James. We have you," said Belinda.

"Have this, you fucks!"

I didn't even have to think. None of this waiting for something to loosen in my belly like some sad geriatric sitting on the john, praying for his laxative to take effect.

The nets blew off the warehouse floor and arranged themselves into a towering monster of mesh. Billy was back. Reincarnated from wherever wishes and daydreams go to die.

Belinda and her cronies stopped in their tracks. Billy was still coming together, drawing in sheet after sheet of fishing net, twisting them into anatomically correct layers of sinew and muscle.

Billy even had a face. Those folds and pockets arranged themselves to look sort of like me—a buff and big-chinned version of the real James Moody, like those idealized monuments commissioned by dictators.

"Kill! Billy. Kill!"

The man in the grey suit pulled a gun and fired. The bullets passed right through the netting, knocking off a bit of nylon but otherwise having no effect.

With his gorilla arms dangling with menace, Billy lurched after the man with the gun and smacked into his side with a knotted fist the size of a small suitcase. The man went flying, skidding across the dingy floor in his nice suit, coming to rest at the base of a waste bin.

The other guy grabbed a grapple and jabbed it into Billy's leg. Billy kicked free and backed away. He grabbed a fistful of oars from a rack on the wall and tossed them at his tormentor.

I just stood, there, trembling, my own fists clenched so tight that my fingernails dug deep into the flesh of my palms. I didn't have to move. I just stood there, arms loose at my sides, while Billy did his thing, which was our thing, really.

Belinda had retreated back to the door of the warehouse and was frantically fishing through the contents of her purse. Her colleagues tangled with Billy, dodging his wild, ham-fisted blows. One jabbed tried to hook his mesh with a grapple, while the other dove at his floppy feet with a length of rope, aiming I suppose to tether him in place. I just kept all my attention on Billy and let him fight however he saw fit.

With a little too much confidence, Belinda strode to the middle of the open bay where the battle raged, carrying a dagger much too large to have fit in her purse. As I watched, her dagger grew ever longer and thicker until it became a veritable two-fisted Claymore.

I should have made Billy back off, but it was just a sword. A full magazine from a semi-automatic pistol hadn't fazed Billy. What could a mere blade do?

Both men saw Belinda and they maneuvered Billy around to her, jabbing and feinting at him until his back was to Belinda. She held onto the hilt with two hands and swept it back like a cricket bat, ready to swing with all her might.

"Billy! Watch out!"

Belinda swung. Billy dodged aside like a boxer, and I swear she just barely nicked him. The tip of her sword bit through one slender link of knotted cord in a single square of mesh behind Billy's ankle. But once the cut was made, Billy began to unravel. He stumbled back, losing all shape, turning into nothing but a heap of nets animated only by gravity and the usual laws of physics.

The heap that had been Billy fell on top of me and dragged me down. The men rushed over, peeling off nets until there was but one layer between us. The man in the grey suit reached into his coat pocket and removed a transparent plastic cylinder that looked something like an Epi-pen. He jabbed the thing against my arm. Something popped. I felt a mild sting, the quick and shallow jab of a needle.

"Ow! What the fuck was that?"

"Your penalty," said Belinda. "The pellet that Frederick injected into you will eventually stop your breathing. No doctor can diagnose it in time to make a difference. There is no antidote. So do not bother seeking help. Your death will be relatively painless, though, I'm sorry to say, not necessarily pleasant. You have some hours before the symptoms start. You are free to go now. Maybe you will want to say goodbye to the girl in the house. No worries. We did not harm her. We did suggest it might be in her best interests to stay inside. I am so sorry that we had to eliminate you, Mr. Moody, but I tried to warn you."

"It was never my idea to go back. I wanted nothing to do with them."

"And yet you did return and you did participate in the fighting. I warned you—explicitly—what would happen." She shrugged and sighed. "What's done is done. But such a waste. You might have been a good candidate for Penult someday."

"How much time do I have left?"

"I can't say. It varies from person to person," she said. "More than twelve hours. But less than two days, most likely. Do not bother involving the authorities. Those who matter know of us. We have ... immunity ... so to speak."

She turned abruptly and strode off towards the door, the men close behind. She lingered by the door and took one last glance before continuing on her way. The men exited and pulled the door closed behind them.

I got up and brushed myself off. Other than a mild burning where they had injected the pellet, I felt fine.

I stepped out of the shed and into the bright sunlight. Everything felt so surreal. Ordinary things—sea gulls, fence posts—looked alien to me, as if I were seeing them for the first time. Was this the last morning I would witness on this planet?

I didn't know what to do first. Even though I knew firsthand that this whole finality of death thing was over-rated, it did not lessen my panic one iota. I was not ready to die.

***

I wandered the streets of Stromness, searching for an NHS clinic. I wanted to make absolutely sure that what Belinda said was true, that there was no antidote for whatever ricin, and that the stuff they had injected into my arm really could not be identified. I had no reason to disbelieve her, but who knows? Maybe they were shitting me.

I had the hardest time concentrating, but I'm pretty sure it was anxiety clouding my mind, not yet the poison. When I finally spotted a red cross on a building and made my way towards it, a fancy car pulled up behind me. The driver charged out and slammed into me. He grabbed me and dragged me over to the passenger side and stuffed me into the front seat.

He got in and peeled out, heading for the meadowlands beyond the town center.

"Jeez kid! What the heck are you thinking walking around out here in the open?"

"Wendell?"

"They're onto you. The Pennies. They're here ... right now ... on the island."

"I know. They already found me."

"They did?"

"Yeah. They cornered me in this warehouse and injected me with this stuff they said is gonna kill me in two days or less."

"Oh shit!"

"I was ... I was just heading for that clinic back there. To get checked out."

Wendell glanced over, his eyes lingering a little too long.

"Kid. If they gave you what I think they gave you, no doc is gonna be able to help you."

"That's what they said. But ... what is it you think they gave me?"

"Nothing fancy. That's not their style. They're old school. They keep away from magic thought I'm sure they'd be damned good. If I had to guess, it's most likely ricin. They don't like to be around when their victims die. They call that mercy. They're cowards that way."

"So what do I do?"

Wendell pulled the car over beside a hayfield on the outskirts of the village. He looked at me with a softness in his gaze, a level of kindliness that I had never thought him capable.

"It's a damned waste. I know you didn't like working with us, kid. But ... I think you might have come around once you realized what we were dealing with." His eyes wandered. "What you do next is up to you. I'll take wherever you want to go. You've got one day, basically, that you're still gonna be able to do anything. Whatever that is, is up to you."

The way he is talking to me had a way of making the truth sink in. This was it for me. This was really the end. The bottom fell out of my stomach.

"No. This can't be real."

The world turned wavy through a sudden gush of tears.

"There's not even time to go home. Wherever that is these days. Fort Pierce, I guess. America. But ... there's no time."

"Kid. If you cross back with the roots, you need to get yourself up into the highlands. Away from that core. You near any mountains over there?"

"No. I'm on a boat."

"Sea level? Dang. That's the worst place you can be."

"Wasn't my idea. We're heading for Penult. For a raid."

"Really? By boat? What the fuck?"

"One of the beetles was having trouble ... so ... we stole a boat."

"You have bugs! Good. First thing you do is get your ass someplace high. Two miles up, at least, where the core can't reach you."

I just looked at him. "No. I think I'd rather go back to the Deeps."

"What the fuck kid? Are you crazy? Why don't you want to be a Freesoul?"

"Nah. I really don't give a crap anymore. The Horus can take me for all I care."

Wendell grinned.

"I see what you're doing. Talking nonsense to psych yourself out. Get the roots to come and take you. Smart thinking."

But I was being serious. Tears were just rolling out of me now. I never felt so weak.

Wendell's grin eroded. "Listen, by tonight you're not gonna be in any condition to do anything useful. If you have anything you need done, you'd better do it now. Make some calls. Eat a last meal. Whatever."

"Okay."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I want to live."

"Yeah, well. That's not gonna happen. You're alive right now that's the best I can do for you."

"Then ... why should I bother? There's no time."

"No time? You've hours. Maybe even days. Every minute you can look around and appreciate this world is ... precious. I know my time will come, sooner than most, my profession being risky as it is. I take advantage of every moment I can. I hardly ever cross over anymore. Not the way I used to. But today's all about you, kid. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. I'm not ready for this."

"Come on. Let's get you something to eat while you can still enjoy it. Then we'll get you situated someplace quiet and cozy."

"Can ... can we bring Jess?"

"Of course!" said Wendell. He put the car in gear and turned the car around, heading back into Stromness. At least my eyes had begun to dry and Jess wouldn't have to see me like this.

***

We pulled up to the stone wall outside the cottage and I got out. Jess came rushing out the front door all excited when she saw me coming up the walk. She stopped short when she saw Wendell behind me.

"It's alright Jess. He's a ... a friend." It felt weird saying that about Wendell.

"Thank goodness you're alright. Those people, did they—?"

"No Jess. I'm not okay. They got me."

"What do you mean?"

"They poisoned me. With something bad."

Her eyes flitted about.

"We need a purgative. To make you vomit. We need to get you to the clinic ASAP."

"It's no use Jess. Wendell thinks they got me with ricin."

"Pretty sure," said Wendell.

"Surely, the clinic can do something?"

"No. Not if it's ricin."

"What if it's not? How did they—?"

"Listen, Jess. I only have one day left. Let's gonna waste it. I feel pretty good right now, but I don't know how long that will last."

"Oh, but James! I had such good news to share. The ladies ... they found her."

"Found ... Isobel?"

"Yes! They even have an address. In Scotland!"

"Is she alright?"

"We don't know. The place she's staying is kind of off the grid. Fiona and Britt are hoping to rent a car, but without you and those bottomless cards of yours, they're getting a little short of funds."

"Who's this you're talking about?" said Wendell. "That young girl? Your girlfriend's sister?"

"Yeah."

"I could have told you where to find her. You wanna go see her? Come on. I'll take you."

"Really?"

"Hop in. If we hurry we can catch the eleven o'clock ferry to Scrabster."

***

We reached the ferry landing a few minutes late but Wendell had powers of persuasion that bordered on magical. Whether it was mere charm or some subtle form of hypnosis or the possibly the mesmerizing qualities of an immaculate, vintage Bentley, the ferry men kept the gate open until we had driven on board without any ticket or reservation.

He and Jess went up on the deck and left me alone in the back seat of the Bentley. I needed some time by myself to process what was happening.

My heart was going a hundred miles an hour but I was no longer gushing like a crybaby. Where had that come from? With all the bad shit I had been through I had never cried like that, not even when I lost my dad or my mom, or when the Fellstraw took down Karla.

What did that mean? Did I care more about me than anyone else? It didn't used to be that way. For years, I couldn't care less what happened to me. I would have been glad to leave this existence. But I was in a different place now, but dying just the same.

I was used to my feelings being jumbled but this was insane. First, hanging over everything was the panic over my imminent death, tinged by several measures of denial. Karla would be thrilled to hear that her sister had been found. I was thrilled, too. I had feared the worst for her, and the worst was life with that bastard of a father.

I wondered how Karla would react to the news of me getting dragged back to the Deeps, this time through the front door like everybody else. Did I even care? I kind of did, and even garnished a bit of self-pitiful glee over the prospect of seeing her reaction. Freesoul, my ass, I was going back to the realm of the Horus this time without Olivier and his will bomb to help bust me out.

Amidst this jumble, I hung onto a tiny kernel of hope that I could will myself a way to keep from dying, that the ricin wasn't really ricin, or that my special constitution could hold the effects of the poison at bay. That little bit of hope was enough to keep me in this realm.

But that little smidgeon of optimism didn't last very long. The first wave of nausea clamped down on my innards and went rippling all through me. Now there was no denying that the threat was real. Utter fear smacked down all other thoughts and feelings, permeating me with despair. And with despair, as always, came the roots.
Chapter 61: Flotsam

My body jerked the way it does when you're half-asleep and get that falling sensation. The only thing was, I really was falling. I dropped like a load of bricks and slammed belly-first into the sea.

This water was so salty. It burned my eyes and lips. A million screaming neurons instantly revealed every minor cut and abrasion I never knew I had.

And I barely sank. The buoyancy out here was incredible. I bobbed right up to the surface where I gasped and gulped for air, and struggled to gain my bearings.

The ocean was mirror calm in the dim twilight of a dying afternoon. A quick spin about helped me located the long boat which remained inert and at anchor. It must have drifted slightly since I had faded, explaining why I had missed the deck.

Someone clambered atop the oarsman's cage and peered out in my direction. I kicked to raise myself out of the water and waved both arms.

"Yo!"

"He's over here," said Ubaldo, and my fellow raiders came swarming to the rail. There was a loud pop and an object came flying out at me. Out of the corner of my eye it looked like a giant tethered cannonball. I flinched and ducked beneath the surface, bobbing back up to find myself within arm's reach of a glassy green globe encased in a mesh of heavy twine in a hexagonal weave.

"Grab on! We will pull you."

So I latched onto the glass float and found myself yanked vigorously back to the boat, like a limp swordfish that had given up the fight. As they reeled me in, I bumped up against some big. I was shocked to see a Cherub floating face down. Not only that, there was a whole train of them strung out behind the boat, carried adrift by the feeble current. Someone had been busy clearing the holds and tossing them overboard.

When I reached the hull, a jungle of hands reached down to grab me.

"We were worried this would happen," said Olivier. "We kept a watch. Didn't want you to drown."

"I don't think that's possible," I said. "A brick would probably float in this stuff."

I caught Karla smirking at me. She tossed me a bundle that I barely reached out in time to catch and keep it from flying overboard. They were my clothes, somehow quite a bit cleaner and fresher than I remembered.

"I told you he would come back soon," she said. "His life is miserable without me."

"Um. No. That's not why—"

"Oh? You are too happy to have me out of your life?"

"Karla. I'm ... I'm dying. I've been poisoned."

All of the mischief went out of her face.

"What? How?"

"That's bullshit," Olivier.

"The Friends of Penult. They caught me. Injected me. With something. Wendell thinks it's ricin. No antidote."

Karla's eyes widened. "We need to get him to the glaciers. To the mountains"

"Hang on," said Olivier. "Nobody can poison him. He's a Weaver. And not just any Weaver. A master. He has power over matter even in the living world."

"So how does that help me against ricin?"

"Easy. Just turn the poison into something harmless. Say ... cotton candy."

"But how?"

"Same way you turn basketball courts and bleachers into angry monsters."

"But ... I can't see the poison. I need to visualize stuff to change it. Otherwise, there's no traction. Nothing for my will to work on. I have no idea what it looks like or where it is in my body. It's probably all dissolved."

"Visualize yourself. Just focus your will on yourself. Anything not you, you turn into cotton candy. Easy."

"O-kay."

"Next time you fade. That's what you do. I don't want to hear any of this, 'Oh woe is me, I'm dying,' bullshit. Okay? We've got a job to do. Georg, how's that column doing?"

"Pretty much dry," said Georg. "As far as I can tell."

"Let us finish with the Cherubim," said Ubaldo. "And then feed the bugs. We fly tonight."

"What's the deal with the Cherubs?" I said to Olivier. "Why are you guys chucking them overboard?"

"Why shouldn't we?" said Olivier, smirking. "You'd rather we face them fully incubated and weaponized?"

"It's just ... they're people. Maybe there's some way we can turn them back?"

"Nah. Their souls are long gone. They're nothing but puppets now. Killer puppets."

I peeked down into a hold through an opening in the decking panels. The interior looked like those old shipping diagrams I'd seen of 18th century slave ships, with cherubs packed in alternating rows to pack in as many as possible. Each of their bodies were wrapped in sheets of gelatinous membrane.

"See that white stuff? It's like a cocoon. Their bodies are being transformed into weapons. We un-wrapped a couple. It's ... disgusting, actually. Their human arms are dissolving and reconfiguring. All these cisterns of goop we are their food. The bugs seem to like it, but the shit tastes like puke."

I looked up and caught Urszula staring right at me. Our eyes caught and held. She was looking worried.

"You need to fade again and soon," she said. She spun on her heels and strode off down the deck.

"Yeah, well that's cute. How about we get the raid done first?" said Olivier.

***

I wanted no part of the Cherub disposal detail, so I made myself scarce, wandering the decks in a daze. Karla took a break and came looking for me. She found me on the bow sprit, watching the line of Cherubim drifting off as far as the eye could see.

"It's gonna be okay, you know," she said, patting my arm. "You can just do what Mr. Olivier said ... and even if not ... even if you can't ... it's still okay. Just ... when the time comes ... you need to get up to a high place."

"So ... finally looks you're gonna get your wish."

"Oh? What wish is that?"

"You wanted me dead. You wanted me stuck here."

"No. I wanted us to be free. Our souls."

"Free."

"We've talked about this. You know—"

"Listen. I've got some good news for you. The Brynmawr ladies ... they think they found Izzie."

Karla gaped.

"What? Where?"

"She's in Scotland, they think. They have an address. Wendell's taking us there as we speak."

"You're working with Wendell? But ... where exactly is she? Is she alright? Does Papa have her?"

"I don't know. We'll ... find out. The ladies talked to Gwen."

"But I talked to Gwen and she told me nothing."

I shrugged. "I don't know. Things change. Maybe Izzie got back in touch with her."

Karla's features had transformed. There was a glow in her eyes that I hadn't seen in a long time. She leaned forward and kissed me.

"This is so wonderful. This ... changes everything."

"How so?"

"Well. I need to see her. She needs me."

"So ... what? Are you gonna fade?"

"If I could ... I would. Fuck this raid."

"Yeah, well ... I'm without on that. I'm not feeling so gung ho about it myself."

"But this raid is important for us. You do realize that? Not me. I am not important. But for you ... for us ... this raid ... will determine our future."

"Oh? Are you a fortune teller now?"

"Don't play dumb. You know what I am saying. You are the key. I am just a helper."

"So go and fade. See if I care. What's stopping you?"

She squinted at me. "What is wrong with you? You have never talked to me this way before. There is something different in your voice."

"I'm fucking dying, Karla and there's not a damned thing I can do about it! I don't care what Olivier says."

"Have faith," she muttered, almost imperceptibly.

"What?" I said, even I heard her perfectly.

"Have faith ... in yourself!" she shouted, before stomping off.

***

When the last of the three hundred and forty-three Cherubim had figuratively walked the gangplank, my friends went to work feeding and saddling the bugs. I had to get Urszula to help me with Tigger. That dragonfly just did not want to listen to me.

We were not a good match at all, me and him. If I ever made it back to the bog I might see if Viktor could find me a more malleable insect. And it didn't have to be a dragonfly. The robber flies seemed pretty dumb but they were low maintenance and much easier to handle.

As I made my way over to where the bugs that were ready were being staged I stumbled across the Hashmal oarsman who we had taken captive. I was surprised to see him, half-expecting him to have been tossed overboard as well. I guess a soul did count for something in this realm.

He was wrapped all snug in a mass of netting and that special stickum that Urszula was famous for generating via her scepter.

"What will become of me?" asked the man.

"Don't ask me. I just work here," I said.

"Please. Kill me. Do not give me to the water. I do not wish to drown. I will take any means of death but the drowning."

"Listen. If they haven't drowned you already something tells me you have nothing to worry about."

"But ... they drowned all the Cherubim."

"But you're not a Cherub, are you?"

Ubaldo came around the side, hefting a saddle on one shoulder.

"Do not speak to the prisoner," he said as he brushed past.

"Hey. We ... we're not going to drown him are we?"

Ubaldo paused and looked at me flatly.

"Why not?"

"Because he's ... a person."

"So were the Cherubim before these assholes ripped their souls away."

Ubaldo continued on bow-ward, without sparing another glance. His hornet was tethered there, ripping its mandibles into a gory meal I had no wish to see.

"You see?" said the Hashmal, his eyes wide and glossy. "He wants to drown me."

"Is it true, what you did to the Cherubim?"

"They gave themselves to the cause. It is what we do. Sacrifice for the common good. A crusade, if you will. We seek to restore the proper order. It is our calling, we of Penult."

"Who do you work for?"

"The Lords, of course. The Erelim."

"And who do they work for?"

"Who do you think?"

"Tell you what," I said in a whisper. "Just before we go, I'll cut you mostly free. I'll leave it so you can undo the rest on your own. It might take some time, but I'll do enough to make sure you can wiggle out with a little bit of effort."

"Bless you," said the Hashmal, who looked a bit stunned by my mercy. "What is your name?"

"James."

I found Tigger all saddled up and clinging to the side of the oarsman's cage. Lalibela was hovering directly above the boat's single mast. Urszula stood atop the cage, cooing at her own dragonfly to coax it down to where she could saddle it. When she saw me approach, her eyes riveted me to the deck.

"You should not be coming with us. Find someplace quiet and concentrate. Make yourself fade. Go back. Do as Olivier says. He is right. Back there you can undo the poison."

I just shook my head. "I've never been able to fade on command. I don't know how. Fades ... just happen. It's not like coming here. I can't summon anything by making myself feel bad ... or good ... or whatever. It's all random."

"It is not random," she said. "It is linked to your desires. how you feel about being here. It has to be."

"Are you sure about that? Seems pretty random to me. I mean, look at Karla. She's dying to go back and see her sister. Did she fade? Nope. She's right over there, getting ready to hop on her robber fly."

"People do it," said Urszula. "When there is a need to go ... and you need to go back."

"I'm telling you, I don't know how."

I climbed up onto the cage and tried climbing onto Tigger's saddle, but Tigger was clinging to the side, nearly vertical.

"Um ... this is awkward. How do I get on?" I grabbed a loose strap dangling off one of the saddlebags. At least I could make sure he didn't try and take off without me.

"You should not be accompanying us," said Urszula. "We have the cracker. Olivier can activate it. We don't need you."

"Well, that's a first. Everybody else seems to think I'm some kind of savior."

"Please. I am telling you to go back to the mainland. Someplace secure where you can fade in peace. Some mountains preferably, just in case."

"Are there any mountains in Penult?"

"Not really. They are hills, really. Little bumps. Very pretty, but ... not sufficient. The Core is not very strong there. But definitely too strong to free a soul."

I took a deep breath and gazed out over the glassy sea. There was just a hint of roughness and mist at the horizon that might very well be the headlands of Penult.

"Hell, you know, we're not that far away. Maybe there's time. Let's just do this and get it done. If I fade, I fade. If not ... so be it."

Urszula gave me look that was a little sad and defeated and maybe more than a little angry.
Chapter 62: Raiders

While we waited for Georg and Solomon to finish harnessing their beetles, I paced the deck, anxious to get going. I was pretty much in panic mode over the ricin situation, stressing over my imminent death.

Olivier made my poisoning sound so trivial, that it should be a snap to neutralize the ricin by converting it into something inert and innocuous. (I'm pretty sure he didn't mean turning it into actual cotton candy. That was just an example.) But of course, he had also thought that it would be easy for me to reverse engineer a cracker column. Look how that turned out.

I told myself it wasn't going to be the end of the world if I failed. Well, it maybe it would be the end of one world, but my existence would not cease. There were always other worlds, some of which I knew to be quite decent, and some of which I had yet to see, might actually turn out be even better, maybe even paradisiacal. And even the worst places like Root and the Deeps had redeeming features that made them surprisingly tolerable. This train of thought helped ease my anxiety somewhat.

Here in the Liminality, I knew I could be comfortable. The place was a pretty fair facsimile of life. My senses seemed a little bit off, everything from color, touch and odor just a little more dull, but it was way more vivid and sensual than a dream, and on the plus side that meant way less pain and discomfort. I didn't really get hungry or tired or itchy or achy the way I did in life. Sure, it would suck big time being shut off from the world of my birth, but I could picture myself hanging out here over the long term. What burned me was that this had been Karla's plan for me from the start. If simple fate and my own free will had brought to these circumstances I might have been more at peace with them.

And yet another thing kept gnawing at me. If the Friends of Penult wanted to keep me out of the Liminality, why the hell would they go and have me killed in the 'real' world? Clearly, they had tried and failed with the keeping me happy strategy. But to take me out in the living world would only serve to ship me over here permanently. Could there be poison of choice be some amped up version of ricin? Something juiced with spell craft, giving it the power to eradicate my soul in every realm, not just the one? Or was the ricin just the first phase of a three part operation? Maybe they had plans to take me out here as well as the Deeps? A triple assassination. The thought was unsettling, to say the least.

In my pacing, I stumbled across the trussed up Hashmal, whom everyone seemed to have forgotten about. Remembering my promise, I went over and hacked away at the mess of twine and stickum entangling him. My sword was so dull now it was nearly useless for cutting. Nevertheless I managed to rip through everything but a few strands that he could probably squirm free within the space of an hour once we were gone.

"Bless you," whispered the Hashmal, who was looking a bit parched and gaunt. "I will make sure that the Lords hear of your mercy."

A cheer rose up as Georg and Rhino took to the air. I went aft to rejoin my friends. The cracker column lay flat on the deck. Rhino's wings created a wash and a racket worthy of a helicopter as he descended gently and gripped the column's sheath with all six legs. The second beetle, guided by Solomon the Frelsian, then took to the air, hovering over the base of the column. It gripped the webbing and lifted the column off the deck. The beetles made a broad banking turn and thundered off toward the bank of clouds, below which Urszula insisted we would find the island of Penult.

Ubaldo and his hornet were already in the air and patrolling a wide arc around us, scanning our general vicinity for threats. The robber fly riders, Karla and Mikal, were next off the boat, and they hurried ahead to catch up with the beetles. Olivier kept putzing around the deck, opening lockers and bins as if he were searching for something. So far he was finding only ropes and tools and such. I was getting nervous that he might discover what I had done to the Hashmal's bindings.

"Maybe we should go now?" I called out to him.

"You two go on ahead. I'll catch up," said Olivier.

I looked over at Urszula.

"We wait," she said.

I took a deep breath and bit my lip. Olivier ripped open yet another locker and pulled out a harpoon of the sort that the Pennies fired from launchers to bring down bugs. I thought nothing of it, that maybe he planned to use it as his new scepter. But I was aghast to see him stalk around the cage and plunge the weapon through the Hashmal's ribs as the poor man tried to plead with him. Olivier just jabbed it in, gave a twist and walked. I was horrified by the coldness of his act and how nonchalant he acted coming back to his fly.

He saw me staring at him, and he stared right back. Unflinching. Unapologetic. I knew he had a grudge against Hashmallim and their overlords that went back to his limbless days in the Deeps, but I never knew it was this bitter. He gave us a nod and we took off.

It took me a while to process what had just happened. I felt terrible that my attempt at mercy had been negated, my promise violated. Maybe someday I'd get to apologize to the Hashmal in whatever realm the souls of Pennies moved on to when they left the Liminality. Was it Heaven? The real deal Heaven? The Deeps was more likely, like the rest of us peons.

Ubaldo and his hornet went whizzing by on their way to the front of the formation. We formed a tight little group now, the beetles well surrounded by six escorts. There was no way this column would not reach the shores of Penult now, and I had to say, the thought of deploying it in the homeland of its makers gave me a little shiver of glee.

***

The darkness that closed around us felt more like a security blanket than something to fear. Hour after hour, we cruised along. A headwind had kicked up to stir the sea below. Moonlight frosted the white caps.

As we cruised along, Tigger kept close to Lalibela's tail. Dragonflies are diurnal creatures. I wonder how the Dusters got them to fly at night. I guess people train dogs to go against their nature and not chase squirrels. Why not get dragonflies to pretend they were moths?

The beetles seemed to have a much easier time of it now that they were sharing the load. It's not that the columns were heavy but hauling them through the air created lots of drag. So far Rhino was looking strong and fit.

A strange and unexpected calmness came over me. The storm in my head had finally reached a stable equilibrium. The multifactorial stress that had consumed me earlier had dissipated. Whatever happened, happened. Anything bad stuff be tolerated or overcome. If anything good came of this, it would come as a pleasant surprise.

I leaned forward and rested my chin on the forward hump of the saddle, watching the sea swells rise and fall like the breath of a slumbering dragon.

***

Dawn came quick. Too quick. I must have fallen asleep in the saddle—a disconcerting thought considering that we were flying high and I wasn't strapped in. I grabbed onto the handholds that fringed the saddle and gripped them tight as a wave of vertigo shuddered through me.

Land was now in sight. The island was much larger than I pictured. Its shores stretched out of sight in both directions. A line of clouds, tinged coral and pink by the rising sun, hovered over the central highlands like a misty halo.

Apart from a rim of pale cliffs buttressing the shore, Penult seemed mostly a bunch of rolling meadows punctuated with a few widely-spaced clumps of trees, sort of like a giant golf course. A lacy network of pale roads and paths stretched over and through every hill and hollow. Apart from these, I saw no evidence of civilization—no cities, towns, not even a solitary structure.

Ubaldo was the first to reach land. Blazing far ahead of us on his glorious wasp, we watched him pass over a broad strand of windswept beaches and some low, chalky cliffs, to the first expanse of meadows beyond, touching down beside a road so smooth it glinted in the morning sun.

Karla and Mikal landed next, followed by the rest of us providing close escort to the beetles, whom Georg and Solomon guided down gently to avoid damaging their precious payload. I hopped down off of Tigger onto the spongy grass, glad to have solid ground beneath me again.

"There is nothing here," said Ubaldo, scowling as if he were angry to have nothing and no one to fight.

"That's a good thing," said Olivier. "Gives us time to pick a good target."

"There are cities, I assure you," said Urszula.

"Where we are now, is this not one of the places you scouted?"

"No," she said. "There were no cliffs where we came ashore. Just marshes and lagoons and ... a city. A port."

"Any idea how to get there?"

Urszula shrugged. "It is somewhere on this coast."

"Obviously."

"But I cannot tell which direction."

"Some of us can go and look," said Mikal. "I volunteer."

"You go East, Mikal. I will go West," said Urszula.

"Sounds like a plan," said Olivier.

Urszula reached down and tightened the cinches of her saddle. She glanced at me over her shoulder. "If we do not come back, do not wait for us."

"Why wouldn't you come back?" I said.

"I am just saying."

"Watch out for those new falcons," said Olivier. "Those damned things are nasty quick."

Urszula returned a wicked smile. "Maybe they should watch out for me."

Mikal buzzed away on his robber fly. Urszula leaned over, slapped Lalibela's pronotum and her gleaming dragonfly rocketed off into the sun. The clear membranes spanning the cells of her wings twinkled like diamonds.

Before I could even think to grab a hold of his lead, Tigger zoomed off after them.

***

We unsaddled the bugs that remained, turning them loose to do a little foraging on the beach. I felt a bit nervous about being stranded without Tigger, but Karla offered to let me double up with her if need be. She seemed to enjoy that aspect of my predicament.

When she was preoccupied with stashing gear I went over and discreetly asked Olivier if I could carry the Seraph wings he had just unlashed from the scorpion fly as mine were still attached to Tigger's saddle. He gave me an odd look, but assented without hesitation.

I bundled them up and tucked them under my arm. They were bulky, but no heavier than an armload of bamboo.

My blunt and blackened sword I slipped under my belt. I wondered why I still bothered to carry it. The thing was heavy and not very useful as a sword anymore. I could do just as well with a stick. But I couldn't bring myself to toss it just yet. It had sentimental value going back to the tunnels of Root and my first days in the Liminality. At least I didn't have to worry about cutting myself on the damned thing.

We concealed our tack and supplies in a shrub-congested gully that carried a rushing freshet down to the cliffs. The water was cool and sweet—a welcome change to the stale lagoon water we carried in our skins.

With a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder and a knotty, club-like scepter at his side, Ubaldo stood and studied the lacework of gleaming white paths that arced and swooped across the lumpy green hills before us. They made me think of nicely healed scars, following the contours of the land without ever disrupting its curves.

He strode up to the nearest path and rapped his scepter on the surface.

"Bone," he said.

"No way!" I rushed over for a closer look.

Oliver was already there bending down and touching the finely-grained surface. The path was about five meters wide, seamless with an off-white pebbly but porous texture. A gradient of larger pores lined the edges

"Yeah. I have to say," said Olivier. "Sure looks like bone."

A whirring, clattering sound developed from somewhere over the next rise. Someone or something was coming down the road. Ubaldo whipped his bow around and strung one of the oversized arrows he had liberated from the ship.

A man appeared, riding a six wheeled scooter that was little more than a platform with wheels, a simple backrest, and two curving flanges that came up from the base and clasped his thighs just above the knee.

He pulled within ten meters of us and rolled to a stop. There was not a speck of fear or aggression in his face, just an open and amiable curiosity. He just remained standing on his device smiling and blinking at us.

"My, you all are looking quite authentic. I'm sorry to disturb you, but ... is there to be a performance? I saw nothing in the schedule."

"Excuse me?" said Olivier.

"You are artists, no? Rehearsing here perhaps?"

"Um. Nope."

He squinted at us. "Oh my." A bit of worry crept into his expression. His scooter rolled back slowly away from us without any apparent physical effort on his part, as if it were responsive to the man's moods.

"You all really are quite convincing. You must be method actors. Your wardrobe. Your whole ... demeanor. Nicely done. From which domain are you registered?"

"Domain?"

"We are from the other side," said Ubaldo.

"Of the island? That would be Bristol, perhaps? Canaan? Aleppo?"

"What is your ... domain?" said Olivier.

"Well, Loomis, of course. I'm a local. You ... you're not actually escapees, are you? I have to say, your whole mise-en-scène is quite convincing. Where will you be performing? Or maybe ... this is it? This is the performance? I must say, it's bold of you to count on an audience to find you on their own."

"He suddenly gasped and cupped his palm over his mouth. "Oh my goodness! That's ... that's a...." He stared seaward. Karla's robber fly was there, hovering just above the cliffs.

Panic gripped the man. "What is this? An incursion?" He swiveled abruptly on his scooter, doing an about face. "Your kind are not allowed here!" An unseen engine clicked and whined as he accelerated back in the direction from whence he had come. Ubaldo raised his bow and aimed it carefully, tracking his progress, leading him just enough.

Olivier shoved the bow aside. "Let him go. Maybe he can lead us back to his nest."
Chapter 63: Loomis

Ubaldo fished a carved wooden device from the depths of his poncho-like garment, apparently some kind of polyphonic whistle.

"I should call the bugs?" he said.

"Nah. Not just yet," said Olivier. "Let's go a little farther on foot. Maybe we can sneak up on this Loomis place."

"We will need at least one beetle to carry the column," said Solomon.

"Well go get 'em. We do what we have to," said Olivier.

Georg went cliff-side to call Rhino back from the beach where he had gone down to forage with the other bugs. Rhino came flying up dutifully and we strapped the cracker column to his carapace while Georg fed him some of the slop he had salvaged from the cisterns on the boat.

By the time we got going, the man on the scooter was well out of sight but we could still hear him whirring along somewhere over the next rise. Ubaldo walked point as usual with Karla and I right behind him. Olivier, Georg and Solomon followed behind Rhino. A case could be made that our sad little expeditionary force was indeed some sort of avant-garde micro-circus. I sure felt like a clown.

Karla kept offering her hand for me to take. I obliged her only because it was the path of least resistance and I did not want to cause a scene. But I dropped it every time I found a reasonable excuse, tightening the straps on my bundle, scratching my nose, whatever.

I was pretty sure by now that the rift between us would be permanent, though Karla was still all smiley and coy, acting like it was some minor and temporary disturbance. Knowing that my life was ebbing on the other side only made things worse.

I kept gazing back at the shore hoping to see Urszula and Mikal returning, but the sky remained remarkably empty, considering all of the flying contraptions the Pennies had sent with their invasion force.

Rhino never flagged, but his progress was slow. Three legs pivoted at a time, hoisting his body and payload, thrusting them forward. It was kind of like watching NASA transport a rocket booster to a launching pad with one of those ultra-slow tractors. No way would we ever catch up with the scooter guy at this rate, but at least we had a fix on what direction he was going.

We had absolutely no warning of what would reveal itself over the next rise. The landscape was too green to call barren or desolate, but it was certainly under-populated. But when we topped the hill, at first I thought were looking at a mountain, a very jagged and glaciated mountain, full of icy spires and splintered bergs. But there was an order and regularity to the design that told us this was a creation of humans.

The city (or domain) of Loomis was arranged as neatly as a crystal. Layer upon layer of orderly polyhedrons rose in tier from a bedrock base riddled with uniform grottoes carved into the stone. The structures ranged from low-slung villas with little gardens to pale skyscrapers that seemed carved of ice or frosted glass. The tallest had jagged roofs that stabbed at the heavens like sword points. Their shadowed facets were tinged with blue and green highlights, like the seams of an ancient glacier.

A ring of lakes like a moat lie between us and the bulge of hill that held the city proper. Paddocks crammed with strange sheep-like creatures cross-hatched the slope leading down to the lakes. Something about their blunt snouts and big, sad, sentient eyes spooked me. These were not ordinary sheep.

"Jesus! What the heck kind of animals are these?" said Olivier.

"They are not animals," said Karla.

"God help them if the bugs get wind of them," said Georg.

"We can set the column right here," I said. "The quake would probably reach." I was thinking: get this thing done, get out of here and I could concentrate on fading and what to do about the damned ricin spreading through my body on the other side.

"Nah," said Olivier. "Let's get a little closer. I want to take that whole fucking place down like they took down Luthersburg. I want them to have a full swig of their own medicine."

We came to a branching of pathways and chose the steepest, most direct route to the valley bottom. It led to a causeway across one of the lakes, whose surface was almost flush with the water level. Still, there was no indication of any kind of guard post, defenses or surveillance of any sort. Penult had the markings of a land that had known only peace and order within its borders.

Well, that was all about to change. Olivier rushed ahead, eager as a kid on Christmas morning. Even I was getting pretty excited about setting off the column.

We caught up with Ubaldo and Olivier at the causeway where they had paused to assess the approach to the city. The causeway was seamless and made of the same bone-like material as the roads. The lake was crystal clear revealing a multitude of stripy fish with peach bellies browsing among water weeds.

Several scooters zipped by on one of the roads upslope, but no one seemed to notice us. A couple appeared on the meadow just above us, just strolling along hand in hand. There stares showed more amusement than fear. It all seemed too good to be true.

"We should call the bugs, before we start the quake," said Georg. "We don't want to be on the ground when this thing goes off."

"Your beetle can carry four of us no problem," said Solomon. "And James has the wings."

"My wasp will come when I need her," said Ubaldo, tapping the device around his neck.

"I'm thinking ... we should try and get a little closer still," said Olivier.

"I don't see why not," said Ubaldo. "We have yet to be challenged."

So we started across the causeway. It made me a bit nervous to be so exposed. With nowhere to run but directly forward or back, it would have been the perfect to strike us with their falcons.

A scooter rider stopped to watch us. Another and then another joined him until a small gaggle had accumulated.

Olivier couldn't stop grinning. "Look at these people! Nobody's got a clue what we're all about. I bet we could stroll right up to the city gates."

"We should set the column here," I said.

"Soon," said Olivier. "Let's just get just a little closer. Up on that road, maybe. It looks pretty important. Well-traveled."

We made it across the causeway. Karla again reached for my hand. This time I took hers gladly. I was getting nervous and in need of a little human contact. I glanced at her, and she looked right back, unsmiling. She was looking worried, too.

"What's wrong?" she said. I kept my lips pursed tight. Her question startled me. I wasn't sure how to interpret it. Was she talking about us or just things in general? I just kept lips pursed tight. Either way, there was nothing I could say that would portray the full complexity of my anxieties.

As we started up the slope, something clanged and chimed in the distance. It was a pretty sound, like church bells sounding a mildly dissonant chord in unison. The white spires of the city underwent a subtle change. The blue-green glacial tint of their more shadowy recesses turned purplish, like veins behind pale skin. The Pennies who had stopped to watch us scurried off abruptly, looking a bit panicky and confused.

"Shit," said Karla.

"Okay people. This is it!" said Olivier. "Raise the column! They're onto us."
Chapter 64: Demons

Georg released the clingy straps that secured the column to the beetle and let it slide off Rhino's back. It clanked like tone wood as it bounced and rolled into one of the shallow ditches that bordered the roadway. Ubaldo grabbed a U-shaped block from Rhino's back and leapt into the ditch, hammering it into the ground against the uphill side of the column. Georg attached one of the cables affixed to loops halfway up the column while the rest of us grabbed the other lines and hurried uphill until they went taut.

"Go easy now," said Olivier. "Equal tension. Keep it centered."

Slowly, we raised the column, like colonists hauling up the corner post of a barn. Loomis continued to clang its polyphonic alarm. The spectators had scattered and were fleeing back to the city on their scooters.

When the column was vertical, I dropped my line and rushed over and retracted the lowest ring of spikes, rotating the bottom segment until the nubs lined up with those just above it, just as I had seen Victoria do. As I worked my way up segment by segment, the cracker came to life. Air hissed through its myriad channels. The outer surface grew hot and began to shimmer and ripple, cycling through a complex series of textures. Spiky supports sprouted from the base and drilled their way deep into the dirt and chalk beneath.

I glanced up-slope, half expecting to see an army of Cherubim charging down at us. The towers of Loomis had gone all gunmetal gray tinged with purple and veiled with mist. The mist swirled and grew until it shrouded the tallest of the buildings.

"This ain't right," said Olivier. "This cracker's not shaking nearly as much as it needs to. Are you doing it the right way?"

"I ... I thought so." I stared at the segments, noticing one ring that wasn't quite perfectly aligned.

I grabbed onto the spikes and yanked. It wouldn't budge.

"It's ... stuck."

"That cloud! It's coming this way!" said Karla.

There was a granularity to the mist now that told me that its individual components were much larger than I first thought. It was made not of water vapor but of objects. They looked like birds from afar, but they moved like bats, their bodies withered and spare like origami doves.

Several strands swirled up and converged into a huge clot of white that arced upward forming a parabolic trajectory that peaked and dove like a huge, white amorphous fist slamming towards us. I tried to ignore it as I fiddled with the cracker, twirling the control rings one by one.

Olivier tried to help but had not absorbed the lesson as clearly as me. The fist of doves accelerated, whistling like those screaming meemie fireworks that used to freak me out when I was a kid.

As the fringe of lone fliers preceding the main swarm was about to hurtle into us, Olivier thrust out his staff and conjured a spell. I suppose he had intended to raise a shield but diffuse field that sizzled out the splintered end of his stick, wiggled in the breeze like a giant soap bubble before popping and splattering bits of plasma on the ground.

I had no choice but to divert my attention from the column and stuck my sword out at the oncoming threat. Spells happened now without my having to think, which was good and bad. Spontaneity was nice but my instincts did not always make the best decisions.

The blast that issued forth from the tip of my blackened sword was plenty powerful, but much too concentrated, punching a hole through the center of the mass of paper doves, wadding a bunch together and dropping them out of the formation. I might as well have fired a bullet into a cloud of smoke. The vacated spot filled right back up and the mass kept on swarming towards us.

"Take cover!" said Ubaldo.

Solomon dropped to his knees and covered himself with the thick, homespun cloak that doubled as his bedroll and armor. Ubaldo and Olivier pressed themselves into the muck at the bottom of the ditch, while Georg took refuge behind his beetle.

Karla just stood and gawked, mesmerized. I had visions of her walking into that patch of Fellstraw.

"It's okay. There's nothing to them. They're just paper," said Karla. "Maybe they are just trying to scare us."

"Get down!" I dove at her knees and tackled her to the ground.

The leading edge of the cloud came at us in two strands. They curled around and converged over the column and engulfing it in a maelstrom of paper, chewing and slashing like a swarm of chainsaws. The ground around us erupted in a tornado of grit and shredded grass. Karla cried out as one of the paper birds latched onto her elbow and snipped at her with its serrated beak. Georg howled with rage and pain as he lashed out with his scepter, struggling to protect Rhino from the onslaught, but as Urszula had warned, spells did not come easy in this corner of the realm.

I crawled on top of Karla and smothered her, covering every inch of her with my body while the paper demon birds nipped and slashed at my clothes and skin, biting into flesh and drawing blood.

"Goddamnit! I had enough of this shit!"

The reluctant lode of willpower lurking deep in my belly took charge and sprang to life, expanding my force of will outward in all directions, forming an impenetrable, corrosive shield of protection. Scores of paper demons failed to breach it. They burst into flames and crumbled to ashes.

The shield smothered all outside sounds. All I could hear now was my own and Karla's breathing. She twisted around to face me and kissed me on the lips, her cheeks damp with tears.

I felt only numbness inside and pain where the avatars had nicked me. Maybe Karla interpreted my actions as an act of love, but what I had done for her, I had done more out of respect for the memory of what we once had. That feeling was gone now, snuffed beyond hope of reincarnation. It might be argued that a love that fragile was not worth reviving.

I said nothing and did not return her affections, just held her close and waited out the storm, listening for clues as to what was happening around us. As the shield relaxed it allowed some sounds to seep through the barrier. Anonymous groans. Dying flutters and hisses. A tinkling as chunks of the wrecked column broke off and shattered on the roadway.

It sickened me that we had come all this way and risked so much for nothing. After a time, a cool wind played against my cheek and I knew that my will had receded back into its source. The shield was gone, but so were the demon birds. All that remained were crumpled and brittle remains strewn all over the ground around us.

I stood up and took measure of the situation. Karla, still a little skittish, stayed down. The column lay in pieces arrayed around a jagged stub that remained planted in the ground. The ground around it seemed untouched. He had not managed to activate it sufficiently to conjure anything approaching a root quake.

Just off the road, Rhino lay upended, the membranes joining his thick plates between segments slashed by a thousand cuts, many studded with the remnants of the suicidal paper birds. Yellowish hemolymph gushed from wounds with each upward heave of his plates.

I found Olivier crumpled in a ditch and panting, his face all bloodied. Georg lay lifeless beside him, his throat slashed, his neck broken. Ubaldo and Solomon came staggering over to join me, their clothes shredded and dripping blood.

"Fucking avatars," said Olivier, grimacing. "We could have made armor, a shelter, something."

Ubaldo's wasp landed beside her master and gently reached out with her palps to taste his mangled elbow.

"No!" said Ubaldo. "You go! I will call you."

The wasp obeyed. With a flick of its wings it was off the ground and zooming back towards the shore.

"But maybe we should call the bugs and skedaddle, yes?" said Karla, finally emerging from the ditch. "I mean, what else can we do here?"

Ubaldo stood and stared up the road towards the city whose spires were brightening, shedding their purple tinges, returning to their original palette of glacial blues and greens.

A contingent of heavily-armed Hashmallim, some riding on large, armored carts, others jogging on foot, had fanned out across the meadows and were making their way down to us. Above them, a lone winged Seraph, guided their assault.

"We fight," said Ubaldo.
Chapter 65: Replica

Karla shut her eyes, pinched her face and shrieked in a pitch almost beyond the range of human hearing, a talent most humans lose by the age of three.

"You are calling your insect," said Ubaldo, crimping his brow.

"Yes! Of course," said Karla. "We can't fight this many. They will destroy us."

"Go, if you want," said Ubaldo, shrugging and turning away. "I will stay."

"Yeah. Me too," said Olivier, sighing.

"And me, as well," said Solomon, running his hand along the shaft of his scepter.

"That is sheer foolishness," said Karla. "Everyone, call your bugs! We live to fight another day."

Her agitated eyes sought and demanded my support.

"Come, James. You will ride with me. We will go find your Tigger."

I looked away, unable to endure her beckoning stare.

"I'm thinking ... I might stay ... too."

"What? Don't be so ridiculous! Come with me. We can still get away."

I didn't really want to stay. It felt wrong, though, to run off and leave our friends to be massacred. It wasn't bravery or stupidity operating here. It was loyalty. Besides, we had come a long way to get here. I just didn't see the point of running away, particularly since I was already dying in the only place that mattered to me.

Karla's burly robber fly came hurtling up over the top of the hill skimming its tarsi against the tall grass as it kept low across the sloping meadows. The creature, well over a hundred pounds, pulled up on a dime, alighting beside her as gently as a leaf.

"I'm staying."

Karla shot me a pissed grimace and glanced away, but then she directed another darting glance at me, this one infused with a speck more worry and guilt. I did not engage her directly, watching out of the corner of my eye while she hopped into the saddle and rapped her heels against her fly's back.

"Fools!"

Her robber fly burst away, back from whence it had come. I snuck a peek at her zooming off, but I had no regrets.

Several falcons that had emerged from the city broke off to intercept her, while the rest kept pace with the Hashmallim and Cherubim on foot below, providing air cover. The Pennies took their time in getting us surrounded. They were being ultra-cautious.

They must have found it suspicious to come across such a tiny force of invaders. They probably have thought this was a trap; that a larger force of raiders lay in wait somewhere out of sight. I could only wish.

Three Seraphim now hovered above each line of advance, while two contingents of chariot-like scooters swooped around behind us, converging to cut off our escape route across the causeway.

"Okay fellas, this is it," said Olivier, as he attempted to rise but collapsed again to his knees, his head drooping. "Fuck! I think I lost a bunch of blood. I can feel it in my head."

From behind the gleaming towers of Loomis, a parade of other winged devices emerged—slow, frilly, pastel-colored contraptions, built more for comfort than combat.

"The Lords," said Solomon.

Olivier crouched, panting. "Oh, they've come out to watch the slaughter. How special."

Several long trains of carts pulled up on the ring road just above us and disgorged their sluggish Cherubim cargo, standing stiff and tall. Hashmallin marched into chevrons on the slopes.

A peculiar, heavily armored cart arrived and a pair of Hashmallim dismounted, unloading from the back a huge device with a long shaft and strings connected to bulbous outgrowths. It looked more musical instrument than weapon—an unholy three-way cross between sitar, harp and bazooka.

The ranks of Cherubim halted about a hundred meters out. A lone Hashmal emerged and strolled down to a point in the meadow about halfway between us and the sitar wielders on the ring road. He was sheathed in a sparse and satiny armor that padded and protected only the most vulnerable parts of his body, including a half helm with flanges that covered his neck.

He called down to us in that strange language of theirs. When we did not respond, he cycled through French, Spanish and German before he made it to English.

"Why are you here?"

Solomon and I just looked each other. Ubaldo just glared and caressed one of the huge arrow shafts he had liberated from the Hashmal on the boat.

"We're returning one of your poles," said Olivier.

"Poles?"

Olivier gestured towards the shattered remains of the cracker column heaped in the road.

"Yeah. Thought you might like it back."

The Hashmal stared straight at Olivier, his expression flat.

"This realm is off limits to you and your kind. The surface is forbidden to you. Place your weapons down and give yourselves to us. We will process you appropriately and humanely. Otherwise, you shall be dispatched without mercy."

"Yeah, well how about you dispatch this!" said Olivier, brandishing his middle finger.

Ubaldo, his arrow already strung, raised his bow, but the Hashmallim with the sitar-like device were quicker. One aimed while the other plucked its one thick strand. The space before it grew as blurry as the air above a flame.

None of us took cover. We saw no projectile. We didn't know what was happening. But when the wings of the device whipped forward, a shock wave came hurtling towards us, refracting the air before it in concentric waves like ripples propagating across a pond. It wafted harmlessly through the ranks of Cherubim, but the wave gained power and solidity the farther it flew.

Ubaldo shot his giant arrow at the thing. It stuck as if had hit a wall of mud and tumbled back at us. Just before the wave hit, Olivier and Solomon each managed to unleash a pair of stout pulses from their scepters, but the blasts simply vanished, their energy consumed and incorporated into the oncoming force.

The wave slammed into me with the force of a speeding truck, bludgeoning my ribs and my head. My sword went flying from my grip and I fell backward, clutching my middle, struggling to breathe as it sucked the air right out of my lungs. The wave lingered over us and swirled like a tornado, scouring away what remained of our already shredded clothes.

Ubaldo and Solomon dove to the ground. Their weapons crumbled like unfired clay. Stubborn Olivier took the full brunt of the blow and was summarily slammed to the ground. I rolled into a shallow gully and covered my face until the wave and its vicious little back eddies had dissipated.

The air cleared to reveal Cherubim advancing in close formation from three directions, followed closely by their overseers. Olivier lay writhing and coughing in the tall grass beside me.

I spotted my blackened, swollen sword lying on the ground. It had somehow survived the blow. I reached for it and groaned. The broken ends of my ribs crunched and stabbed at me when I moved. With great difficulty, still woozy from the blow to my head, I rose to my feet.

Solomon knelt on the ground, looking hopeless and beaten, but Ubaldo was crouched, trying to pry a rock out of the turf. I stuck my sword out at the Cherubim and tried to summon a pulse. More often than not, my will failed me when I needed it most.

"That's it people. I'm done," said Olivier, rolling over onto his back. "What the heck? They can't say we didn't try."

I stood glaring at the sword in my hand, begging it funnel my will against the plodding Cherubim. The bumps and etchings in its textured surface wavered in and out of focus.

Within that mental and visual haze, a strange clarity came to me. A faint echo of the Singularity reached out to me. The intricate patterning on the now swollen and blackened blade suddenly made sense. It looked just like the cracker—a scale model faithful to every nub and groove in the full-sized column. Victoria had been in the process of modifying and activating one of the captured columns in the grotto when she turned her aggressions to me. While fighting me, perhaps she inadvertently transferred its structure to my sword. Could that really be true?

I stabbed the dull point of my sword into the ground and pried at the lowermost nubs with my fingernails. A ring of spines popped free. I folded them flat. The segment was then free to rotate, just like the original cracker. I rotated it and worked my way up the shaft. The sword grew hot and began to hiss and vibrate and lengthen and swell.

The Cherubim paused, halted by their Hashmallim. The sword began to vibrate. I worried that this model column, while functional, would ultimately project only a tiny fraction of the force of the real ones. But as I freed the topmost ring of spines and turned, the ground began to shake vigorously beyond an island of calm demarcated by a ten meter radius around the sword point.

Ubaldo dropped his stone and dragged Olivier into the circle of calm. Solomon, re-energized and heartened by hope, found his legs and came over to help. The harp wielders hustled closer with their apparatus and fired off another blast.

"Down low!" said Ubaldo.

I dove down flat, pressing my cheek against the soft and fragrant meadow as the pressure wave stomped and scraped over my back. When it had moved on, I looked up to see the sword still vertical. Moreover, the blade had swollen into a perfect cylinder and had doubled in length. The rod kept growing until it was taller than my head. It showed no signs of stopping there. Soon it was a huge pillar, as big and stout as a pine tree, much larger than the cracker that had served as its template.

One of the Hashmallim overseers abandoned all caution and sent his contingent of Cherubim storming after us. Slashers all, their psychic muzzles released, they came bounding after us now, bladed limbs raised and ready to strike.

A series of waves ripped through the ground, tearing trenches, heaping earth, tossing the Cherubim off their feet and dumping them into newly opened ditches. The neat formations of troops so carefully and artfully arrayed around us were twisted apart and upended. The ring road burst with the crack of bone. White shards flew through the air like shrapnel.

A shrieking falcon dive-bombed us, its forward cannon disgorging a sheet of stretchy plasma that came flapping and twirling at the now gigantic pillar that had been my sword. The substance came apart in clots and clumps that burned like acid wherever it touched. It slapped wetly against the column and dribbled off in gooey strands, cleaning off the grime, leaving it not only unscathed but gleaming, its full luster restored.

The root quake had now reached the outskirts of the city, cracking facades, peeling walls and heaving roofs. The color bleached out of the front-most rank of crystalline towers. They stood like dead teeth among their companions as they tossed about like unmoored skiffs in a gale, oscillating out of synch until some broke at their bases and crashed into their neighbors.

Towers went dark and toppled. The lower buildings crumbled and dropped into vast chalky crevasses. Clouds of white dust billowed everywhere and smothered everything. The cityscape had become a nightmare of jagged spires erupting with fireballs.
Chapter 66: The Parting

With awe and disbelief, I watched the cataclysm unfold and evolve from our weird, little bubble of quietude at the base of the column. The cracker roared and shook like a rocket booster, generating clashing waves that pulverized the landscape in every direction.

Apart from a high frequency vibration that buzzed my teeth like a dentist's drill, the ground within twenty meters of the column remained unaffected. I suppose it made sense that the creators of an earthquake generator would design measures that prevented the device from destroying itself and its operators.

But beyond our refuge, thunderous explosions punctuated the rumble as the bedrock split and ripped apart. Walls of stone ground together like gnashing teeth, crumbling and churning boulders into grit. Here and there, clouds of dust billowed up as the land collapsed and filled the caverns and tunnels beneath.

What once had been a section of gently sloping meadow above a lake had become an isolated, steep-walled bluff. The lake was gone, drained through a ravine that now cut through the low range of hills separating us from the sea. Fresh water clashed with sea water flooding in from the new fissures splitting the headlands. Shaggy swaths of severed root squeezed into the newly created rifts.

The surviving Hashmallin had lost all control over whatever psychic reins they held over their assigned Cherubim. Now master-less and aimless, the slave soldiers meandered about the still heaving terrain, experiencing a freedom they had not experienced since the theft of their souls, yet had no will to lead them.

The Lords and privileged spectators of Penult in their cushy aero-lounges retreated with haste. Their flying machines, some bulbous, some sleek, herded back to safety under the close escort of a growing swarm of falcons. The ruins of Loomis no longer offered refuge. They were forced to seek safety in the hills of the interior.

A flurry of wing beats punched through the clouds of chalky dust wafting over us. I shrank away, expecting it some last ditch, spiteful and vengeful assault by the Pennies on their falcons. But the familiar glint of compound eyes reassured me. These were our insects! In quick succession, Karla's robber fly, Olivier's scorpion fly and Ubaldo's wasp landed on our little refuge.

Blood streamed down Karla's face and one of her eyes was blackened.

"What happened to you?"

"Just get on!"

She didn't need to ask me twice this time around. Wincing with every move, I staggered over and climbed onto on the back of her fly, hauling myself up between its gangly and bristly hind legs. Karla grabbed my wrist to help me aboard, surprising me with her wiry strength.

Olivier was in no shape to walk or fly on his own. Ubaldo lifted him up and carried him over to his wasp, lashing him into place on his saddle. Olivier was so weak that he was barely able to raise his head. Solomon was already in the saddle of Yaqob's trusty scorpion fly.

Karla twisted around, her eyes aglow with awe.

"You knew. You planned this thing all along. Why didn't you tell me? I would have stayed."

"What? You mean my sword? No. I had no idea."

"Stop with the pretend modesty. We both know, this was you."

"No. Really. I had no clue any of this would happen."

Maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised, given my experience with 'miracles' in desperate times, but I was still in a state of shock over what we had just witnessed. I was too dazed to feel happy or victorious, though from the size of their grins, Ubaldo and Solomon did not share my inhibitions.

"Hold on!" said Karla. She stomped twice and the robber fly jetted off the hillock, rising in a wide, banking arc back towards the ocean, giving us a sweeping view of the damage below.

The land was torn apart for miles beyond Loomis. Further inland, yet another city skyline looming over the horizon also showed signs of disruption, with towers leaning or toppled, their formerly shining facades dulled.

Deep, gorge-like rifts had spread in all directions like the rays of a terrestrial supernova. Thick swaths of roots surged up through the gaps, like stuffing poking out of a battered teddy bear.

Several of the newer, quicker falcons shadowed us from afar, too shy to take us on, perhaps wondering what other tricks we had up our sleeves, though in truth, we were unarmed and defenseless.

Karla leaned back and kissed my cheek. Her lips lingered close to mine, expecting to be kissed in return, but I was too discombobulated to reciprocate even if I had wanted.

She hissed into my ear.

"You. Are. Amazing! See? This is why we needed you. No one else could have done this."

I didn't know what to say so I said nothing. This really wasn't my doing. Sure, it was my sword that had been turned into a doomsday weapon, and I was the one who had activated it, but all of the art and craft that had gone into making it what it was had come solely from the mind of Victoria.

I had caught Victoria in the act of applying her enormous skill to modify the captured column, converting a simple utilitarian cracker into a superior weapon of mass destruction. Its power would have gone far beyond those that had laid waste to the pitted plains, the mesas and Frelsi. When she had turned her attentions to go after me, the intentions of her subconscious will, in all its complexity, had been misdirected to the sword I had pointed at her, trying to summon one of my own feeble and reluctant emissions of will.

And then, while the defensive avatars of Loomis had destroyed the original column, they were unable to detect the presence of its miniaturized but just as potent replica—my humble sword.

I had to wonder if Victoria had been on our side the whole time, acting as a double agent. Somehow, that didn't seem likely. She gave every indication she was committed to the enemy's cause when I had tussled with her in the grotto. Perhaps, she was just a good actress?

***

We landed just beyond the zone of the most serious root quake damage, on a windswept stretch of white sand beach littered with wave-sculpted bits of what looked like bone.

Olivier was still bleeding badly. We laid him out on the sand and Solomon tightened his tourniquet, while Karla attempted to re-wrap the horrific gash in his calf with scraps of scraggly cloth.

"Jesus Christ!" said Olivier, through gritted teeth. "It had to be my leg, it's always the legs!"

"Fate," said Ubaldo, his eyes raised to the sky.

We were the sorriest looking bunch of raiders now. None of us carried a weapon of any sort and all of us but Karla were naked beyond the few shreds of partially unwoven cloth dangling from our collars and waists, exposing every bruise and scrape and contusion.

Solomon kept looking up at me. I stood with my arms held out at an odd angle, and I kept shifting my weight and grimacing.

"Are you uncomfortable?"

I bit my lip and nodded.

"Took a hit to my middle. My ribs got a little messed up."

"I am thinking there is something wrong with your eyes," said Solomon.

"Yeah, well, I got kind of knocked in the head, too."

"No worries. He will fly with me," said Karla.

I plopped down in the sand and brought my knees up to my chin, staring down the coastline at the freshly fractured bluffs. It bothered me that Urszula and Mikal had still not returned from their scouting missions. As time went on, the prospects of them returning grew ever bleaker. But I knew Urszula to be tough and resourceful. All hope was not yet lost.

"Okay. He is patched," said Solomon. "I think we are ready to go."

"Shouldn't we wait for the others?" I said.

Karla shot me one of those looks. "Don't be silly. We need to go."

"What if they come back and nobody's here? What if they need help?"

"If they are not here by now they are not coming back," said Karla. "There is nothing to be done."

"We don't know that. Not for sure."

"Mr. Olivier needs a flesh weaver or he will lose his leg," said Solomon.

"Not again, Goddamnit!" said Olivier.

"Then take him back. I'll stay."

"You have no bug!" said Karla. "And the Pennies will be coming for you! What then?"

"Let them come. I don't care."

"What is wrong with you? You act like I killed your mother or something. Why do you hate me?"

Karla's eyes bulged as she struggled to contain an outburst.

"This is not about you."

"Urszula! You are worried for that Urszula!"

"And Mikal ... and Tigger."

"You are unbelievable!" There was fire and confusion in her eyes. But I just wanted her gone. It hurt my head and heart just being around her these days.

"I will stay with James," said Ubaldo. "You three can go."

"We will send you an escort from the other side," said Solomon, as he helped Olivier into his saddle.

"Remember. Go east of north when you cross," said Olivier. "That will keep you away from the beachhead."

"Do not linger here too long," said Karla, her cheeks suddenly damp with tears. "Come home soon."

With a tremendous crash, a cliff-face crashed into the sea a short ways down the coast. Karla kept her eyes on me as she mounted her insect. Solomon squealed like he was calling a hog and the bugs exploded off the beach and out into the strait.
Chapter 67: The Black

We watched the flies and their riders grow smaller and smaller until they dipped below the arc of the way too near horizon and vanished beneath the waves. I wondered if I would ever see the other side of this strait again.

My head was a bit muddled on the topic of my continued existence. Part of me wanted to cling to life with every ounce of my strength. The other part wanted to just let go like Gandalf clinging to the ledge in the mines of Moria, even though I had no Hobbits to save from Balrogs.

It didn't really matter to me what came next. I wasn't exactly thrilled about any of my future prospects, at least none of the practical variety as in—likely to happen. Sure, I'd love to be a rock star or a famous writer or a billionaire inventor, but mere pipe dreams could no longer sustain my taste for life.

But that was okay. I was calm and accepting of whatever freight train full of fate was coming my way in either realm. No use freaking out. What good would come of that?

I mean, what was the worst that could happen? That I might blink right out of all existence? Was that so bad? At least that would get my head finally clear.

Vanishing into nothingness was actually one of the more favorable options available, but also the least likely to happen. There were worse places to end up than nowhere-ville. But many better ones, too.

Back when I was suicidal, nothingness was a big draw. But Root turned out to be way cooler than I imagined. So was the Deeps, for that matter, though that might be pushing it. But it was tolerable, unlike my life at times.

Knowing that souls more often than not keep on trucking regardless of what happens to their mortal shells really changed my perspective on things. It quelled a lot of my life and death. It lowered the stakes immensely, made risks less risky.

Yeah. Sure. I would prefer to live. Who wouldn't? But if that simply was not going to be possible, then no biggie. Odds were good I could manage to find a semi-comfortable realm somewhere out there.

True, I might just as easily get stuck in some shit hole place, difficult if not impossible to wriggle free of. Like the Horus of the Deeps, that great trash compactor of spirits. And then there were also those creepy, de-souled Cherubim to think about and keep me from being completely at ease with the universe.

On the other hand, the unbounded freedom of the Singularity might be pretty sweet. Where souls roamed like winged wild horses, impossible to rein.

Wild or not, let's not put the cart before the horse. I still lived. And life is life. Accept no substitutes, if you can avoid it. Though, that last sentiment was starting to ring hollow.

Cool wavelets lapped at my toes. The tide was coming in, which was news to me. I didn't even know that this place had tides. It had a thing that looked like a moon but I could never be sure that it was real.

I was probably due for a fade, so it was time to take Olivier's advice more seriously. I sat cross-legged on the damp and gritty sand and practiced how I might exert my will to track down and neutralize the poison in my body. Why not give myself every option instead of slamming the door on life?

So I sent my will probing down to my fingertips and toenails. It was a clumsy and uninformative process, like sticking a plumber's snake around the bend of a dark drain pipe. My perceptions of my inner workings remained distant and vague. I'm not even sure I would be able to discern self from non-self.

In the Liminality, bodies were different in fundamental ways than the ones we possess on the other side. Here, if I wanted, I could stop my heart and make my blood flow backward. This place was not life, just an approximation, one step removed from the real thing. The Liminality allowed biology and physiology to break some of the usual rules without repercussions. That's why the Old Ones could enter the long sleep, practically mummify and then pop up years later all spry and nimble.

Probably, the key to licking this poison would be to reach out and get the Singularity to help me. I had difficulty imagining where this ricin would go in my body, where it would disperse and how it would look at the cellular and molecular level. My will needed a visual or conceptual target to latch onto in order to exert any influence. That, only the Singularity could provide.

The Pennies were starting to get a little bolder. A pair of unusually sleek and jaunty flying contraptions with swept back wings bounced in the turbulent air along the fractured bluffs, but curtailed their approach before they reached our stretch of beach.

"I wish they would come," said Ubaldo. "Only two. You and me, we could kill them. Easy."

"Um, yeah."

Ubaldo's wasp chittered and fanned its wings, all fidgety and antsy to leave. He went over and rubbed the plate between her eyes and mandibles.

"Easy, Sophia. Take it easy."

"I didn't know your wasp had a name."

"Why shouldn't she?"

"I don't know. I just ... didn't know."

Sophia settled down and preened her antennae.

"You and the girl. Karla. You still have problem?"

"Well, yeah. We did," I said, a little surprised by the question. "But it's no big deal now. I'm over it."

He just nodded and sat down beside me, saying nothing more, as if that were all the explanation he required. The crash and rumble of shifting rocks began to ebb. The root quake was finally winding down.

"Where are you from, Ubaldo?"

He gave me a queer look like it was the last thing he expected me to ask.

"Does it matter?"

I sighed. "Just making small talk. You don't have to—"

"When I die, I was in New York. Upstate. By Hudson River. I worked in a brass mill. Making wire. But I come from a small island, smaller than this one. Filicudi. You know it?"

"Can't say I do."

He frowned. "No one ever does. It is a small place. Isole Aeolie. Near Lipari."

Something large glinted above the remains of the bluffs where we had just seen the falcons patrolling. It was coming at us fast.

"Shit!"

I tried to rise but only got as far as my knees but a sharp jolt of pain in my middle kept me down

"No worries," said Ubaldo, smiling. "This is one of ours. A dragonfly."

***

My heart leaped, thinking it was Urszula returning safely, but the bug coming our way had striped wings and bore no riders. It was Tigger, which was great, but I kept watching the bluffs, hoping another bug would appear around them. But it was all in vain. Tigger came alone.

He seemed lost, tacking aimlessly back and forth over the far end of the strand. Ubaldo hopped on his wasp and took off. When Tigger spotted them in the air, he immediately made a beeline over to us. On arriving, he hovered low over the beach, using the stiff and steady the sea breeze to help keep him aloft with minimal effort. He refused to land, maybe still spooked by the root quakes.

Ubaldo came back down and together we tried to encourage Tigger to descend but it was no use. The poor dragonfly seemed really agitated. He had some goop stuck to his huge compound eyes, partially obscuring his vision. I could also see a crack in his hind femur and some singe marks on his abdomen. I feared the worst for Urszula.

More falcons appeared at the bluffs. This time there were four.

"This is not good," said Ubaldo, keeping his eyes on the sky as he climbed back into his saddle. "We must go now. Before they come."

I hesitated. I still kind of wanted to stay and see if Urszula came back or not. Maybe, find out what happened to her. It didn't matter to me if the falcons came after me or not.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the less I cared about what happened to me anymore. It had been a while since I had held such a strong death wish, but the feeling was building again. To hell with life. Maybe enough was enough. Or maybe I was coming to terms with my inability to deal with the ricin percolating in my real body back in Wendell's car.

Of course, the idea of suicide no longer had the allure it did back in those Florida days when I thought it meant relief from the burden of existence. Now I knew it just made for a change of scenery—continued existence in another form, in a potentially even less desirable place.

"Come! We go now! Call your Tigger."

Grudgingly, painfully, I dragged my butt off the sand.

I looked up at Tigger drifting in the wind. "Um, Tigger doesn't usually come when I call."

What the hell? I give it a shot, clapping my hands and whistling. "Here Tigger! Tigger-tigger-tigger!"

The dragonfly did not react one bit to my call. He just faced out to sea and bobbed in the wind, his membranes rippling in the air currents.

Ubaldo glanced over at me and did a double take. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward.

"What is that on your arm?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"The black."

I lifted my arm. Lobes of utter and absolute darkness were spreading slowly across the skin of my forearm. These were not stains, not transparencies, but voids as dark as the gaps between stars.

"Am I ... is this ... fading?"

"No. This is not a fade. It means you are dying. On the other side."

"Fuck!"

"You are not dead yet or you would be gone. But the transition is coming. You are becoming a shade."

"A shade? What the fuck's that? Where the hell do shades go?"

He shrugged. "Many places. Lethe. Avernus. And of course, the Deeps. Depending on the state of your soul."

Two of those names were news to me.

"These other places, are they better? I mean, better than the Deeps?"

"No. Avernus is not good. Lethe, at least you have some chance. Avernus, never. Avernus is doom."

"Oh, bloody hell."

Ubaldo's eyes suddenly swarmed with purpose. He shifted back and slapped his hand on the front of his saddle "Come now! Sit here. You ride with me on Sophia."

"But ... why bother?" I said, the defeatist in me taking full control of my psyche and abandoning what few shreds of ambition and hope I had left.

"We will take you up. High. Get you away from the core!"
Chapter 68: Above

While dragonflies have powerful flight muscles, evolution had supercharged the wings of wasps. It was the difference between a World War II fighter and an F-14. Sophia accelerated upward, generating G forces on our bodies worthy of a rocket launch. I felt myself slipping in the saddle. I clung so desperately to the saddle's loops that my fingers ached.

The air was frigid on my naked skin. Ice crystals stung as we hurtled through the frozen mists. Frost collected in my stubble.

Tigger gamely came alongside and tried to keep up, but he was a low altitude cruiser and Sophia kept soaring to heights no dragonfly could tolerate. Tigger fell back, dropping down to just below the few puffs of cloud that graced the sky.

The extreme altitude gave me a new appreciation for symmetry and beauty of the road systems and urban networks of Penult. Nestled in a broad valley among the hills was a sprawling metropolis worthy of Paris, Rome or Tokyo. Loomis was a mere hamlet by comparison. The larger city seemed relatively unscathed by our root quake.

Ubaldo had Sophia level off at an altitude that seemed to me like overkill. We must have been far above the height of the glaciers over Frelsi. My breathing quickened as each breath seemed barely adequate to oxygenate my body.

The blackness seeping through my limbs had not spread much since we left the beach. I took some solace in knowing that my death was not all that imminent. We had time. But that time was also a problem.

Sophia could only generate so much heat from her flight muscles. She would only hold out so long in these freezing temperatures before her cold-blooded organs began to fail. And even warm-blooded creatures like Ubaldo and I were at risk of hypothermia if we stayed up here too long, especially since neither of us had much left of our clothing by this point.

None of this seemed to bother Ubaldo.

"This is good," he said, smiling smugly. "I am certain the core does not reach us here."

"Baldo, it's freezing!"

"No worries. I can handle it."

"Listen. It ain't happening. Not any time soon, anyhow. Maybe we should go back down."

He wrinkled his brow. "But ... you have the black."

"I know, but ricin kills slowly, they tell me. Let's go down. A little bit, at least. For a little while? Warm up a bit?"

He shrugged. "I don't mind to wait. But ... okay."

He scraped his heels against Sophia's side and she dropped like a meteor, catching me off-guard and nearly leaving me behind as I had loosened my grip on the saddle loops.

We plunged to a level to just below the lowest layer of clouds where the temperature was much more moderate. My skittish dragonfly gladly joined us, tailing Sophia the way he had often done with Lalibela. If only Tigger could speak. He could tell us what had happened to Urszula and Lalibela.

There was a lot of activity in the sky now over what remained of Loomis. A large number of bulky and slow flying contraptions were landing and taking off from every flat and rubble-free space in the ruins. I couldn't tell if they bringing relief supplies or evacuating souls. Maybe both?

"How are you feeling now?" Ubaldo said, glancing over his shoulder. "You should check yourself again."

I held up my hand and it was the weirdest mosaic. I was a calico cat. Patches of normal skin were now interspersed with black blotches and transparencies. I was not only dying. I was dying and fading.

"Holy shit!"

"What's wrong? Is it happening? Should we go back up?"

Before I could answer him, I was whisked right out of his world.

***

I faded off right to the back seat of Wendell's Bentley. We were on the road again, weaving around tourist buses and Sunday drivers along the shore of Loch Ness. The strangest sense of déjà vu struck me queasy. This was the same road we had taken after my rescue from the basement of Edmund's church. I had been in bad shape then, as well, on the verge of death, but oodles better than how I felt now.

After a time, we turned away from the lake on a road that rose through a pass in the hills. I felt beyond horrible. There was a pain in the pit of my stomach and a nausea that no amount of dry heaving could relieve. Acid splinters jabbed at my every joint. My head throbbed harder than my worst hangover ever.

"He's back," whispered Jessica.

"Is he? Cool," said Wendell, peeking up into the rear view. "How's he doing?"

Jessica squirmed around in the front seat, her expression grave.

"Not so good."

"Yeah, well ricin will do that," said Wendell. "As quick as it's happening, looks like they weaponized it. Some kind of quick-release formulation. Hang on. We're almost there, kid."

"Guys. I was told this might be treatable." My voice was ragged. I practically coughed the words.

"Pfft. Who told you that?" said Wendell.

"My friend. Olivier. He said the toxin could be neutralized, the way we transform paper ... and wood ... stuff."

"That's different," said Wendell. "We're talking molecules here, kid. Individual molecules."

"I know, but ... could you ... do you think you could help me?"

Wendell swerved onto the shoulder and pulled up next to a clump of wind-sculpted fir trees. He loosened his shoulder belt and twisted around in the seat. Jess was already staring at me. She seemed stoic enough, but a stray tear had snuck out of her left eye and clung to her cheek.

"Kid. You're grasping for straws. Get over it."

"Why can't you help me?" I said, my voice cracking. "You're a master too."

Wendell's eyes lost their focus. He seemed to be searching something. His mind? His soul? The Singularity? When his gaze returned, so did a frown.

"Kid. This ricin stuff. No matter where they injected you. It's spread. If we had tried something right after, maybe there would be a chance. But by now it's all diffused."

I clamped my eyes and did some searching of my own. I took inventory of every weird twitch, pang and ache afflicting my body. I homed in on the specific areas being affected. I could feel how things worked, even at the cellular level. My self-awareness went far beyond any normal perceptions of my body functions, but as I had feared, my consciousness failed to gain on purchase on anything tangible. I might as well have been trying to tackle a greased pig with soapy hands.

And so, in desperation, I prayed. To no one and no thing in particular. I didn't expect an answer, but somehow my outreach found its way to a familiar place that I had come to realize is always within and around me, the countless mingled souls of the Singularity.

It was the first time I had ever made contact with it while awake and without the presence a tapped-in soul to serve as a medium and guide. It understood immediately what I needed, and endeavored in good faith to show me what I sought to learn.

It took no time at all to deliver a response. I tried to understand what it was telling me but the knowledge proved both cryptic and elusive. Like a crucial word hovering just beyond the edge of consciousness, on verge of retrieval, but never reaching my lips.

What Olivier had told me was true. The poison could be neutralized. And the Singularity knew exactly how to get it done. I could sense that it knew. It knew that I knew it knew and it was trying every way it could to convey the information to me. I could sense its frustration alongside my own. As we strained to understand each other, a dark cloud shoved its way into the transaction and I felt myself growing faint, losing touch with the Singularity, life, everything. Even the roots kept their distance.

***

When I woke, we were back on the road, with the lake shore still on our left. We had not gone very far. I had not been unconscious for very long.

"He's awake again," said Jess, kneeling in the passenger seat, her chin propped on the head rest.

Wendell looked up into the mirror again. "Hey man. Before you blink out again, I meant to ask you. How'd things go with the raid? Did you all make it ashore ... with that ... thing?"

"Yeah," I said, all breathy and subdued, my tone as neutral as if I were describing an episode of taking out the trash. "We took down a city ... maybe three."

"Three? Really? That's ... brilliant!"

"City?" said Jessica, confused.

"We took casualties. One of them ... was Urszula."

Wendell took a deep breath. "Well, that's a damned shame. That girl never liked me. For good reason. But I liked her. That girl had a lot of spunk. You have to admire that."

"What are you two talking about?"

Wendell glanced over at Jess. "Don't you worry about it, sweetie. This is not a place a nice girl like you will ever have to worry about. Though, who knows, you could be Penny material."

Jessica looked offended.

"I will have nothing whatsoever to do with those so-called Friends."

"Oh, I'm not talking about the Friends of Penult," said Wendell. "I'm talking about Penult. The Erelim and their minions. Nobody lives forever, sweetheart. No guarantee you end up where you're expecting unless you're one of those who manage to engineer something."

"From what I hear from James, this afterlife business is sounding awful sketchy to me," said Jessica. "At this point, if there's no chance at Heaven, I think I'd rather my soul just vanish into nothingness."

"Wouldn't we all," said Wendell, snickering.

"Do you think there is a Heaven?" she asked.

"Not for souls as imperfect and damaged as ours. Hate to break it to you, sweetheart."

"Eh. I knew it was a long shot. So where do you think James will end up this time?"

"Depends," said Wendell. "You're not up near any glaciers, are you James?"

"No. But ... I was flying."

"Flying?"

"Yeah. On the back of a wasp."

"How high?"

"Well, we were pretty high at one point. But I made Ubaldo come back down. Below cloud level."

"And then you faded? While you were up in the air?"

"Yeah."

"You're fucked."

"Excuse me?"

"What do you think's gonna happen when you go back."

My head was too foggy to think straight. "I don't know. What?"

"What's wrong?" said Jessica.

"He's got no chance. He's gonna get sucked into one of the lower realms."

"Like H-hell?"

Wendell frowned. "Well, not exactly. I mean, there's no one place that's Hell per se, but there's all manner of realms that qualify, from what I hear. Hot ones. Cold ones. Dark ones. Empty ones."

Jessica buried her face in the headrest. I stretched out my arm and touched her shoulder.

"Hey Jess. It's cool. I've already been to one and come back. I can handle ... whatever comes my way."

"It's just ... such a waste. So unfair. You don't deserve to die. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I interfered. I got in the way of what the big shots wanted done. It was inevitable."

"Well, aren't I an accessory then, too? I mean ... I helped you. Why aren't they coming after me?"

"They don't care what anyone does on this side. That's not their business."

"It's just ... so unfair."

Her tears began to dribble. I intended to say something reassuring but a wave of nausea rose through my innards and forced me to clam up. But I locked eyes with Jessica and showed her that I wasn't worried one bit about what was coming. And it worked. Her face firmed up and her tears went dry.

Everything was going to be okay. I really did feel that. It helped knowing from experience that nothing in this universe was permanent, or irreversible.

***

The road Wendell took veered from the Loch, following a river valley into the village of Drumnadrochit. Where the A82 took a sharp right to cross a bridge and resume its traverse of the Loch shore, Wendell went straight, keeping to the river and a wide valley of alternating wood lots and fields.

I could barely keep my eyes open, but I forced myself to stay alert. Everything was so pretty here. So green, all of it. If this was the last place I ever saw of this earth, it was not a bad image to take away. It would have been a wonderful choice, had it been a choice.

We came to an area with plowed fields alternating with meadows framed by strips of forest. Wendell pulled into a dirt track lined with lupines and daisies. He used no GPS but he seemed to know exactly where to turn. How long had he known of Izzie's whereabouts?

The track took us a little farm house with wide clapboards and outbuildings made of stone, with roofs of cedar shake. The front walk was lined with rose bushes and holly.

Wendell stopped the car behind a weathered and rusted Fiat. A stout, older woman with frizzy white hair tied back in a green bandanna emerged from behind a trellis holding a pair of hedge clippers. She looked puzzled to see us, as if she were not used to receiving visitors riding gleaming vintage Bentley Arnages.

"Can I help you? Are you lost?"

Wendell said nothing. He just sat there with his elbow propped on the open window. He deferred to Jessica, who stepped out of the car and offered her hand to the woman. I remained slumped in the back seat, struggling to stay upright. At this rate, with my head all muddled and the discomfort building in my body, I was almost ready to give up and leave this world.

"Hello," said Jessica. "How do you do? We are ... well some of us, happen to be friends of Isobel's. We heard she might be staying with you?"

The woman's quizzical smile disappeared, replaced by a steely glare. She clutched the shears to her bosom and stepped back. "You're not from that so-called church? You're not Sedevacantists, are you?"

"Oh no, ma'am. Not at all. My name is Jessica. Isobel stayed with us for a time in Wales."

The woman's eyes popped wide.

"The goat farm! You're from the goat farm!"

"Jess!" A door slammed and Isobel dashed off the porch and down the flagstones of the walk. She barreled into Jessica, hugging her tightly. When she looked up she spotted me in the back seat.

"James?"

She peeled away from Jessica and came over to the window. I smiled gamely but weakly.

"You look horrible! What happened?"

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Partly, I didn't know what to say and partly my throat wouldn't cooperate.

"He's having a bad day," said Wendell. "To put it mildly."

"Is he okay?"

"Um, no," said Jessica.

"But ... how did you guys find me?"

"I promised not to tell," said Jessica.

"Gwen. It was her. Had to be. She was the only one I told. Well, it's so wonderful to see you! I felt so bad about how I left things. I meant to stay in touch, I really did. But I was afraid I'd be followed. Things got weird in Cardiff. I had to leave in a rush. And Mrs. Ambrose, she had taken me in after Karla died. So I went back. I feel so safe here."

She kept looking over at me, her eyes growing worried. I wanted to say something to reassure her, but the spasms in my throat prevented me.

"Shouldn't he be seeing a doctor or something?"

"Oh, don't trouble your little head," said Wendell. "We've been over this. No worries, hon. We have it covered."

I stayed in the back seat, unable to roust myself from the car. Isobel looked far more mature than the last time I had seen her. This was no kid anymore. She was a young woman, at least as tall as Karla, if not taller.

"Your sister ... she's ... alive," said Jessica. "I'm not sure if you knew that."

Isobel looked stunned. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"Because ... it's true. James. He brought her back."

"That's impossible. You saw her. She was dead. There was a funeral. They buried her body."

Wendell grinned. "You should know better for someone who's been visited by roots. Things involving souls and bodies aren't as cut and dry as they look."

Isobel ripped open the car door and stared at me. "James? Is it really true? About Karla?" She still looked more doubtful than hopeful.

"Yeah," I said. "I had help, but yeah. She's alive."

As the truth took hold she grew excited. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," I said, hoarsely. "Far as I can tell. Last time I saw her."

"But you're not well. No, not at all. Obviously."

"No, he is not," said Jessica. "He's not long for this world. He's been poisoned."

Isobel looked horrified.

"Then why did you bring him here? Get him to a hospital right away!"

"I urged the same," said Jessica. "These gentlemen assure me that it's of no use. There's no antidote for what he's been given."

"But why not?" Isobel began to sob.

The tightness in my throat eased a bit, allowing me to speak more freely for the time being.

"It's just the war, Izzie. The other side, they wanted me gone from here. Though, I don't know why they think that will stop me. But ... your sister's fine. She was down in Cardiff. Living on the street, I guess. Looking for you." I paused for breath, and could not seem to fit enough air into my lungs. "She's in the Lim a lot. I'll try to get word back to her if I can. You just stay put for now. Be easier for her to find you. At least you have an address."

"Are you sure you don't want us to fetch you a doctor?"

"It's no good, Iz. This is it for me."

"Well, that's ... terrible." Her voice cracked.

"Preposterous is what it is," said Mrs. Ambrose. "What could you have possibly become poisoned with that would not be reversible?"

"Ricin," said Wendell, flatly.

That momentarily rendered Mrs. Ambrose speechless. She looked stunned, but quickly regathered her senses. "Well, we can't just leave him lying in the car. Let's at least get him into a bed."

"Nah," I said, panting. "Just sit me down in the grass. You don't want a strange man dying in your bed."

"For goodness sakes, why not? Mr. Ambrose certainly didn't think twice about doing so."

Jess and Izzie helped me out of the back seat.

"Okay guys, so ... uh ... I guess I'm gonna get going," said Wendell. "Gotta catch a flight back to the States. Looks like business might be starting up again."

"What about our ride?" said Jessica.

"I'll get you wherever you need to go," said Mrs. Ambrose. "I suggest we let this gentleman leave." She muttered under her breath. "The sooner the better."

"Cool, and ... uh ... thanks again, James. For your service. Isn't that what they always say to service folks?"

Wendell winked and put his car back in gear, executing a three point turn, in the process, crushing a rose bush and squashing a bed of mint on the fringe of Mrs. Ambrose's herb garden.

"Who is that man?" Mrs. Ambrose asked as the Bentley tore away down the packed clay of the drive.

"No one you would ever want to meet again," said Jessica. "Trust me."

***

Jessica and Izzie braced me and brought me in the house and tucked me into a soft bed. Mrs. Ambrose came bustling after them with a glass of ginger ale and some biscuits.

My insides were cramping. I had no appetite, only pain, but I managed to sip some of the ginger ale and keep it down. I could move around a bit but got really dizzy if I stood up too fast. And I had a horrible case of the runs that kept forcing me to leave the bed. I refused to soil my clothes. The Pennies might be taking my life but I was determined to die with dignity.

My eyelids were getting heavy but I couldn't stop staring out the window at the knobby hilltops behind the farms, all heath and granite and wisps of cloud. If this was going to be my last glimpse of the planet of my birth, at least I had been blessed with a divine setting for my demise.

The ladies took turns sitting with me. Izzie could not stop squeezing my hand and crying. There were constant murmurs in the hallway as they argued over how best to handle my situation. Jessica managed to convince Mrs. Ambrose that staying mum and not involving any health professionals or law enforcement was the most prudent course of action. I didn't really care what they did with me once I was gone. That was their problem.

37 Sraid-Na-Firrin, Drumnadrochit, Scotland. That was the address on a letter to Mrs. Ambrose that I found on the night stand. That was where Karla would find her sister. Now that I had gathered the last bit of information I would ever need from this world, it was time for me to go. The roots wasted no time.
Chapter 69: Falling

I had no death wish. I didn't want to die. This wasn't suicide, it was murder. But with no trace of hope left to bind me to the living world, I knew that crossing over to the Liminality was a done deal.

One would think some other realm might claim my soul. But feeling serious enough about killing oneself to earn a visit to Root also seemed to condemn one's soul to the Lim forever, or at least until some realm one rung lower in the hierarchy came calling. Dying in the Lim, for example, sent your soul straight to the Deeps. The realms were nested that way. And each soul had a unique pathway to damnation or salvation. My road only seemed to lead down.

So it was the Lim for me for now, even though I was not quite dead yet. But for all intents and purposes my living was finished. I had zero hope of recovery. No chance for survival. There was nothing left for me to do but hunker down and die.

The roots needed no coaxing. They were already waiting in the wings, ready to shuttle me along.

I had a hunch that something would be different about this particular transition. I expected revelations. Memories and life scenes flashing by. Bright lights. Flourishes. Something, anything befitting this special occasion. There was nothing like free falling through the clouds to remind me what I should have been worrying about.

I had faded from the saddle of a wasp that was no longer anywhere near the patch of sky it had previously occupied. Creatures of habit, these roots always bring me back to the exact same spot from which I had vanished, even if that location happened to be thousands of feet above the waves.

I knew this wasn't a good thing. A fall from such a height was not survivable in any realm, no matter how straight I held my back and pointed my toes. Water, contrary to popular belief, was not soft, particularly not at terminal velocity. The Deeps beckoned.

As I clenched my teeth and girded myself for the snap and crush of bone, a whirring sound grew and a hulking figure appeared alongside me, matching its dive to the speed of my fall. Striped wings. Tigger! I could hardly believe my eyes.

I reached out my hand to him, but the airstream grabbed it and made me tumble out of control. Tigger adjusted his dive and caught up with me, nudging his back up against my side. All I had to do was close my hand and I was gripping the inch thick bristles sprouting from his carapace. I reached for the saddle with me free hand and latched onto a loop.

With the waves looming close, Tigger pulled out of his dive. But he was gentle about it. An abrupt change of course would have ripped me away. But he managed to flatten our angle of descent gradually to give me a chance to settle into the saddle. Soon, we were skimming the wave tops and regaining a bit of altitude.

Back in the saddle and strapped in, I finally had a chance to catch my breath and get my bearings. Penult was behind us now. A lone falcon patrolled the beach we had left. There was no sign of Ubaldo and his wasp, no trace of Mikal or Urszula.

My hand! It was almost entirely black now and the blackness was spreading up my arm. It moved slowly, like spilled molasses, but inexorably.

"Tigger, we need to climb!"

As if words could express my will to this bug. I banged my heels against his side and patted the armored plates behind his head. Tigger didn't respond immediately but I kept on slapping and then suddenly he tilted upward and began rising back towards the clouds.

"That's it! You got it buddy! Keep it up. Keep on climbing."

We punched through the low-level clouds and kept rising. This time I greeted the chill with relief. I was dying for sure now. The end had never been nearer and the higher we got, the better would be my chances of keeping my soul free of the Core's influence. No one had ever explained to me how the Core worked, but there was no questioning its power. In some ways it was like gravity, though its range was more limited.

I worried that Tigger, being a mere dragonfly, could not carry me high enough out of its influence. But he surprised the heck out of me. We were already just below the stratum of icy cirrus that Ubaldo and Sophia had taken me before the last fade—wispy things that roamed the sky like lost and lonely ghosts.

Tigger's wing beats began to stutter and syncopate. His flight muscles were cooling. With each falter, the dragonfly lost a bit of elevation.

"Hang on, guy. Just a little longer."

Something ripped in my mind. I shuddered, not only from the cold but from the disturbance in my soul. A partition slid from my consciousness and I found myself inhabiting two worlds. Tigger and I swept through icy clouds while I lay swaddled beneath the thick covers of the bed in Mrs. Ambrose's guest room. The sensations and infirmities of both worlds converged on one body.

It was not natural to be in two places at once. I only had one soul. One will. Hence, my soul oscillated back and forth. I could not fix my location at first, but my will prevailed to drag most of me back to Scotland. This was not a fade. This was something different. Part of me remained back in the Liminality with Tigger.

Back in Scotland I was weak and barely conscious. An intense queasiness gripped me, but I had long since puked out all there was to puke.

Isobel, Jess and Mrs. Ambrose hovered around the bed. I could barely keep my eyes open, so I kept them shut. Someone daubed at my brow with a warm wash cloth.

Jess placed her fingers against my throat to check my pulse.

"We're losing him."

Mrs. Ambrose leaned in close, her lips trembling. "James. Can you hear me? Are you still with us?"

I nodded.

"Tell me, who should we notify? When you pass?"

I took a long, deep breath.

"Nobody," I gasped.

"Don't you have some next of kin?"

"No. There's ... nobody."

"But what should we do with ... your remains?"

"I don't know. Bury me someplace nice. So if people visit, it's a nice place to be. Find a willow tree. I like ... willows."

Jessica started to snuffle and sob. Izzie remained fierce and calm. Mrs. Ambrose kept calm. She had faced more death than any of us. She was closer to it herself than anyone in the room but me.

"How are you feeling, son?" said Mrs. Ambrose. "Any pain?"

My soul began to drain away into the Lim, slowly, like a pinhole in a bike tire.

"I'm not ... here."

"Say what?"

A pressure built in my skull. It felt like giant fingers prodding and prying, trying to gain leverage against my soul. And then it happened. My head began to spin, like bathwater spiraling around a drain. The wind vanished. The chill vanished. All went black.

The end came to me as if like someone had spun a dimmer switch on my consciousness, dialing my senses down to zero. I felt, saw, sensed nothing. I had no attachment to anything physical. All that remained was my consciousness. I had given up the ghost.

No bright lights beckoned to me. If there was a tunnel, that dark remained dark. It was like walking into through pitch-black basement, feeling my way along, not knowing what spider webs or trip hazards stood in my path.

This was not the Singularity. I had no awareness of any other consciousness but my own. I was just a bundle of thoughts and memories with no vessel to contain them. And just as I thought they would all blow apart and vanish, the wind came blasting through my hair and I heard the deep thrum of a dragonfly's wings as we skimmed the underside of a thick bank of clouds.

I wasn't sure if we had been high enough away from the Core, but if I was here and not in the Deeps, it must have worked. I had my skin again, and it was unblemished. The scar on my palm when a glass broke and I gashed myself washing dishes? Gone. The crooked knuckle that developed after I broke a finger falling off a skateboard. Straight. My soul was free and I felt great, flush with energy and vitality and alertness I had rarely felt in actual life.

No question about it, I was now a Freesoul. But it also meant I was dead. That realization made my stomach sink. Any fleeting sense of exhilaration over my restored body pretty much evaporated. Needless to say, my feelings were decidedly mixed about the whole deal.

***

Tigger descended leisurely to a much balmier altitude. Once he thawed out a bit, his wings began to purr again. He regained his groove as we cruised over the silvery sea.

I slumped forward in the saddle and laid my head down on the cushy padding, grateful despite Urszula's mockery that I had chosen this 'fat man's saddle' built for comfort. I proceeded to spend the next few hours mourning myself.

It's not easy being dead, no matter how alive you feel and how conscious you remain. The door out of life is a pretty heavy door to get slammed on you.

Yeah, I knew from experience that it was theoretically possible to pry it open from time to time, but Karla's resurrection had been a freak occurrence, driven more by the Horus than anything I did. I'm not sure it was anything I would want to repeat—exposing myself to a destroyer of souls for the off chance of walking the planet of my birth again.

Urszula's resurrection had been way more curious and less dramatic. She had simply piggy-backed onto my fade, a much less risky endeavor. Could any Hemisoul fading back do the same to any Duster? Considering that Dusters were essentially a special category of Freesoul who had escaped the Deeps, could I have done the same for any Freesoul? More importantly from my perspective, could any Hemisoul do the same for me? I hoped it didn't have anything to do with my being 'special.'

For the time being, I would have to resign myself to remaining dead. One the bright side, it just meant access to one less realm than before. And from what they tell me, there are scores of realms in the afterlife and though parts of it were quite nice, the Liminality was not even in the top tier. But the realm I had just lost access to was the one I knew best. Losing it stung real bad.

***

A change in the wind brought a resinous note to the air. Trees! I lifted my head off the saddle to find an unfamiliar shore before me, with golden sands and sinuous, wave-sculpted sandstone ledges.

There were boats on the beach, and a scattering of Pennies surrounding them. No Cherubim. These guys seemed mostly upper management—Hashmallim and a few Seraphim from the looks of their garb. And they seemed to be loading these boats, not disembarking. Where the heck were the Cherubim?

A lone falcon patrolled overhead but it came nowhere near us. Good thing, because Tigger was oblivious. He acted like he owned the sky. I would have preferred that he detour a little farther away from this beachhead, but he had his compound eyes riveted on a swarm of giant gnats buzzing over a lagoon. He dove abruptly and ripped through the swarm snatching two victims on the wing.

I had no idea where we were. The trees here were taller and denser than the place our raiding party had bivouacked. And there were many more ponds and creeks. This was all new territory for me.

I put my trust in Tigger's sense of direction, however unwise that might be. How much could this bug know? He had only hatched out a few weeks ago? But he sure acted like he knew where he was going, so I let him do his thing. Not that I could ever get this stubborn creature to listen to me, anyhow, even if I knew where to go.

It was not as if I was in a hurry to get anywhere. I Being dead is sort of like being unemployed with no prospects of ever finding a job. You just went with the flow.

Gripping the struggling gnats in his forelegs, Tigger chomped on them as he cruised. Leg parts and head capsules went tumbling into the canopy as he snacked. I was feeling hungry myself but there was nothing in the saddlebags but a few crumbs of manna, which were mushy and stale. I nibbled them anyway.

***

We had cruised for hours when a dark object just above the horizon suddenly altered its course to intercept us. I reached for a sword I no longer possessed.

As it loomed ever closer I realized I was looking at a bee. It flew alongside us and offered me a glistening gold glob of nectar, which I promptly managed to smear all over my face and chest. It kept regurgitating more and more until I had all I could stomach had to shove the poor creature away.

It then proceeded to offer some to Tigger. I never even knew that dragonflies could or would take nectar. I mean, when was the last time you saw one suck on a flower? They don't even have the right mouthparts. I guess it's different when you have another bug regurgitating globs of the sweet stuff for you.

The nectar calmed me. If I didn't know better, I would say it contained something narcotic or at least analgesic. I was feeling more comfortable and less anxious than I had in a long time. At ease in my new skin. At peace with the universe.

***

I was just telling myself that the appearance of the bee might be a good sign that we were on the right track when a strangely familiar range of hills appeared in the distance. As we flew closer I could confirm that these steep-walled hills were arranged in a ring surrounding a group of weedy and reed-congested lakes. We had reached the bog lands!

Suddenly self-conscious about my nakedness, I smoothed my sticky hair and fussed with the few bits of clothing I had left. But I'm sure these folks were used to stranger sights.

The main village had been rebuilt since the attack and some new communities had sprouted up both on shore and amongst the giant lily pads. Thanks to an influx of refugees, the pads and platforms crisscrossing the bog swarmed with many more people than I had seen on my previous visits.

We landed hard on a large and vacant pad smack in the middle of the main settlement. Two guys just stood there gawking at us from the edge of the pad. I had to keep my hands over my groin, which made for some awkwardness climbing down. One guy, sensing my embarrassment, came over and handed me a strip of cloth that had been draped over his shoulder like a towel. I wrapped it around my middle. It made for an awful short kilt, but it was better than nothing.

Ubaldo and Viktor ducked out of a nearby hut and came bounding over to greet me. I was glad to see some familiar faces. For a guy who hardly ever smiled, Ubaldo was wearing a pretty wide grin.

"How did you do this?" said Ubaldo. "Did you fall into the ocean? I'm sorry. I could not stay."

"Don't worry. It's fine. Tigger caught me in mid-air."

"He stayed for you?"

"I guess so."

"And did it work? Are you free?"

"I suppose so. I got him to bring me up high. The poor bugger almost froze his tail off. But he brought me there. And so here I am. Free ... at last."

"That is awesome!" said Viktor. "No more fading away for you anymore."

"Nope," I said, though I was feeling so awesome about the deal.

"How's Olivier?"

Ubaldo shrugged. "Fine. He will keep his limbs ... this time."

"And Karla?"

As soon as I said her name, I spotted her, watching me from the edge of a giant lily, acting circumspect and shy.

"Hi," I said, bearing no grudges. I wasn't looking for any drama here. I just wanted to tell her about her sister. "C'mere."

She approached me cautiously. There was something weird going on in her eyes. I could never read people that well, but it looked like her confidence had been knocked down a peg or two and she even have been a little afraid with just a smattering of hope.

"Izzie's in Drumnadrochit. She's looking good."

"You saw her?"

"Yeah. In Drumnadrochit. I already forgot the address. But she's just up the road from the Loch. Staying with a lady named Mrs. Ambrose."

"You saw Izzy? My sister? And she's alive?"

"I told you they had found her. We went to see her. And then ... I kinda went and died."

Karla winced.

"James. I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to go on your own. I always imagined we would do it together."

"Yeah, well. Too late for that. Drumnadrochit. That's where you'll find her. She promised to stay put till you get there."

"But ... I should stay here for you. You just got here. We have lots to talk about."

"I have nothing to say. Go. See your sister."

"But we need to talk."

"We don't need to do anything. Go!"

And it was almost as if I had the power to flip a switch and make her fade. Her skin was already getting blotchy. Maybe she couldn't hold back her excitement about seeing Izzie alive, or maybe my will just wanted her out of my face as soon as possible. But she was gone without ever a hug or a goodbye kiss or even a goodbye. She was just gone, leaving nothing behind but a beaded necklace a scarf and a plain shift, all collapsing in a little heap before me.

I turned to Ubaldo. "So what's the deal? Is there still fighting? I saw a bunch of Pennies loading up their boats."

"They are leaving," said Viktor. "Abandoning every position they had held."

"What the fuck?"

"It is not just our doing," said Ubaldo. "The Old Ones, all of them, have awoken. They still hold New Axum. The enemy forces there, they were defeated."

"But I thought they were getting overrun?"

"They were," said Viktor. "But they turned the tables. They brought every old soul on that mountain out of their long sleep. And there were many more than we ever knew buried in the overgrowth of the lower terrace. Vicious fighters. They never give up, those Old Ones."

"So what happened?"

"They ... prevailed."

***

I went to see Olivier who was under the care of a top notch Frelsian flesh weaver. The guy had apparently had a lot of work done on himself as he had the abs and shoulders of an Olympic athlete/male supermodel. Olivier had not let him touch his knobby face or balding head, but he had no problems allowing the healer to reattach his nearly severed leg.

Olivier's eyes brightened when he saw me. He was under orders not to walk but he lurched to his feet anyway to give me a hug.

"Urszula? Mikal?"

"They never came back," I said, looking down.

"Oh, that's a damned shame. But, did you hear the news? We did it! Chased those fuckers right off the farm."

"They'll be back," said Ubaldo, sneaking in behind me.

"Yeah, maybe. But at least we've got time now to get ready for the next invasion. With Zhang gone, we've got a chance to do things up right."

"What happened to Zhang?" I said.

"They tell me he disappeared when the Pennies overran New Axum. He was negotiating for a surrender that never happened. My guess is, they took him as a hostage."

"The Pennies can keep him," said Ubaldo.

"Yeah. That's a pretty popular sentiment, from what I hear."

"So who's leading the Frelsians?"

"Frelsians? There are no Frelsians. That doesn't mean anything anymore. We're all just ... people."

"So are people gonna head back to New Axum?"

"What for?" said Olivier. "The war's over. Folks can go wherever the hell they want. Make new settlements. It's a whole new world."

"You think Luther will come back up top?"

"Who cares?" said Olivier. "I'm gonna find myself a nice hilltop with a good view and a trout stream. Weave myself a nice little villa. With all these roots exposed it's gonna be real easy to rebuild stuff. We've got to work fast, though. I hear the exposed parts are already repairing themselves, turning back into stone."

"Where will you go?" Ubaldo asked me.

"Who me? I don't know. Maybe go hang out in that little hollow in the foothills, if it's still there."

"I hope you can stick around a while. We've got some planning to do. Word is, Ubaldo and I have been tagged to work on creating a little defense force. I'm hoping you can help out."

"Sure. Why not? It's not like I'm in any hurry to go anywhere."

"We'll start meeting as soon as this Nazi clears me for walking. I tell you he does some slick work, but he's a bit too anal retentive for my taste."

"Deal," I said, my eyes drifting to the ring of hills, drawn to any speck in the sky that might pass for a young woman on a dragonfly.

***

I asked if there was a place I could stay and maybe take a nap. Ubaldo had a young Duster lead me to a vacant cabin with a thatched roof that looked suspiciously like one of Bern and Lille's places. It had two tidy little beds along the wall, a small table set with tea cups and saucers for three.

"Who lived here?"

The Duster shrugged. "I don't know. Some Hemisoul refugees."

"Do you know their names?"

"No."

"What happened to them?"

"Who knows? People move around a lot."

He left me with a flask of nectar and some cakes made of yellow pollen. I nibbled a few chunks, which tasted kind like chalk and laid down on one of the beds, letting the thousands of thoughts and emotions and experiences of the past few weeks wash over me. I had a lot of sorting out to do, and what better way than to sleep?

My nerves were so jangled that it took some time for sleep to claim me. I did eventually enter a deep slumber marked by ordinary dreams intermingled with bouts of cruising consciously in the Singularity. The difference between I could tell the difference because the latter always was an intensely social experience. One is never alone in the Singularity.

As I lay there drifting between dream states, I became aware of a man and woman bickering over what to make for dinner. This was not part of a dream. These two of my dearest and very real Hemisoul friends in their own imperfect flesh.

"Not hot cakes again," said Bern. "This is a special occasion. We have a guest. Why not make something out of roots?"

"I don't have to remind to you that our supply of roots is dwindling, Bern. There just aren't many sources around here. There is plenty back in the valleys where the quakes hit, but if you insist on here staying in the bogs, we'll just have to get used to subsisting on the local produce ... and so will our guests."

"It's just that ... hot cakes made of that swamp grit, whatever it is, they taste like warmed up dish rags. Can't we have something for a change that doesn't make my mouth feel like it's packed with mud?"

My eyelids lifted and I could see them both sitting at the little table right across from my bed.

Lille touched Bern's arm. "He's awake."

They both turned to me, eyes warm and welcoming.

"Oh so sorry, James. Were we speaking too loudly?"

"No. It's cool. I should probably get up."

"Did you have a nice nap?"

"Yeah. It was kind of weird ... but nice. Nice to wake up to you all. I thought this had to be your place."

"Welcome to rustic cabin version nine point one. But don't get used to it. Lille is lobbying for an upgrade already."

"I just want to get out of this bog before the mosquitoes show up."

"Mosquitoes? What the fuck?"

"Rumors, James, just rumors. How could a mosquito survive in a place with no host large enough to feed on? It is simply not possible."

"I want to go back to the plains," said Lille.

"What plains? There is nothing flat about them now. If you want to call them something, call them badlands."

"I want to go back to the badlands. Or anywhere far away from this dreadful swamp."

"It's not that bad."

"Oh no? Then why am I seasick every windy day?"

"It's all in your mind. These pads are rooted and stable."

"I'm going back, I decided."

"Oh? Back where?"

"To my hollow. Last I saw it, it was pretty much intact."

"We're coming with you," said Lille.

"You're more than welcome," I said. "It'd be nice having you two as neighbors."

Lille bore a grave expression.

"James. Is it true? You are now a Freesoul?"

"Yup. That seems to be the case."

"How does that make you feel?"

To answer them truthfully would have required many more words and much more soul searching than I was willing to invest at the moment.

"I'm okay with it, I guess. I mean, it is what it is."

"We'll be joining you soon, lad. Now that the hostilities have ended."

"You're both ... still Hemisouls?"

"Yes, but arrangements are underway. We've decided to take the plunge. Lille's not going to be able to stay in that coma forever. And my own health back in the prison isn't what it used to be."

"How did you guys get here?"

"It wasn't easy," said Bern. "Another hard, long slog. When they gave the final order to evacuate New Axum we were with one of the first groups out by ground. The Pennies were about to breach the upper terrace and Master Zhang was still negotiating surrender terms. It had looked like they were going to give no quarter so many thought it prudent to leave."

"We were halfway to the bogs when we got word that the final assault had commenced. The talks had failed and the Pennies planned to take it all. But the Old Ones took issue with that. They emptied their crypts of Long Sleepers, staged a massive defense, drove the Pennies off the mountain, harried them deep into the valleys."

I sat up in bed and adjusted my sarong-like wrap.

"Hah! And Olivier thought it was all our little root quake that sent them running."

"Root quake?"

"Yeah. Didn't you hear?"

"We heard a few of you went on a little excursion to Penult, but...."

Little excursion? Was that how they saw our expedition? I smiled but kept my mouth shut. Let the Old Ones have the bulk of the credit. It was probably well deserved."

"Well anyhow, the land is full of abandoned Cherubim. They've ceased all fighting. They just seem to be wandering like cows, grazing on anything remotely edible. Some, I hear just stand around, withering away with no one to tell them when or how to eat.

"Too bad there isn't a way to get their souls back. I wonder if they would be on our side considering all that was done to them?"

"I say let them stay brainless," said Bern. We have enough to worry about here."

"But they're people, Bern. Human like us. I'm sure many of them are decent folks, they just haven't had possession of their own free will."

"All the same, I wish they would just go away."

Lille shared a knowing glance with me. "Bern doesn't like nuance or complexity. Unfortunately, that's not how the universe works."

"I just want to have a nice cabin in a place where we can stay put for a change. I'm tired of being on the run."

"One more move, Bernard, and I promise you, you'll have your final resting place. Next time, come hell or high water, we can stay."

Bern sighed. "If only I could believe that. Now let's haul out our root stocks. This boy deserves something with bacon. We're not actually going to feed him cat-tail pollen, are we?"

"Tea, James? We've been using the real stuff. Actual herbs, harvested from the hills and moors around the bog. I have to say, that part I've actually been enjoying about this place, even if the food gives Bern the grumbles."

She poured me a cup. One sip and it tasted like a summer evening in Ohio with honeysuckle on the wind, the grass freshly mown and mom slicing a watermelon on the deck. It was just like home in a cup.

***

And so we moved. I arranged transport for the two of them by robber fly and I managed to get Tigger to land next to me long enough to fix a saddle on his back. Imagine that?

The pitted plains were becoming pitted again. Luther and his minions had clearly been hard at work, sealing rifts, corralling Reapers below ground and putting the first touches on the surface habitations that I'm sure would eventually become the next iteration of Luthersburg, at least as grandiose as every iteration that came before it.

My friends went to work immediately, just outside my hollow building yet another iteration of their favored cabin/cottage, this time including a root cellar as well as a small wing containing a guest bedroom. I helped them with the weaving, but Lille was very painstaking about the details and we had to let her do the final textures and such.

In these heights of the dry season, I needed no roof and slept many nights out in the open along the banks of my little pond in the hollow. The land here, in many places, had already healed itself. Yes, the plains were much more rumpled than they had been with the collapse of so many sinkholes, but it was taking on more and more of a natural look as time went on, and even the mountains were looking more like mountains and less like slag heaps with each passing day.

There wasn't enough left of Frelsi or the mesas to restore, so a new settlement was established in a deep and verdant valley tucked among the least ravaged hills. Much to his surprise and chagrin, Ubaldo was elected unified leader of this community, his popularity no doubt influenced by our exploits in Penult. Reznak came to speak for the Dusters in the coalition while a quiet woman named Jill became the primary advocate for surface dwellers who had never gone through the Deeps. Nobody called themselves a Frelsian anymore. Hemisoul. Freesoul. None of that mattered. We were all just 'Surfies' now.

Olivier had retreated back underground to hang with his old friend Luther and serve as our emissary to the underworld, which once again began to provide a steady flow of recruits for the surface communities.

Urszula and Mikal never returned from Penult. Ubaldo thinks they were taken prisoner. Olivier doesn't think they would be executed, just turned into curiosities in some Lord's menagerie, used for entertainment and propaganda to sate and sway the masses languishing in that semi-pseudo-Heaven of theirs.

I'm pretty damned sure that Urszula would rather be sent off to the Deeps or worse than subject herself to that kind of indignity. I'm also pretty sure that if there was any possibility of breaking out and getting back to the mainland, she would figure out a way. I pitied the poor Hashmallim who had the task of keeping her confined.

So far Karla hasn't come by since she faded. Either she's so damned happy about being re-united with her sister that the roots don't dare touch her, or she's keeping her distance from me on purpose.

Whatever I feel happy for her. I really do. I don't blame her for what she did. She thought getting free would be the best for the both of us. Turns out she didn't know me very well. Not as well as I understood her.

I only wished I could be by her side when she went up the drive of Mrs. Ambrose's place and Izzie came dashing past the rose bushes and into her sister's arms. They probably had a lot of catching up to do.

She would make it back here someday. Happiness is always ephemeral in the real world, especially for dour and pessimistic souls like us. The powers-that-be in this universe find us expendable. That's why they attempt to terminate our lives prematurely and stash us deep in the pods of Root for the Reapers to harvest and dispose of our souls.

And when she came back, Karla knew where to find me. A place untouched by war and root quake. A place that had never failed to provide solace and sanctuary whenever I needed it most.

***

Across the pond, a willow dances for me, branches twisting and swaying despite the absence of any breeze. The water's stillness and sterility annoy me. Surface un-creased, depths devoid of fish or worms or even plankton, it may as well have been a pool of mercury.

I toss a pebble. Ripples expand and rebound off the shore, distorting the mirrored sky, cloudless yet grey. I toss another stone before the ripples can fade.

On a throne carved into the muddy bank, I wait, hopeful and calm, stable at my core. How much I've changed in the few years I've been coming here, as if all the neurons in my brain have been ripped apart and reconfigured. I'm only twenty-one, but I feel incredibly ancient.

A familiar shape appears in the air high over the plains—a dragonfly and rider coming my way. One wing tip is truncated, another tattered, old patches flapping as it corkscrews through the sky like an unbalanced arrow, the damaged wing dipping low. Clearly, this was Lalibela and Urszula!

I rise, befuddled, questioning my eyes. My all but vanquished hopes rally to flood me with relief. No more grieving.

I clap my hands and whistle for my bug. Tigger erupts from the ledge where he had been sunning himself. Wings pumping, he rockets right over me and keeps on going, heading for the open spaces of the remodeled plains, off to intercept the intruders like he always does. And always without me, of course. Why should this time be any different?

So I leap from my throne of mud and sprint towards the gap in the hollow, bare feet pounding the gravel. I make for the open lands where she can spot me more easily, my heart bounding, bursting with incredulity and joy.

*****

THE END

The Liminality, Book Five:

Loom

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