 
Loom

A. Sparrow

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 by A. Sparrow, All Rights Reserved

In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. – John 14:2

Where I go, you cannot follow Me now; but you shall follow later. – John 13:36

Prologue: The Panel

Urszula's fingernails scraped against the hard, slick wall of her cell as she slid like slime in a bucket to the drain hole at the center of the sloping floor. There would be no sitting or leaning or finding any comfortable position in this friction-less space.

Roots had just retrieved her from her latest foray in the living world, extracting her from a choice sleeping nook under a bridge in the middle of Czechoslovakia. Transport. Food. Comfort. All the elements that made up a good day had come together. It had been the kind of day that usually precluded their visitations.

She had made fifty kilometers on the back of a flatbed truck hauling tractors, sequestered under loose plastic. She had food—a box of crackers and a jar of herring shoplifted from a supermarket in Ostrava. And it had not rained. The first time in three days her clothes stayed dry.

Why the roots? Because her inner climates did not always match the external. Moods swept in like thunderstorms, drenching her with downpours of futility, flashes of despair. No matter how fleeting these dips in confidence could be, the roots were quick to pounce and drag her off to her other reality.

The bright and shiny cell made her feel like a white mouse in a cancer lab, the ones who had horrible things done to them without a qualm by well-meaning but callous souls. The Pennies, with their perfunctory, nonchalant manner seemed little different.

Slippery walls of light gray porcelain rose higher than any human was able to climb or jump. The floor was rounded like the bottom of a test tube, with a two inch wide drain hole at the lowest point. Judging from the foul smells emanating from within, she presumed it was meant to serve as her toilet. The entire cell may as well have been a giant latrine with her soul but a turd ready for flushing.

She huddled as far from the hole as possible, leaning against the curve where the floor reared up to become a wall. The rim high opened to a miniature arena ringed with several tiers of benches.

Four Hashmallim wearing a queer translucent armor that seemed more for show than for protection idled about, chatting in a language that she didn't understand or even recognize. One man carried a long-handled tool with a large-curved blade at the end, less a medieval weapon of war than one of those flensing knives the whalers had used to carve the blubber off their catch. Their conversation ceased abruptly when an unseen door creaked open and an oddly dressed coterie of men and women came and occupied spots on the benches.

Seven sets of inquisitive eyes peered down at her, four men, three women. One of the women, who seemed to have an obsession with everything purple from makeup to hair to accessories, pointed her finger and spoke something in French to her. Urszula just glared back, not understanding a word beyond 'vous.'

"Try Spanish or better yet, English," said a man with whiskers emerging from parts of his face where no whisker had a right to grow. "These days, one of those languages rarely fails to elicit at least some comprehension."

"Alright, let's give it a shoot," said the purple woman, leaning over the rim of her cell.

"Shot," corrected the bewhiskered man,

"Hello down there! May I presume you to be the trespasser our people recently apprehended over the marshes of Baluch? Is that correct?"

Urszula sneered. "Trespasser?"

"She understands," said a trim, bald man with silver studs lining his lips and nostrils. He nodded at the others. "English it is. Go with that."

"Yes, that is right, dear heart. You are being accused of second order trespassing and as an accessory to sabotage. What is your name?"

"What do you care?"

"We don't. I just thought it would be more pleasant for all if we addressed you by your given name."

"Let us get on with it," said the bald man. "How do you plead?"

"What is this? Some kind of court?" said Urszula.

"This is the Temple of Justice," said the man with the weird whiskers. "We are the judgment panel for your particular case."

Urszula smirked. "If this is court, then where is my lawyer? I want lawyer."

"I'm afraid that's not how things work here, dearie," said the purple woman. Trespassers are not allowed representation beyond this panel. You are to be given a fair review of your crimes and then we as a panel shall decide your outcome. We only wish to be fair."

"This is play. You are only playing at justice. You are not the boss of me."

A large-framed woman in ruffled leggings gave a hearty laugh that echoed across the chambers. "You have it wrong, darling. Captives do not get to decide whether their captors have authority."

"First question. Why did you come to Penult?"

"To destroy you," said Urszula, without a pause. "To destroy as many of you and as much of your land as we can."

"I would say that is fairly incriminating," said the bald man, chuckling.

The woman in ruffles laughed along. "No holding back with this one. I love it!"

"And destroy you did," said the bewhiskered man. "Three settlements in the southwest sector received severe and extensive damage. Twenty-seven souls lost beyond recovery in collapses. Eighty-three bodies damaged but recoverable. The roadways alone will take weeks to repair."

"But this one did not necessarily have anything to do with any of all that," said a thin man in un-died muslin pajamas. "She was nowhere near the column when it was deployed."

A supporter? Urszula whipped her head around to get a better view of her sympathizer.

"She was spotted among the saboteurs when they came ashore," said the purple woman. "And a soul matching her description was observed on the galley that was hijacked."

"That's good enough for me," said the woman in ruffles. "She was a collaborator. And an accessory to a crime is subject to same punishment as the perpetrators. That is the law of trespass."

"But how do we know this is the same woman who was seen with the other trespassers?" said the thin man.

"Look at her hair, obviously," said woman in ruffles. "How can anyone mistake hair like that? Who else have you ever seen with such hair? Her head looks as if it has been frozen in mid-explosion."

"More like a nest of snakes, I was thinking," said the bald man.

"Is your name Medusa, perchance?" said the ruffled woman, chuckling.

"Quickly!" said the purple woman, clenching both fists, her eyebrows raised in alarm. "She is getting those spots again."

"So soon? How is that possible?" said the ruffled woman.

"Guards, prepare your blades!"

"But we've only just begun deliberations," said the thin man.

"What more do we need to know?" said the purple woman. "This is as obvious a case of second order trespassing with accessory to sabotage as there ever was. And that is just what is superficially clear. I can't imagine what we would discover if we pried."

"Too late. She is fading," said the bald man.

A chorus of groans spilled from the benches, but Urszula gloried in the blotches of blankness spattering her arms and legs. Whether by the mercy of the Makers of these after lands or through some mistake in their constructs, she was about to be granted another spell of freedom. If only she could maintain a positive outlook a little bit longer this time, maybe she could finally get somewhere.
Chapter 1: A False Hope

I dashed across the gravel bed along the creek, so exhilarated I could barely control my feet, splashing through muddy pools, stomping over bramble patches that I normally would have taken pains to avoid.

Suddenly, I didn't care about being dead again, because here was Urszula, like a miracle, winging back from Penult on the back of her giant dragonfly Lalibela. I was all done feeling sorry for myself. Everyone had been wrong, those who had insisted that the Pennies had probably slaughtered her by now, because that's what they do to infiltrators. Here she was, proving everyone wrong, the irrepressible Duster girl I had once reincarnated by accident, much to her chagrin.

The plains were no longer smooth but undulant now that the exposed roots were converting themselves to stone and soil, repairing the damage wrought by the Pennies and their root quakes. Networks of gullies now traced the former routes of collapsed tunnels, converging on bowls that had been hubs of the old subsurface tunnel network.

I made for a high point in the outwash plain, seeking a place where I could get Urszula's attention before she disappeared over the foothills. I needn't have worried, because Tigger's natural territoriality accomplished the task for me. My wayward dragonfly zoomed out to challenge the intruder the way he did for any winged visitor. He was a bit like a guard dog that way. A guard dog with a territory that spanned miles in every direction.

Lalibela diverted her course to buzz a few circles around Tigger. I climbed a pile of boulders and stripped off my hoodie to wave like a flag.

The giant dragonfly came spiraling down towards me. She seemed to have trouble controlling her descent with those tattered wings. I feared she might crash, but she managed to pull up and stall, dropping heavily onto her five remaining legs. She must have lost one of the middle ones in battle.

I reached up to help Urszula down. Her head was wrapped in a bloody scarf with only slits for eyes. There was something off about her physique.

The hand that took mine was heavy and calloused; the face looking down mangled and monstrous. Those eyes belonged to Mikal, the scout who had volunteered to seek out targets to the west when Urszula had gone eastward along the shore of Penult. Somewhere he had lost his robber fly and had flown across the narrow sea with Lalibela.

"What the hell? What happened to Urszula?"

Mikal could barely manage to speak. He mumbled something but I couldn't make out a word of what he was trying to say. His jaw was horribly swollen and likely broken. He could manage a shrug, and the slow, pained lift of his shoulders told me all that I needed to know about Urszula's likely fate.

"Fuck!"

I kicked at a rock and nearly sprained my big toe.

***

Back at the house, I whipped up some broth from some bits of roots I scrounged from my cupboard. I was aiming for chicken noodle, but it came out tasting like some kind of weird fish soup.

I poured the stuff between a gap in Mikal's broken teeth, waiting between each spoonful for him to choke it down. Most of it ended up dribbling down his chin. The guy was famished and kept moaning for more, so when he was done with the first bowl, I made him another.

I helped patch him up a little bit better than he could do on his own, but his jaw was really smashed. He was going to need help from someone who knew what they were doing.

I didn't dare mess with people's bodies beyond a little first aid. Flesh weaving required precision. If I tried, I would only muck things up worse, maybe seal up his nostrils or make him cry out his ear holes.

Bugs though, I could handle. Patching dragonfly wings was way simpler than trying to restore someone's airway. Lalibela's wing had been fixed so many times before, its surface was a mess of misaligned veins and superimposed bracing supporting a patchwork of membranes tinted every shade between yellow and brown. While her original wings had probably been entirely transparent, they now reminded me of stained glass.

The end result of my handiwork wasn't exactly pretty, but it did the trick. She took to the air the instant I took my hands off her, and her maneuverability and speed were immensely improved. She seemed thrilled to have her wings back together as she buzzed around the hollow with Tigger on her tail.

I knew better than to let my success with bugs go to my head. So I made ready to take Mikal someplace where a real healer could mend his ghastly injury.

I had to admit I had ulterior motives. I wanted to get Mikal talking again so I could find out what the hell had happened to Urszula. Getting him to scratch answers to my questions in the mud, hadn't worked out too well. Maybe I was asking the wrong questions, but I would hand him the stick and he would just stare back at me with lost and vacant eyes.

I managed to get a saddle onto Tigger after luring him down with an aphid carcass, and Mikal and I flew up the valley to find the nearest settlement large enough to have a decent healer. I strapped Mikal in behind me while Lalibela trailed after us without a rider. I figured she needed a break after coming all that way from Penult with those battered wings.

This was the first time I had been up in the air in a long while. I was amazed to see how much of the damage inflicted by the root quakes had healed. The roots just came back together and filled in the rifts and rents.

It was an entirely different landscape now, almost unrecognizable. The mesas were gone forever. But at least the place no longer looked like a mess of open pit mines.

The nearest large settlement was on the massif that had once harbored Frelsi. Folks there had rebuilt right next to the remains of the old city. For whatever reason, they chose not to disturb the original site.

The new place looked like a classic frontier town, all single story structures and hastily erected. It was telling that no one had yet tried to replicate the slender and elegant towers that had housed the elite on the Inner Sanctuary. No one had even bothered to erect a wall around or between anything. It was just one big homogenous mish-mash of shanties and shelters.

The Reaper pens were back. Many of the domesticated breeds had gone feral during the war, feeding on corpses on the battlefields. These days the ranks of abandoned Cherubim, dormant and awaiting orders that would never come, served as their main source of nutriment. Some of the breeders had been experimenting with feeding them insect meat, but the Makers had instilled in them a taste for human flesh that was tough to break.

We landed smack in the middle of the new settlement, in a clearing surrounded by a dense cluster of dwellings. People were busy with this and that and pretty much ignored us. They were not at all unfriendly, though. It just took a little asking around to find someone us to point us to the best healer in town, some guy named Doc Henry who had a place near the ruins of the old city.

Doc Henry's shop turned out to be in one of the larger and fancier structures of the settlement, a sturdy post and beam villa built on a slope with a huge deck overlooking the valley. The deck was wide enough to land a squadron of mantids.

The doc was consulting with one of his female clients about a foot problem when we walked into a waiting area with the décor and ambience of a wine bar. One look at Mikal's mangled face and he blanched.

"Jeez. What the hell happened to him?" said Henry.

"He was in the raid on Penult. He just got back."

"No shit? Penult?"

He excused himself and bustled us straight into his examination room. The round chamber was ringed with skylights and mirrors that concentrated the natural light into the center of the room, occupied by a swiveling barber's chair.

Doc Henry had fat cheeks and bags under his eyes which was odd for a flesh weaver, who tended to look like A-list movie stars. They did so because they could and because it was good advertising.

Who knows? Maybe he went for a different look every day and we caught him trying to look ordinary. Tomorrow he might be a girl. The next day a troll. Morphing one's face through all the possibilities was also probably good for business.

He examined Mikal's wounds carefully, if not gently, prodding his thumb into his fractured jaw bones till they crunched, though I think I winced even more than Mikal, who remained stoic as ever.

"Here, hold this."

He shoved a mirror into my hand and proceeded to pry Mikal's mouth open wide. Mikal made this awful gagging sound as I swiveled the mirror to shine the concentrated light down his maw.

Doc Henry made a face. "Fuck me! This man has no larynx. His voice box. It's been ripped away. This ain't fine surgery we're talking about. It's butchery."

"Why would they do that?"

"Maybe they didn't want him to talk."

"But there are other ways he can communicate."

"You're asking me to tell you how Pennies think? You can't explain them. Sometimes, they're just twisted."

He snapped his fingers in front of each of Mikal's ears.

"I think they fucked with his brain, too. He's not reacting like a normal person."

"You can fix him, right?"

He shook his head. "I ain't that kind of doc. I can stabilize it some it doesn't grind as much, but to tell you the truth, beautification is my bailiwick. You need someone with technical chops to knit him a new voice box. Someone who knows his way around a throat, with actual medical training. What do they call them? Otolaryngolgists?"

"So you're not actually a doctor?"

"Nope. Back in the day, I was an architect. Modeler, mostly. I made tiny, little houses."

"So where do we find a real doctor?

Doc Henry shrugged. "Not here."
Chapter 2: Woodson

"New Axum," said Henry. "That's where you'll find the best technicians. I'm talking serious practitioners, not just dabblers like me. When Frelsi fell, a lot of the good ones went back underground with Mr. Luther, but not all. New Axum is where you'll find the best tech these days."

I thanked him for his help and led Mikal back through the neighborhood, heading for the open hillside where we had left Tigger. Mikal walked in a wobbly stagger, sort of like a zombie. But I shouldn't complain. At least he was mobile.

I could tell this New Frelsi place was going to be a happening settlement real soon. Houses were popping up as quickly as folks could get a bundle of roots to dance into place.

Just below the outermost ring of dwellings, along a trail leading into the valley, we came across a swarm of bees tending to a group of human workers who had paused to rest. Their pack frames were loaded high with bundles of lively roots. A trail of stray escapees marked the way they had come up from the gullies below.

Once nice side effect of the root quakes was how they have churned up a lot of malleable, undifferentiated root stock, bringing it much closer to the surface. Not having to mine the stuff from deep pits surely made the rebuilding go quicker.

Liveliness marked the best root stock. While sluggish roots resisted conversion, the squirmy ones could be coaxed into almost any form, even by souls who weren't particularly good at weaving. They could be resized, recolored, retextured into every imaginable manifestation of matter including, if you had the knack, some very tasty edibles.

The root haulers were a mixed crowd, mostly Dusters but with a few Frelsians and under-worlders sprinkled in. A Duster fellow saw me ogling the bees and waved us over with a hand that was missing several digits. He sat with a woman and another man, both Dusters, sharing a shallow bowl of golden nectar that one of the bees had regurgitated.

I trickled some onto Mikal's lips and he was able to suck in some through his damaged mouth. I think he was appreciative. Bee nectar was the perfect nutriment, packed with energy and so intoxicating and invigorating I had to believe it contained some kind of psychoactive agent.

The second man had calluses on his cheekbones and forehead, a feature common with the most recent generation of Dusters to cross the rift and whose bodies had yet to heal from the coarse weathering wrought by the frigid and gritty winds of the Deeps.

"Have some pollen," said the man who was short his pinky and ring finger. He tossed a hunk of brownish-yellow cake he had pulled from the femur spines of a bee.

I sat down on a root bundle and nibbled at the pollen cake. It had a weird texture. The grains popped in my mouth like something between quinoa and cheap caviar. If I closed my eyes the flavor could almost pass for bread.

"What's wrong with your friend?"

"War injury. Trying to get him some help."

"Know anyone who can make me a new hand?"

"No, but we're about to head over to New Axum."

"Was it not destroyed in the siege?" said the woman.

I felt something wiggle under the seat of my pants and hopped up to my feet.

"Dang things goosed me."

"That's a frisky bunch for sure," said the woman, giggling.

I spotted Tigger sunning himself on a ledge up slope a ways.

"Guess we'd better get going. Thanks for sharing."

"Don't thank us. Thank the bees."

"Yeah. You know, I never understood what the bees get out of this whole relationship with us. Not that I'm complaining."

The Dusters looked at me like I was a dunce.

"We build and defend their hives," said three fingers.

"We tend their foraging grounds," said the woman.

"As long as there have been souls on the surface," said the other man. "The bees have been with us."

"Since the Old Ones came."

"So the bees were here first?" I asked.

That prompted more incredulous staring.

"I mean, these bugs, why are they so big?"

"Either an accident of the Makers ... or a prank," said the man with the callused face. "Those are the standard theories."

"If it was a joke, the joke is on them," said the few-fingered man. "These bugs are a godsend."

"Truth is, no one knows," said the woman. "Just be glad they are here for us."

"Hear, hear!" said three fingers, raising a bowl of nectar.

Something glinted in the sky. A shaggy tear drop-shaped object was outlined against the glaciered peaks in the distance and then, just like that, it was gone. This was no bug. It was not like anything I had ever seen in this realm.

"What the heck?" I had started to point but it was already gone. "Did y'all see that?"

"I see nothing," said the callused man, his eyes panning the sky.

"It was all shiny and floating."

"Probably just a watcher," said the woman. "Souls from other realms come to spy, but they never seem to mingle."

"You have to admit, we put on quite a show down here," said a red-haired Frelsian, sidling over from the other group and butting into the conversation.

"Probably bloody boring in their native realm," said another Frelsian, hefting a load of roots onto his back.

"And what realm would that be?"

The men shrugged or stared, eyes blank.

"Loom," said the woman.

***

Tigger, remarkably, had stayed put on the sun-washed ledges not far from where we had left him on the hillside, saddle still in place. He had a terrible habit of shaking off his saddles when he was unattended.

He had rampaged through a batch of dog-sized fly larvae. All that was left were their tethers and bits of leathery chitin. My dragonfly had feasted well. I could only hope that they hadn't been someone's livestock or pets.

His stubby antennae rose inquisitively as we approached, mirrored in the facets of his compound eyes. The three extra eyes—ocelli—in the center of his forehead complicated the act of making eye contact. Which one do you look at first?

I patted his side out of habit. It was not quite the same as patting a horse or dog. Bugs sensed touch mainly through pits and bristles, and Tigger's cuticle was a good inch thick or more at the sides of his thorax. But it was just a ritual, really, more for my benefit than his.

Mikal kept several paces behind me all the way up, but he never flagged. The wound in his jaw was all weepy despite Doc Henry's best efforts. His shirt was a mess.

"How you doing?"

He nodded and forced a kind of smile but he had that haunted look people get when they're in constant, unabated pain. Bodies were different here and could tune out a lot of unpleasant feelings, but there were limits to how much discomfort could be ignored.

I hoisted him up onto the saddle and got him all tucked and strapped. We got back into the air with a minimum of fuss and glided down the slopes a bit before leveling off over the river valley, where more ranks of abandoned Cherubim stood neatly in columns and rows, awaiting orders I hoped would never come.

The Hashmallim and Seraphim had left plenty behind to wage a decent war. The Reaper-handlers couldn't harvest them and the Reapers couldn't gobble them up fast enough as far as I was concerned.

The route we were following should have been familiar. I had gone up and down this valley several times already by land and by air, but I couldn't recognize much. Every wash and bend of canyon looked just like the next. There wasn't much down there for a memory to latch onto.

We overflew many groups of refugees, most on foot carrying their own belongings. A few lucky bands used Reapers as pack animals.

I found it awful brave of them to be filing their way past those multitudes of dormant Cherubim. I'm not sure I would have been comfortable camping out beside those silent hordes.

When the badlands and canyons suddenly gave way to the great basin fronting the bluffs of New Axum, it took me by surprise. Tigger had gotten us up the valley in record time. The city looked stunning, its cliffs and bulwarks ablaze with the slanting light of the setting sun.

Tigger was consistently strong and swift on the wing, but I suspected he had turned it up a notch once he had caught on where we were headed, spurred on no doubt by the memory of the fine hunting in the viny lower terraces of New Axum. There, leafhoppers and aphids were as abundant as leaves.

As we circled down, I could see that the ruins on upper tiers had been extensively restored. All of the temporary shelters the refugees had put up were gone and the population of the city seemed a tiny fraction of had been during the siege.

As we homed in on the main plaza, I could see scads of Old Ones scattered about, many occupying prime spots on stone benches, all fallen back into their long sleep. They could have doubled as statues or war memorials. Many still bore weapons and armor.

As soon as we touched down, a unit of soldiers came swarming up. I worried that we might have broken some new ordinance against landing bugs on the plaza, but the faces surrounding us were all eager and friendly. They crowded around Tigger and helped me and Mikal dismount.

"Good to have you back, Mr. Moody," said a guy I had never seen before, as his buddies gawked at me like I was Lebron James in a mall.

I could tell from the rough hands and weathered faces that many were new generation Dusters. With that crowd, I was something of a celebrity. In truth, opening the rift from the Deeps had been all Olivier's doing, but somehow I got to claim some of the popular credit. The raid on Penult only added to my 'legend.' It reminded me why I had chosen to seclude myself in that hollow.

Mikal was all groggy and could barely stand under his own power, but he had plenty of helping hands.

"We take you in ... to see him," said the soldier who knew my name.

"See who?"

"Our commander."

"Listen. I'm kind of in a rush. I came here to find my friend a good flesh weaver. Tell your commander we said hi and thanks for the nice reception."

"Your attendance is mandatory," said this super gnarled guy with brows like tree roots. He had no rank insignia. None of them did, as was the Duster way, but his demeanor suggested he was in charge of things. "Follow me to the command bunker."

I knew better than to argue with a bunch of Dusters. The Deeps had a way of making folks extremely stubborn and excessively patient, a losing combination when you were on the opposite end of a disagreement.

"Alright. I suppose we can poke our head in for a sec. This won't take long, will it?"

"Follow this one, she will take you," said the gnarled one, indicating a slender Frelsian woman who looked out of place among the weathered and burly Duster men, like a unicorn among rhinos. Dirty, blond ringlets spilled out from under a crudely woven watch cap. Her face was smudged, her eyes sharp and inquisitive.

My priority was to get Mikal some rest and find someone to help him as soon as possible. I was pretty tuckered out myself after a long day. Hopefully, they would keep short whatever formalities they wanted us to go through.

We started across the plaza towards a complex of stone buildings. Walls had been patched, roofs added or repaired since my last time here.

"So ... uh ... who exactly are we going to see?"

"The command duty officer."

"What's your name, by the way?"

"Clarissa. Clarissa Moore."

"I'm James."

She laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Everyone knows you."

"Really?"

"Really."

We entered a ramp slanting down into the bunker. Mikal's breathing kept locking up and he had to struggle to clear an airway. His tortured snorts echoed down the side passages. I felt bad. We should have left him back with Tigger.

"We almost there?"

"Almost."

We turned a corner and things began to look familiar. This was the command bunker where Yaqob and Zhang had once argued over how to handle the siege.

The chamber was vacant apart from a small group of men and women gathered under some root glow around a low table. They were sharing a platter of fritters, dipping them in a bowl of some brown paste. An Old One sat in the shadows behind them, watching or sleeping, I couldn't tell.

As we clattered down the steps, they all turned to look at us and I spotted a familiar face.

Ubaldo rose all wide-eyed, as amazed to see me as I was to see him. He rushed over and grabbed me, hugging me a little too hard for my health.

Mikal looked on with heavy rimmed eyes, wobbling like a tree in the wind. Doc Henry's cosmetic repairs had smoothed most of the damage to his face, but it still took a while for Ubaldo to recognize him.

"You! You are the scout who went off with Urszula! When did you return?"

"He can't speak," I said. "The Pennies fucked him up. He showed up at my place the other day on Urszula's bug."

"Was she with him?"

"No."

"Where is she? Is she okay?"

"He doesn't seem to know. He can't write in any language I can figure out. Yes and no questions only get us so far. We came here to find a doctor."

Ubaldo's skewed his lips. "This man carries valuable intelligence." Ubaldo turned to the others at the table. "Who is our best flesh weaver?"

His companions responded in near unison.

"Woodson!"
Chapter 3: Crickets

Clarissa volunteered to escort Mikal and I to the clinic of Dr. Derek Woodson, a former thoracic surgeon who apparently now was now a master of all flesh in the afterlife. I had been hoping for an actual throat specialist, but beggars can't be choosers. Woodson was by all accounts the most skilled manipulator of afterlife physiology and anatomy outside of Penult.

We left the bunker and headed for the uplands behind the old city, where Woodson kept his clinic. Canopied booths indicated the presence of a market of sorts on the edge of the plaza. A wheezy little band was playing. People were dancing.

"Whoa! Way different vibe here from the last time I visited."

"That was the time of the siege. I can imagine."

"But I was here even before this place was settled. Or I mean, re-settled. The Old Ones have been here for ages."

"Yes. I am aware of your history."

"My ... history?"

"Your story has been told. It has been written."

"By whom?"

"Oh, different versions exist. Various storytellers and troubadours have told it. In camps and villages."

"What the heck are you talking about?"

"I know who you are, James Moody."

Too weird. I didn't know if I could handle having a public image. When I was done here, I was slinking back to my hollow. I looked back at the setting sun, all fuzzy and greenish on dusty horizon. We only had another hour or so of light.

Clarissa walked ahead with Mikal, keeping him steady. I hung back as I had no clue where we were going.

Occasionally, Mikal would pause and teeter a bit before regaining his balance. I worried we might have to improvise a stretcher and recruit some bearers. But Mikal was a tough kid. He kept plodding on.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glassy glint over the valley, just like the one I had seen over the ruins of Frelsi. I stopped to stare, but it was already gone.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

I didn't waste my breath explaining. Maybe we were being watched but I didn't buy that 'watchers from another realm' hypothesis. More likely they were Pennies using some kind of stealth lighter than air technology to spy on us. I had half a mind to jump on Tigger and go chasing, but the thing had disappeared the instant I caught my glimpse.

The plaza guards had unsaddled Tigger and had tethered him to a stone post beside a fountain. He drummed his forelegs, excited to see us. Probably thought we had come to take him hunting. But I bit my lip and walked right on past, lacking the heart to look him in the eyes. I owed him a romp when this was done.

Clarissa kept sneaking glances at me. I smoothed back my hair, thinking I had a giant cowlick or something.

"Dr. Woodson is a genius with flesh," she said. "During the war he was known for his ability to put the most shattered bodies back together."

"Cool."

"He makes ordinary faces beautiful. And the beautiful ... sublime."

"Hear that Mikal? You're gonna be sublime."

"But he's more than a surgeon. He sculpts psyches. Does emotional repair. Memory restoration and removal."

"Got a few I'd like extracted. Don't we all?"

"And not only does he reverse disfigurement and restore function. He makes things better than they were. Hearts that beat more efficiently. Lungs that take in extra oxygen."

"Has he ever worked on you?"

"Oh no. He only takes on special cases."

"You're not special enough?"

"No. It's just ... there's a high demand his work. He can't just see anybody."

"But we qualify?"

"I would think so. Yes."

Something about Clarissa told me that not only was she a young soul, she was a newbie in the afterlands.

"Pardon me for asking, but are you a Hemi?"

"No. I am a Freesoul, like you. I used to be in Frelsi. I was a Reaper handler and trainer in the Sanctuary."

"Reapers, huh? Jeez. Better you than me."

"Oh, they're not so bad. A little smelly, maybe. But not much different from a horse."

"Horses don't eat people."

"What are we but protein and fat and bone?"

I wasn't going to argue with her.

"So what happened? Frelsi used to be swarming with Reapers."

"The war was hard on them. The Pennies slaughtered them by the thousands. Some of the old fighting breeds are now extinct. We're working to create some resistant strains."

"Resistant to what?"

"Sonic disruption. That was how the Pennies killed them. Devices that stopped their hearts and fried their little brains."

I sighed.

"Never was a big fan of Reapers. I appreciate what you guys do with them, but...."

"I understand. First encounters can be traumatic. But I think they have their charms."

"Charms. That's not a word I would use with Reapers."

"Do you not have a relationship with a giant bug?"

"Fair enough."

Mikal remained a trooper up the slope, climbing flight after flight of stairs, sucking air through his swollen and constricted passages. Doc Henry might have made him look pretty on the outside, but on the inside he was still a mess. Flecks of pink foam bubbled out of his nostrils and tumbled down his chin. A steady trickle of blood seeped into his collar.

The path leveled off atop a wooded terrace. Structures of wattle and stucco overhung the slope, quite a contrast from the brick and stone that dominated the main city.

She led us down a path flanked by cultivated fields. Seed heads heavy with some kind of rye or barley wafted in the breeze. As the twilight diminished, hundreds of phosphorescent footlights illuminated our way.

"Almost there," said Clarissa.

We passed through a woodlot into a clearing with a two-story wood-framed structure with a thatched roof. Lights flickered in several of the windows. Someone was in there plinking on what sounded like a ukulele.

We paused at the door, peering in to find a very large man strumming on a tiny instrument that seemed ridiculously dainty in his meaty hands.

Truncating a jaunty little melody, his eyes went straight to Mikal.

"What happened to him?"

"You're Doctor Woodson?"

"Yeah."

"He ... uh ... had his larynx torn out. Among other things."

"Bring him here."

He put down his tiny instrument and patted an examination table covered with a tattered and stained sheet.

A pipe with a hole in the side ran up one corner of the room. On first glance I took it for plumbing, but then the doc pressed his face close to one of the openings and shouted into it.

"Agnetha? You might not want to change quite yet. We have a customer."

***

Woodson and his assistant used no anesthesia, but seemed able to numb whatever needed numbing by will alone. Their methods were invasive and ghastly, peeling flesh down to the bone, replacing damaged tissue with woolly balls of ultrafine root fluff they wove into Mikal's own flesh, prying and probing and undoing Doc Henry's temporary patchwork.

I had to leave the room. I couldn't stand to sit there and see Mikal's neck all flayed wide open.

Clarissa helped them out for a bit, handing them instruments from a case, disposing of bits that Woodson had cut away, washing whatever needed washing. I felt bad for not offering to help as well, but I just didn't have the stomach for this line of work.

I wandered over to a rock garden with a natural cascade and pool fed by a spring and took a seat on a large flat boulder that was shaped something like a chaise. The stone was still warm to the touch after having been exposed to the sun all day.

I sat back and marveled at scale of the ruckus erupting from the forests surrounding us. If you think tree crickets are noisy you've never heard the racket those the size of goats can make. It was enough to wake an Old One from a hundred year nap.

Clarissa snuck out after a few minutes and found me.

"How's it going in there?"

She smiled. "Good. They're wrapping up right now. Doctor Woodson said you might not recognize your friend's voice when he's done. But he may be able to adjust it with some guidance."

"As long as he can speak. That's what matters."

"So, they want to keep him overnight, make sure everything is stable. Do you need a place to stay?"

"No worries. I can crash just about anywhere."

"I can find you a bed at my barracks. When patrols are away there is always a spare. My comrades would greatly enjoy a chance to meet you."

"Um, thanks. But I think I'd rather hang out up here."

A spark of boldness flared in her eyes.

"We can also ... share."

"Um. Rain check on that. Okay? It's been a really long day and I need some alone time. Nothing personal."

She pursed her lips.

"The nights get pretty cool up here. How about I fetch you some bedding."

"I'm ... good. Thanks."

Her eyes snared me with an intensity that was like staring at the sun. I was sure I would melt or crumble if she kept looking at me like that.

"Least I can do ... for a hero."

"Meh. I was just doing my part."

"You made them break off the invasion."

"Pfft. They're a bunch of weenies if that's all it took. Not that I'm complaining."

She smiled.

"I'll check back with you in the morning." She lunged forward and kissed me, right on the lips. And then, with a pirouette she stride off into the shadows leaving me all jangly and unsettled.

No girl had ever come onto me that quick, not even Karla. I was going to have a hard time getting used this fame thing. I'm not sure I was cut out for it.

Maybe that was something Dr. Woodson could do for me: a nice, gentle lobotomy to take the edge off my self-loathing, smooth out my personality a bit and clear some of the more jagged shards from my memory.

An unearthly dying monkey screech came peeling out of the clinic, cutting through the din of the tree crickets. I scrambled to my feet and bustled down to the examining room.

"Is everything okay? What the fuck was that?" I hovered outside the door, reluctant to enter.

"No worries," said Woodson's assistant, stepping out in her blood spattered smock. Your friend is just trying out his new voice. It may need some adjustment."
Chapter 4: Mikal Speaks.

It got cold that night, just as Clarissa said it would. That bed or even the bedding she had offered sure would have been nice not to have turned down, especially now that the clinic was buttoned up for the night, windows shuttered, doors locked. I had assumed I might be able to hang out in Mikal's room, maybe crash on some furniture or an empty bed, but there I was, stuck out in the garden.

There was a time when no matter how bad things got, I could hope for a sudden fade to whisk me away from this place. But those days were over. There was no physical escape from this realm anymore, no respite from its deprivations.

As I sat there feeling sorry for myself, I sensed a disturbance in the shadows. Someone was passing down the path through the grain fields. I thought it might be Clarissa coming back to save me from my stupidity, but there was a hitch in this person's gait and something about that hitch was familiar.

When the glow-light atop a post struck the visitor's face, I had to pinch myself.

"Bern?" I surged to my feet and rushed over to engulf him in a hug, forgetting that he was not too crazy about public displays of affection.

He just stood there all stiffly, nodding and smiling uncomfortably.

"Hello James. How have you been?"

"How did you find me?" I said. "How did you know I was here?"

"Silly boy. Everyone in New Axum knows you're here. You are the talk of the town. Pardon Lille. She's leading a literary reconstruction group tonight, otherwise she would have come. They're restoring famous novels from memory, can you believe it?"

"Books. Wow. That's great."

"I couldn't wait till morning and take the risk that you might run off again to your little hideaway. You do have a reputation for slinking away."

I couldn't get over how good Bern looked. Younger. Fitter.

"You're ... taller."

Bern grinned sheepishly. "So I am. Maybe an inch or two. I was getting the bad leg worked on and I figured, well, why not? Funny, I still limp. Out of habit I suppose."

"Your hair. There's like more of it."

"Just a tad. Remember, Lille and I are Freesouls now. The both of us! Once you're in it for the long haul it changes your perspective. Who wants to go through to eternity in a shabby vessel? Oh, and you should see Lille. She's even more gorgeous than before."

"Did you get it done here? With Woodson?"

"Heavens no. He wouldn't deal with the likes of us." Bern glanced towards the house and whispered. "Truth be told, he's a little bit of a prima donna, that one. But he does so much charity work, one can't really fault him. But there is no shortage of really decent flesh weaving in New Axum these days. You can find a practitioner on almost every corner. And their technique! The stability is astounding! No more shaggy ends after a week the way it was with the hacks down below."

"How long have you guys been back in New Axum?"

"Oh, well we left the bogs right just we saw you last. Lille couldn't stand it there. She really couldn't. All that dankness really got to her. And so we came back by land, if you can believe it. Such a slog. But flying bugs are at a premium these days. The war really ate into their stock. Decimated them! But you might have noticed they are starting to stage a comeback. Lille and I are considering adopting a damselfly of our own. A nice, sleek wasp is more my speed, but you know Lille."

He could have gone on and on and I could have let him. I just liked hearing him talk.

"You know, it's really good to see you," I said, and my voice cracked a bit. I realized just then that I was tearing up. I wiped away the dew on the sly, pretending to scratch my nose.

"Something wrong, James?" Bern leaned in, brow crinkled.

"Nah. I'm just ... I'm just exhausted."

"It's late. I should leave you be. Join us for breakfast tomorrow? You and your friend? Lille does it up full and proper these days. Beans and bacon and the whole lot."

"Yeah sure. Maybe. Have to see how Mikal is doing. What time?"

"You tell us. Or just come over whenever you can. It's not like we actually have to cook the stuff."

"Same place you were before?"

"Oh Heavens no. We gave up that shack when we fled to the marshes. No, we're staying in a proper country villa now. Quite a step up from our usual accommodations. There's no shortage of magnificent dwellings here. Squatter's rights. There's a beautiful place right next door to us. Missing a roof and a few walls, but move in and it's yours. We could be neighbors!"

"Yeah, maybe. So how do we get there?"

"It's a little bit hard to explain. How about I meet you on the plaza?"

"Okay."

"Just come down whenever you can. Find me at the market. I'll be there."

"Will do."

"Lille was truly sorry she couldn't come tonight. But she would love to see you. These sessions of hers really mean a lot to her. She used to be a librarian, you know."

"I understand."

"Best of luck to your friend. I'm sure he's going to be fine. Body by Woodson. How could he not?"

I moved in, ready to hug him, before I remembered who I was dealing with. I thrust out my hand.

"Thanks for stopping by. It was really great to see you."

He winked and was off. I sat back down on my stony chaise and watched him pass into the darkness beyond the garden.

***

As the night dragged on, I fought a losing battle with gravity, slumping lower and lower until I was lying on the ground snuggled up on the soft grass at the base of the boulder.

I slept the sleep of the dead, devoid of dreams and walled off from the Singularity. I slept right through a visit from some anonymous angel of mercy who had come to drape a thick, fleecy blanket over me and prop my head on a limp pillow that smelled of unwashed hair. My body craved rest. It didn't take long for me to nod off again.

When I next awoke, the grain fields were misty and dripping with dew. I draped the blanket over my shoulders like a cape and crawled over to the spring to splash some cold water onto my face. Raking my fingers through my cowlicks to tame them down into a slightly less grotesque configuration, I got up and strolled over to the clinic door, finding it locked, the windows shuttered. There was no sign of activity anywhere.

A flight of dragonflies bearing riders came zipping by overhead, heading out on patrol into the foothills. I wandered through a cluster of outbuildings hoping to find someone else awake.

I didn't have to go far. When I rounded the corner of the main house I came across Mikal himself sitting at a small, round table with a half-finished glass of something green and gloopy before him. He smiled when he saw me, revealing a full set of actual and intact teeth, and raised his cup of goo to me.

"Cheers," he said, in a voice at least an octave lower than the high and lonesome reediness I remembered.

"Holy shit!" I said. "You look great. How do you feel?"

"Super," he said, sustaining his grin. "Little bit ... how you say? Itchy. But not so bad."

His hair was sticking up every which way, but his face and throat no longer showed any sign of injury. Not only that, his cheeks now had dimples and his jaw had a cleft. The only evidence of the procedure was a slight mismatch of skin tone and porosity between the repaired sections and the rest of his face.

"Whoa! I have to say, you look way hotter than you did before the Pennies messed you up. I should have had them mess me up. Did it hurt?"

"Um ... yes. A lot. He say he make no feel, but I feel. Is like little bit of Novocain."

"What's that stuff you're drinking?"

"I don't know. Is filling. You want some?"

"Dude. Listen to you! You sound like Darth Vader now."

He smiled. "Is good. I like it."

I pulled up a chair and joined him at the table. He pushed the glass towards me.

"You finish. The doctor say it help make calm the roots in my face, but I can drink no more. It taste like squashed bug."

"Um. No thanks. It probably is squashed bug parts. We're actually invited for breakfast, if you're up for it."

Mikal made a face. "No. My stomach. It is bad."

"Let's see how you feel later. There's no set time."

"Thank you, James. For take care of me. For bring me here. It is good place."

"Not a problem. Listen. I'm dying to know what happened out there in Penult. What took you so long to get back here? And how'd you end up riding Lalibela?"

Mikal shrugged. "They kill my fly. Shoot it out from under me with one those gun they got. The one that look like it shoot nothing until it hit you? I was flying low over thick bush, so I am lucky. The fall did not hurt me too bad."

"Were you with Urszula?"

Mikal's eyes lingered on mine for a long moment before he answered.

"She come. Later. She find me. I was hide in small forest. I see her flying when is getting dark. I climb a tree and she find me. We hide for some days in the forest. We keep Lalibela on tether under trees and let her hunt only at dusk."

"But why didn't you guys just come back here? I mean all you had to do was cross the channel."

He stared, eyes penetrating, overpowering me.

"She want for stay and look for you," he said. "She was worry. Maybe they catch you or maybe you are trap, hiding too. So she want first look for you. Make sure before we go. Make sure you are okay. Make sure you not still in Penult. So we wait until we think Pennies stop hunt for us. They were come every day, two, three times a day for while. Then they stop. And so we take Lalibela and we fly in the dark, back to rendezvous point. But they smart, the expect us to do this. So it is trap. We get ambush, and I take shot from guns that don't shoot nothing, square in my face."

"And ... Urszula?"

Mikal looked anguished.

"They took her."
Chapter 5: Solitude

Urszula could have easily saved herself and Mikal. Instead, she had waited for days to make sure I was okay and in doing so, got herself caught by a bunch of torturers.

And what had I done in the same position, not knowing what had happened to her? I had booked it across the channel the instant things got a little hairy. How was that for loyalty and reciprocity?

My already modest self-worth took a nosedive. What kind of friend was I compared to her? No, she was not my girlfriends but she had held no illusions about me either. We were colleagues, and she had cared enough about me to risk her soul.

Yeah, the whole being assassinated by Pennies, slow death by poison thing could have been looked upon as an extenuating circumstance. But Urszula hadn't thought twice about the threat to her own soul. I guess we had different priorities. In short—mine sucked.

I was no longer in the mood for breakfast. In fact I could not handle seeing Lille or Bern or any familiar face right now. I wanted to crawl in a hole and have a pity party.

"Hey Mikal. You okay hanging out here on your own?"

"Here? No. I think I go back to the marsh. Be with my friends. I has a girl."

"You do that. Listen, I think I'm gonna go back home. I'm glad you're back together in one piece. Your buds are gonna love that new voice of yours."

"Thank you, James."

He rose up and grabbed me. This guy had no taboos against hugging.

"Tell Woodson thanks for me. I'll look him up when I need a new brain. Which ... might be soon."

I lurched off, pounding down the trail across the fields, engulfed with shame for having abandoned Urszula to the Pennies. There were people on the path, hauling stuff to town but I zipped right by, looking no one in the face.

***

New Axum was the worst place for me to be right now. Way too many souls for comfort. Too many prying eyes. Too many questions. I needed time and space to process things. To mourn or plan or whatever I had to do to deal with the news about Urszula.

I felt terrible about ditching Bern and Lille after promising we would show up for breakfast, but I couldn't handle any intimate social encounters right now. I hoped she would understand.

I barreled headlong down the slope, ignoring all who stopped to gape—strangers who had heard my name mentioned in war stories and thought that gave them the right to be my friend.

The smoke of a thousand cook fires was rising over the city. Why the fuck did the people here even bother with fire? Food could be warmed and favored by will. Was it strictly nostalgia?

Tigger pranced and buzzed his wings when he caught sight of me. I knew better than to think he was happy to see me. More likely he was anticipating the freedom about to come his way. He was not a bug who could stand being tethered for long.

When I saddled him up, he took off straight for the lower terrace. I sat back and let him do what he wanted, jousting with other dragonflies, hunting leaf hoppers until he got his fill, before taking the reins and setting a course over the cliffs and back down the valleys.

The farther we got from New Axum, the more I relaxed. This was good. I could handle being alone.

Halfway home, we landed in a rocky flat by the river and took a nice, long break. I washed up in the rapids, scrubbing myself and my clothes clean with fistfuls of tiny round pebbles. The water here was way colder than what ran in the creek in the hollow. Bracing. It woke me up and cleared my fuzzy head.

When we arrived back at the hollow, I immediately cleared all the gear from his thorax and set him free. He zipped away to hunt and sun himself and whatever else dragonflies do with their free time.

I went straight to my porch and plopped down in my favorite rocker. Some of my weaving was fraying and coming apart in the arm rests so I had to smooth the damned roots back into shape with my will. A real weaver never had to worry about their work coming undone.

My stomach was growling for food, but it would have to wait. My head still needed sorting. I just wanted to sit in that chair and watch the hills turn purple as the sun sank low over the plains.

Something translucent and teardrop-shaped rose from a cleft in the hills. It was barely discernible, its shape defined mainly by reflections and just as quickly it appeared, it was gone.

I had assumed that their appearance over New Frelsi and New Axum simply meant that these watchers had a thing for large settlements. But now it was becoming clear. The common denominator in these sightings was me.
Chapter 6: Death Sucks

In case you're wondering, being dead is overrated. Freesouls brag about their status like they've achieved some kind of second tier immortality. But they're just fooling themselves.

The bennies are few and it's a ton of work. If you want something nice in the Liminality you have to make it yourself. Keeping yourself entertained and comfortable is a constant struggle.

Unlike them, I had only sought to free my soul as a last resort, when I was in danger of being sucked off into a nasty lower realm. I had been fine with the prospect of staying alive and dying a natural death. Even the yo-yo existence of a Hemisoul was way better than what I have now.

If it wasn't for the Singularity, my existence in the after lands would truly be hellish. It offered my only means of escape, letting me go back and sneak a few peeks of the life I left behind.

The Singularity allows a consciousness to jump from soul to soul in almost every realm, living or dead. It was my Netflix and YouTube, all in high-def and with as many channels as there have ever been people.

It used to be that I had to commune with a long sleeper or be deep into my own dream state for the flow to find me. These days, I could just clear my head and tap in just by wishing it. All I had to do was reach outward with my will and the flow would come and snag my soul and take it for a ride.

If I tried too hard, sometimes it was like fishing in a dead pond. I would try and try and not even get a nibble. It worked better to put myself in a receptive state of mind, lay back and trust the flow. Sitting here in my rocker, feeling wistful and pained and existentially nauseous was as good as it gets for the getting the Singularity's attention.

This time, the instant I spread my will, it took me, whisking me off into its flow like a kite catching the wind. Once you're in, it can get pretty confusing, flitting about from soul the soul. The web of human relationships can get wildly convoluted. But there are no limits to where you can go, and what you can see. I go anywhere and everywhere there are people, sharing the senses of the wakeful and the dreams of the sleeping.

But not only that, there exist avatars of the dead at large in the living world that can be tapped into and ridden. These agents of the dead, usually little bits of detritus animated by the will of the deceased, usually take the form of inconspicuous little animals like katydids and moths, bats and hummingbirds.

Some make no pretense at mimicry—abstract clumps with no visible means of locomotion that usually baffled and terrified any living souls unlucky enough to spot one on the wing. Faeries, some call them.

I set my heart and my hope for the Singularity to take me to Urszula in Penult, to see if she is still alive, or at least extant here in the Lim. As I burst through an interface, I realized that my will had been defied. The Singularity has dragged me into the living realm.

***

I hop heads across the countryside. Glimpses of the signage reveal English and Welsh place names, the trend clearly northward.

For fuck's sake, my soul is somehow being shanghaied up to Scotland, which can only mean one thing. Karla's soul is still entangled with mine.

I find myself riding a sleek little avatar that cuts through the wind like a bullet. I can tell it belongs to some hotshot weaver. I sense a bit of resistance when I first tap in, but they quickly ease back and let me take over the reins. I feel another will sweep over mine to check my credentials.

How gracious of them! Such nice souls here in the Singularity! I wonder if that is a prerequisite for admission.

This thing I ride is a real hot rod. I think for sure it must be some kind of hawk or falcon. When it lands beside a puddle (for pretense not thirst, because avatars need no nourishment) I catch a glimpse of it in the mirrored sheen before it takes again to the wind.

I am just a little bird. A chickadee or sparrow or some such thing. Don't ask me what. I'm no birdwatcher. And the bird isn't even real, just some reconstruction or composite from someone's memory. I suppose I could ask its creator. She is right there with me in that avatar, watching over my virtual shoulder. Not that it matters. A little bird is a little bird.

And I suppose it makes sense. Little birds are inconspicuous. They don't worry people or make them flinch when they land close by. They're just harmless little curiosities. Just imagine how Karla might react if I flew up as a full grown raven with a beak that could crack a squirrel's skull and claws built for raking through carrion.

Because there I am, circling over that old lady's farm just north of Loch Ness. And Karla is down there, on her knees, digging in a flower bed, planting bulbs. A pinch of bone meal, drop in a scaly bulb, cover with a swipe of dirt. Tap, tap. I land a few feet away. She smiles and tosses a pinch of bone meal my way.

That smile! Oh my God! It's like the clouds parting and letting down a beam from Heaven after a week of solid rain.

I peck at the bone meal just for show, trying my best to act like a real bird. I don't have to work hard. This avatar has a lot of birdie routines already programmed into it.

Karla keeps at her work while I hop around and ogle her. She's put on a little weight, but she carries it well. That's a good thing. She's been scarily thin most of the time I have known her. Now the hollows below her cheek bones have filled in and she carries more muscle on her arms and legs. The old lady must be working her hard and feeding her well. She is fit and toned, wiry but buff.

She looks great! And some of those old feelings stir back up in me. Feelings that I thought were gone for good, torn apart and blown away by the scheme that had dragged me back to the Liminality just when I thought I had broken away for good. But here they come, surging back.

I still love her. And I miss her.

But I can see why she doesn't make it back to the Lim as much anymore. She is happy here. And I am happy for her. And if I am jealous of her happiness just a little bit, I keep it squashed like a flea trapped under my thumb. I don't let it ruin my buzz.

But then the residue of her smile vanishes. She must have noticed that my feathers were actually only bits of leaf stuck together. She must have noticed the bark scaling off the twigs that form my legs.

She freaks! Screams and throws the trowel at me and takes off running into the house. There is no way she can know it is me. How could she? She only sees some anonymous avatar. She might think I am an agent of the Pennies or one of Wendell's assassins, spying in advance of a hit.

The sudden disappointment that falls over me breaks my link with the avatar and sends my will spinning back into the afterlands. My head slams back against my rocker. My body jerks and I slip from the chair onto the floor of the porch.
Chapter 7: Soul Rippers

I lay flat on the porch, admiring the realistic grain of my floorboards. Not a bad job of weaving some faux knotty pine if I have to say so myself, though I really shouldn't take credit. Good and detailed weaving relies more on the subconscious than the conscious.

I tried raising my head but it felt like it was made out of solid lead. It took a while to snap back from a Singularity trip. There's a period of transition that is sometimes like a hangover, sometimes like an afterglow. Sometimes bits of my soul seemed to take their own sweet time coming back.

Next time, I would have to figure out a better way to communicate with Karla. Cocking my head and chirping from the body of a little fake bird didn't cut it. I might just have to go and share some space with her own soul inside that pretty little head of hers. I wonder how she'd feel about that.

Despite the unhappy ending to our encounter, her looking well left me with a bit of warm glow. I was happy for her. I really was.

And yet, I was still left feeling kind of empty. When I had first plugged into the Singularity my intention had actually been to find out more about Urszula. I already figured that Karla and her sister were in good hands thanks to a certain Scottish lady.

So I hauled myself up off the floor of the porch, climbed back into the rocker and tried to give it another go, if the Singularity would have me. I threw my head back and took some long, slow easy breaths, set my mind reaching, but this time I intended to focus my wants and over-ride any deeper desires of my soul.

***

When my head empties, it's like a puff of smoke wafting out a window waiting for a breeze. Directionless, my will spreads. This time I make sure I keep Urszula firmly in mind, to the exclusion of all else.

The Singularity resists me this time. It's not as easy surfing souls in after worlds. They're way more slippery than living souls. They notice you faster and are quicker to shrug you off. You need to be a lot more sneaky and subtle.

Not only that, and this is the part that worries me: some realms are simply out of bounds. You kind of know they exist because you can feel the connections souls here have with souls in these hidden places. The Singularity can sniff around their borders, but their interfaces are impenetrable to by casual surfers like me.

After a bit of probing, I snap back to find myself still sitting in that rocking chair. Now I'm really getting worried. How far gone was Urszula? I mean there's gone and there's ... GONE! Was she really that unreachable?

I'm weirded out, but I continue to push. One thing about the Singularity is that it never slams the door and leaves me hanging. It aims to please even when it knows I'm asking a lot. There's a lot of empathy and grit in those billions of unbound souls. All it takes is one sympathetic and industrious will to get things going.

And so again, I lean back and send out feelers, and this time ... it takes me!

The ride is choppy as I careen through a sparse network of unwilling hosts. This is like off-roading compared to the seamless interstate that living souls provide. But at least I am moving. Quick glimpses through shared senses as my souls gets pulled across the plains show tiny settlements of surface dwellers I had no idea existed, somehow untouched by the invasion.

My soul jitters and jumps from hamlet to hamlet. I barely get a whiff of the sea before I'm slung across the water to the island of Penult, where things immediately get even rougher. I ricochet between souls that shunt me away like opposing magnets, skittering through one of their cities like a pinball.

A few, less-guarded individuals let me slide in for a glimpse or two, but most clench tight the instant they sensed me, squeezing me out like a watermelon seed before I can sample any sights or sounds.

We jump to the next city and it is more of the same. These Pennies resent my presence, but I am tenacious. There has to be a reason the Singularity has brought me here.

I cling to flow, fighting to hang on as it flings me to another city, flitting through gaggles of souls gathered in several groups inside a cavernous, cathedral-like atrium filled only with echoes. The Singularity carries me off to the far end, to an alcove lined with small, arched doors.

Before I can get through the doors or even focus on the scene, something collapses over me like a shroud and blots out all my senses. I can't breathe. But my soul is trapped away from my body. There is nothing I can do.

***

The Singularity responds aggressively, tearing through the shroud and whisking me away out of the city and back across the island, skipping through the souls of random travelers on those pearly roads. I gasp explosively. Breath returns to my distant body of which I am only vaguely connected and aware.

The sea of souls has a way of flashing instant knowledge of things it wants you to learn real quick. It hits like a revelation. Something totally baffling becomes as blatantly obvious as the number of toes on your feet.

In that instant I gather that I am surrounded by hostile avatars. They are fundamentally different from those I have known, existing only in the parallel realm of disembodied spirits in which the Singularity dwells. They are made not of twigs and leaves or any kind of matter at all, just the stuff that souls are made of.

One of these monstrosities has just tried to hijack me, and there are others about preparing to do the same. I gather that we were not yet out of danger. I can feel the urgency in the Singularity's maneuvers. Crafty enemy avatars anticipate our leaps, beating us to multiple likely targets.

At one point I sink into an unusually receptive soul and linger long enough to catch another sniff and glimpse of ocean. I relax, thinking it means we have finally crossed to safety.

But's it's another trap! An enemy avatar swoops in like a vulture and tries to snag me. It latches on and rips off a chunk of my soul before the Singularity can yank me free. That is a part of me I will never get back. I can only hope that I've lost nothing too important.

We blast away from shore, seeking a cluster of boats in the middle of the strait. Sparsely crewed, I am glad to learn that these are not troop carriers but patrol boats, as I flit through the minds of the Hashmallim who control them.

Again the soul-ripping avatars find us, but we blow across the remaining stretch of water to some occupied huts on a mainland beach. Our pursuers follow on our figurative heels. Unlike me, they are not bound by the need to skip between souls.

The Singularity sucks me down an intact portal behind the dunes into one of the few shallow tunnel networks not destroyed by the root quakes. The rippers come after us without hesitation, determined to snuff my soul.

I feel no fear because the chase feels so abstract and removed from my physical being. It feels like I have no skin in the game, that even if the very worst happened, my body would suffer no harm.

But that is merely an illusion. My body will perish if my soul is harmed. And the Singularity makes me understand that it is not my body I need to worry about. Bodies can be repaired or replaced. Souls cannot. My very existence is at stake.

It shows me how the damage the rippers inflict is cumulative. The effect of each wound is like someone saying something mean to you that spoils your buzz and takes your mood down a notch. Forever. That doesn't sound like much, but a few such hits will make you an entirely different person. Enough notches and you reach a point where there is nothing recognizable left of your essence.

But I believe in the Singularity's power to protect me. And that belief is soon validated in spectacular fashion. As we plunge ever deeper into the tunnels, we come across a swarm of friendly avatars that have mobilized to intercept the rippers. We flit between and among them, exchanging bits of greeting as we pass through the cordon.

The rippers are not so lucky. The friendly avatars tear into them like pit bulls, latching on and not letting go, shredding these invasive manifestations of will into harmless inklings.

The Singularity hauls me along, out of the fray, and we drift downward in peace, shuttling through the pod souls and free folk that inhabit the underworld.

There is no chance we will find Urszula here. She had always hated these tunnels, even though her time down below had been fleeting. She had been one of those seriously suicidal souls who never break free of their pods, residing only long enough for the Reapers to find them, victim of a precocious and successful suicide at the age of thirteen.

At this point, I just want to go home to my body, but the Singularity is not helping me search. We continue down into the chambers where the Reapers dwell. And I am astounded to learn that these lowly creatures also have souls. Theirs are as dim and weak as pilot lights, but they provide enough purchase to bounce my will further downward into the Lim's core and past its interface with the Deeps.

***

The Deeps had once been Urszula's home. She had spent far more time there than in life and the Lim combined. Here, in the cold and dust, it is almost business as usual. The hordes marching after the restored Horus seem a bit sparser but they remain substantial. We skim through them as easily as through an earthly crowd, all receptive and open and fairly unaware of our presence unlike the hostile Pennies.

In the relative safety of this realm, the Singularity can afford to spread me thin. We span out, attenuating my presence to cast a wider net.

But there is no sign of Urszula. No recent knowledge of her presence in anyone.

But of memories there are plenty. We find Duster friends and lovers who had never escaped to the Lim through any of the rifts. Those who know of her are heretics not marchers. Some have known her for many decades in earth time.

We exhaust the pool of those who had known her. The Singularity slows its search. My soul is spread wide, hovering like a mist over the landscape, vulnerable, but never daring to stray too close to the Horus, that sluggish soul-ripping monstrosity. We have failed to find her. I don't understand why we are still here.

Sensing the depth of my disappointment, the Singularity stretches its capability to the limits, eager to please me. It probes its proxy agents in other realms, places my soul in its present state cannot access.

Reports return delayed like transmissions from distant planetary probes. I piece together rough impressions from bits of information.

Lethe is one such place, an arm of the Liminality I never knew existed until now. Souls here are divided into factions, much like the Deeps. The fervent strive to reach a better place, not a sham and trap like the Horus, but a truly better station they call Elysium. There are slackers here too, those at peace with their status, unaware or uninterested in higher realms. Some residents regard Lethe as Heaven. Their neighbors are just as certain it is Hell. No one knows or remembers Urszula.

Reports come back from other nameless places, but the Singularity's proxies are sparser there and the data is incomplete and incoherent. This is my first realization that the Singularity is not as all-knowing as I think. It flows to life and several realms but not everywhere. There are borders it cannot cross.

Urszula is elsewhere. That is all I can conclude. The Singularity has done what it could to find her, but she is simply not findable.

My will goes slack and I release my hold on the stream of souls. My re-entry is instantaneous. I snap back into my own head, a little less whole, but for the most part intact. Sprawled again on the floor of my porch, I am more exhausted than I have ever been in life and make no attempt to crawl to my bedroom.

I laid my head flat against the planks and fell into the bottomless well of a sleep without dreams.
Chapter 8: Ezekiel

Not all of my nights were dreamless. Sometimes I got lucky and was rewarded with a vivid re-dramatization of a scene from my former life. The script writer had issues with continuity and went way too heavy on edginess and absurdity, but he sure had a knack for recreating moods and atmospherics.

Always, these dreams brought me back to the ranch house in Fort Pierce where I had spent most of my childhood. It was sure nice seeing my dead parents alive, but the real stars of the show were the micro-environments that had been so important to me as a kid.

Such as the bare patch in the shady side of the side yard where I had spent hours watching ant hills at war. Or the front walk with its cracked and scaly slates where I splashed in puddles during winter rainstorms when the rest of the neighborhood kids were inside and cozy. Or the walk-in closet in my bedroom, sound-proofed by all those dangling clothes that muffled even the scariest arguments and thunderstorms.

Dreams became way more important to me after my death. They were the only other way I could travel back to life without the Singularity; the only other way to experience the realm I missed most. The warm and fuzzy vibe these visitations produced would linger with me for hours after I awoke.

No such luck this morning. When I woke up my mind was an empty jar. It took a full minute to remember where I was. This sour-smelling bed with blankets gone scratchy with party undone roots could just as well have been prison as the Lim. Last I knew I had been lying on the floor of the porch. I must have sleep-walked.

One look out the window and the rest came back to me, every detail of my misadventures in the Singularity the day before, and my encounter with the soul rippers. The core of my being had taken a hit. Was I still me?

I took inventory of my soul my usual way, the only way I knew how—going through the tally of significant women in my life, former girlfriends and crushes, good friends, and my mom. There were seven women in total. The idea was to see if I could remember them all, and if they still had the ability to twang the right fibers in the nerves of my heart. I'm not sure how well this method worked, but it helped remind me of who I am, and if I had changed.

As I worked down my short list, I found that all of these women still affected me one way or another. Each stirred some kind of regret of things never done, things done too early, too late or just plain botched. They all still hurt so I guess I was still me, for better or for worse.

Though, I did wonder whether that soul ripper had affected my ability to dream. There was not much I could do about it now. I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes, aghast to see the ghastly tangle of coarse fibers my blanket was turning into.

Rainy season was on the way. Clouds were already building over the hills. I was glad to have this little house of mine. A good and water-tight roof would become very important very soon.

I could have built anything on this lot. A basic suburban McMansion. Malibu-ish celebrity lair. Even a Frank Lloyd Wright-ish arts and crafts architectural masterpiece. What did I end up with? The house I grew up in. A Florida-style split-level ranch. It was what I knew best. It was what brought me the most comfort.

The layout was exactly like the house I grew up in, and furnished just the same as well, right down to the green pastel paint in the sun room and the mottled shag rug in the guest bedroom. It was fairly authentic apart from the plumbing, which was not my strength. The sinks had running water, but the toilet was dry. It was basically just a porcelain throne over a very deep hole.

I couldn't replicate everything exactly. There was no TV. The books on the bookshelf contained no words beyond the titles on the covers. There was no mom in the kitchen cooking me lobster mac and cheese on the gas range. No dad in the den plucking away at his mandolin. I did manage to copy the stove pretty accurately. And I did conjure up a functional copy of that mandolin. It didn't sound near as nice as dad's, but strumming it was a comfort, even though I could never get it quite in tune.

My existence was cozy at least. I made sure I had a nice, soft mattress and some nice places to sit and admire the view, from the rockers on the porch to the cotton-upholstered easy chair with the threadbare arms I had copied from memory.

It got old, though, sitting there in those chairs with nothing to read and nothing to watch. When dreams failed me and I had trouble tapping into the Singularity, I turned to daydreams, pretending what I might be doing with those bottomless credit cards the warring factions had given me on the other side, if only I hadn't died.

I stared at myself a lot. In the mirror. At my hand. Hoping to see spots. Praying for a fade I knew would never come. But weirder things had happened in this place. Hope had sucked me out of this realm before. What harm could a little more hoping inflict?

Funny how I had always thought of myself as a loner. Turns out, that wasn't exactly true. It didn't take much alone time for me to get to pining for some kind of companionship. I didn't get many visitors here. I don't know if people stayed away out of deference, or if they were scared of me.

If nobody came soon, I would need to go visit someone before I went bonkers. I was getting so desperate, I might even go say hi to Luther.

I got to feeling hungry so I whipped together a little meal. My diet consisted entirely of roots these days. I could make them taste like anything I wanted, but with no company around to impress, I didn't bother much with looks.

I felt like having pizza, so I modified this foot-long horseradish-looking length of root into something that crunched and tasted like a pretty decent knockoff of mall pizza. I ate with my eyes closed and it was hot and salty and tasted like cheese, sauce and bread. That was enough for me.

If I was too lazy to weave, there were always the bees. They came by, at least one every half hour for every hour there was light. Some days, though, I just couldn't stomach another regurgitated mouthful of tepid nectar. At least the bees didn't take it personal if I refused them. They just moved along to the next stop on their circuit.

After dinner, I got to thinking about dessert. I was in a mood for some pie, so I went and fetched another handful of squirmy roots. Out the kitchen window came a flash. Nothing big. Just a twinkle.

I went to the window, pressing my nose up against the glass. It was cool and slick, just like real glass. Some of my best work. And there it was, this shaggy teardrop-shaped thing shimmering as it descended. There wasn't much to see, just a subtle sheen outlining its shape as it dropped out of sight behind a ridge.

A wild hair crept up my butt just then. Why not turn the tables? Why not go and watch the Watchers? I strolled out onto the porch and whistled for Tigger.

***

Me and Tigger went up into the hills a lot to hunt for bugs. That that would be our alibi if these watchers took issue with our presence. I didn't expect them to be hostile, but after my harrowing experience in the Singularity, I fetched one of my better will-focusing sticks to be safe. I had gotten use to coping without my old sword. If sticks were good enough for the Dusters, they were good enough for me.

I was simply curious. I wanted a closer look. So I called Tigger off the rocks behind the house. These days, he loved to sun himself on some boulders that had tumbled out the heights after the root quakes.

And he came to me right away! I am so pleased with how responsive he was these days. I wish I had a treat to give him, but all I could offer was the promise of some juicy bugs up in the hills. He never cared for my root-derived fakes, no matter how realistic I tried to make them. He liked his prey real.

Some of the side valleys were lush with giant vine forests bristling with giant aphids and whiteflies. You'd be surprised how much fight a dog sized aphid can put up. Sometimes I would try to tuck one under my arm like an overgrown football and those little legs would keep kicking and prying.

Worse was fending off the ants that protected them. It took me a while to figure out which aphid herds belonged to ants and which were free to mess with. Tigger intervened in one scary encounter when a soldier ant had come after me with its mandibles clacking. We might have been allies in the war against Penult, but those ants had tolerance for anyone messing with their precious herds.

I got him saddled and we took off, angling steeply over the cliffs that hemmed the hollow. I had him fly over some of the side valleys where I had seen the twinkle but they were all devoid of any unusual activity. These hills were so furrowed, the shimmery thing could have disappeared into any of them.

So I punted and let Tigger take us to his favorite hunting ground—a spring-fed canyon overgrown with tree-sized ferns and brambles with thorns as big as my head. It was a predator's paradise with a biodiversity index as high as it gets in the Lim. I counted at least five different species of stripy plant hoppers and twice the variety of aphids than any other place. Some of the plants had leaves large enough to wrap around myself like a blanket.

I dismounted and let him do his own thing. This was ant territory so he was better that he took his own prey on the wing. All I had to do was clamber the tangles and flush various winged beasties so he could snatch them.

I found myself a stable perch and whacked away at the hollow stems with my stick. My drumming would reverberate across the hills and send the more skittish hoppers into the air. From the way he was swooping and diving, it looked like I would be flying home a well-fed dragonfly.

When Tigger moved on to the next furrow, I hiked over a ridge to join him. This one was dry and barren on top, offering a wide open view of the plains. I spotted a new settlement that hadn't been there that last time I had come up this way. This place looked quaint as hell with all of these steep gabled houses surrounding a new England-y white church. Hopefully they weren't all weird and cult-y like some of the new surface folk can be. I made a note to go and check them out next time I was bored out of my skull.

The next hollow, though, was a zone of normal sized plants with normal sized bugs. That was the weirdest thing about this place—its mess of giant-sized and regular-sized organisms. It was like two worlds of different scales had gotten mashed together. But which one was too large and which too small was the million dollar question. Sometimes these afterworlds seemed like someone's experiment gone terribly wrong.

Clearly, Tigger didn't bother with the small stuff, but there was another patch of giant weeds poking up the next rise. Tigger had already buzzed over to it, so I picked up the pace to try and catch up.

I pushed through clumps of grass at tall as bamboo forests, past stacks of boulders reminiscent of cairns. I wondered what ancient calamity had put them there as these hills had escaped the ravages of the root quakes.

Tigger rose back into view but he wasn't carrying any prey. It was strange of him to break off his hunting like that. He kept hovering and circling around one area, acting all aggressive and territorial.

I double-timed through the bottom of the next valley and up the dry ridge on the other side.

"Get away you! Shoo!" someone shouted from a terrace above me. The voice was female and melodious, but I didn't let my guard down. I got my stick ready for action, already in tune with the bolus of energy in my mid-section, ready to fling my will if things got rough. No watcher was going to hurt my dragonfly.

I ran in a forward crouch, scrambling up the rubble strewn slope, working my way over the terrace so I would have the advantage of heights. I peeked over the top of a boulder as Tigger continued to harry the target.

The watcher was a girl, her head topped with a tousled mop of honey blonde hair, her face freckled and pale. She wore a shapeless dress, as pale and blue as her eyes and cinched at the waist with a simple cord. She had no earrings or makeup or any other ornamentation, just a single braided and pinned-back forelock.

She knelt before a square of canvas, daubing at it with her finger. A delicate paint brush was clenched in her teeth. She had no palette or tubes or jars. Nowhere did I see any evidence of paint except on the canvas.

Her face whipped in my direction and she pinned me down with her fierce gaze. Something rustled behind me. Her eyes darted over my head.

She shouted. "Ezekiel! No!"

There was a blur and a breeze across one side of my face. I recoiled and turned to find something like a giant, colorless octopus menacing me with a claw-tipped tentacle, its blade curved like a scimitar. The bulbous core of the creature was carried aloft by a ring of other arching tentacles.

The creature stood frozen by the woman's command, before relaxing and settling back down against the slope, shifting its shape into something more like a mushroom with a stem poking through its cap.

"Do you realize you were very nearly decapitated? Never approach a stranger without warning them of your presence. Understood?" She had the weirdest accent. Faintly British, but there was something else mixed in.

"You're a watcher."

She smiled. "Ah, yes. I suppose that's what they call us down here, don't they?"

"What do you call yourself?"

She shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"What are you?"

"What? I am a soul ... like you."

The octopus creature continued to transform, deflating itself into a flat blob and becoming even more transparent.

"What's that thing doing?"

"My chariot? He's relaxing. Now that I have deemed you not to be a threat."

"Aren't chariots supposed to have wheels?"

"Call him what you will. Ezekiel carries me where I need to go. Just like you and your insects." Her eyes shifted up to Tigger, who continued to hover menacingly. "Is that one yours? I think he wants to eat me."

"Tigger? Nah? He only goes after bugs."

She gave me a pained look. "Will you please go away? I am not allowed to mingle with ... those like you."

"Why should I? And who are you to tell me? This ain't your hill."

"Oh, and who are you, the duke of hills?"

"My name is James."

"Oh, I know who you are."

"Really?"

"How did you find me? It was that beast of yours, wasn't it?"

"Your chariot thing. It twinkles."

She screwed up her mouth. "It twinkles?"

"Yeah. When it flies. It gets all sparkly."

Her mouth flopped open and she propped her hands on her hips. "You saw Ezekiel descend?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's not too obvious. But when it catches the light just right, you can tell it's there."

She bit her lip. "Blast it! We have a faulty shroud. That won't do. That won't do at all. This is not supposed to happen. Ezekiel should be entirely invisible."

"Well, he's not."

"And what is your purpose in coming to me?"

"I don't know. No purpose. I was just curious. I heard there were watchers. Just wondering what you guys were watching."

"I ... paint," she said. "Obviously. Landscapes." She turned the canvas so I could see it better. It seemed to be a penciled sketch filled in with watercolor though I saw no evidence of either medium in her presence, just the little brush that she had now tucked behind one ear. The image she showed me was an impressionistic rendition of a little house beside a pond.

"That's my house! In the hollow."

"Yes."

"You're watching me!"

"Not only you. Get over yourself."

"Are you a spy? For the Pennies?"

"Please! I have no affinities. I am merely an interested observer."

"So you're not from here?"

"Not here, per se. But in a sense we are all here together, are we not, in these after realms?"

"Does your place have a name?"

I was fully expecting to hear the word 'Heaven,' invoked for the first time. This woman was the most highly evolved being I had ever met in the after realms. The Pennies and their flying machines were pretty awesome, but they had nothing as slick as this 'chariot' thing of hers.

"Call it ... Loom ... if you must have a name. But I have to tell you, this naming business is all a bit arbitrary and ... frankly ... silly. There are many realms and most seem interchangeable to me. It is the souls that make them and I mean that quite literally."

"So what do you find so interesting about this place? You like watching people fight?"

"No. That's not it at all. I've been coming here ages before any conflicts. When you were all underground."

"And now you're watching me?"

"Among others. A little self-absorbed, are we?"

I leaned over to get a better look at her painting. There, indeed, was my little house beside the pond, centered between the bluffs opening to the plains beyond. It was a little loose and smudgy and the colors were weird. Impressionistic, Expressionistic, or both. But the composition was perfect. The lighting surreal. This was way better than the crap I used to see in the little galleries on the artsy-fartsy side of Fort Pierce. It would look perfect in my living room.

"Wow," I said.

"You can't have it," she said. Had she read my mind or was my ogling that obvious?

"Hey, I don't mind you watching me and all, but do you really need to slink about? Why don't you come down to my hollow? I mean, there are some really pretty spots down there. And with rainy season coming, the waterfall—"

She reached and pinched the corner of her canvas and it rolled up into a tight little tube.

"I'd better leave."

"You don't need to go. Really."

"I told you, I am not allowed to consort with locals."

"We're not consorting, we're just chatting."

"Ezekiel? Homeward." Her chariot sprang into action, shaping itself into a stable platform with a gentle ramp. A tall, chest-high pillar took form in its center, flat on top like a table.

"You had better step back. Ezekiel can be rather over-protective sometimes."

The chariot's tentacles flattened and curled upward, forming a wall around a central chamber as she loped up the ramp. Two of its tentacles arched protectively over either side of the ramp, menacing me with their sharpened tips.

I moved away over the uneven ground, stumbling on some loose stone. I was sorry to see her go. I hadn't had a chance to learn one damned thing about her. Not even where she was from, and how could I go there and when.

She paused at the top of the ramp. "Oh, and you might wish to call off your dragonfly. It's quite likely Ezekiel will mangle him if he strays too close."

I whistled Tigger down and watched meekly as the ramp curled up to join the other petals. She stood there, staring at me like my very presence offended her.

"Um. Bye," I said, just before the ramp closed and screened her from view, merging with the other petals until it resembled an unopened tulip blossom. It rose gently off the slope like a hot air balloon, picking up speed, fading into the air until it was nothing more than a shimmer and a twinkle.
Chapter 9: Alice

Not only is the Singularity my Netflix, it is my Google and my Siri. Whatever I ask of it, it usually can tell me, not always right away or completely but it does its due diligence in satisfying my requests.

Of course it's not completely infallible. Just like Siri it sometimes goofs up and misunderstands me, or is simply unable to access certain information. The episode with Urszula proved that. And also, it could never tell me exactly what happened to my Dad, only that he was in one of those unreachable places. High or low, it just couldn't tell me. It didn't know.

It told me that my mom was here, in the Lim with me, though I already knew that. I know exactly where she is—in a little settlement on the far side of the massif, populated by former residents of the Sanctuary, refugees all.

Last time I saw her, the flesh weavers had messed with her brain so much that she didn't even recognize her own son. They tell me that these brain purges wear off sooner or later, but the incident had been so traumatizing, that I don't yet have the courage to go see her again.

As long as I know she's doing okay, that's enough for me. Eternity is a long time and neither of us are going anywhere anytime soon.

So now I set the Singularity to work finding out who exactly was that marvelous creature with the flying octopus that I had met up in the hills. The sea of souls has access to my memory and my perceptions so it knows exactly what individual I am talking about. Even if it is unable to access her directly, it can sieve through the links between her and people who know her or knew her in this and other realms. Like most search engines, it comes up with a bunch of hits, mostly crap, but some super informative.

Her full name is Gaia Vibeke Pounce. What an odd hippy-ish moniker. Vibeke means 'alive' in Danish. Her father is English and her mother Norwegian. And yet she grew up in Jersey, of all places—a little island off the coast of France. The flow tells me that she speaks fluent French, along with her perfect but oddly accented English.

She once had a little dog named Brutus that died while she was away at college. She herself had died only a few years ago at the age of twenty-four, from complications resulting from pneumonia. She had been asthmatic, and a bad bout of influenza that had gotten terribly out of hand.

She has never been suicidal, so her soul has never seen Root. But one of her dearest friends, a gentle soul named Eloise, did get yanked into its tunnels to sadly pass through the digestive tract of a Reaper on her way to the Deeps.

Her parents are both elderly but still alive, and still on Jersey. She has two younger sisters, Mnetha and Grace, both also alive. Her grave sits on a sunny southern slope overlooking the sea. Her mother still brings fresh flowers almost every week.

This Gaia really was and is a serious painter. Seriously. She had been a visual arts major at the University of Bristol in the UK. According to the eyes of an avatar I borrowed, her work still covers the walls of her parents' home. And it's good. Really good. She had been preparing a gallery showing just before her death.

Gaia is remembered well in Jersey and still loved by a young man who misses her terribly. Erik has never seen her grave. He could not even bring himself to attend her funeral. He has paid several visits to Root. He thinks those trips are only nightmares.

Loom is Gaia's realm but the Singularity can tell me little about it other than to express a general awe and respect regarding its denizens. Souls in Loom are not only 'watchers' but 'makers.' What they 'make' is not exactly clear to me as the Singularity is not welcome there. Its intimations about Loom tend toward the cryptic.

And that is all that the Singularity can tell me about her. It is a lot. More than I expected. But not enough to satisfy me.

***

My curiosity piqued, I spent the rest of the day wandering by the pond hoping for a glint in the hills that might indicate Gaia's return. Maybe I wanted to show off what I had learned, impress her with my divinations. Maybe I was jealous of her station and wanted to know how someone like me could get into Loom. It would be pretty nifty to get myself one of those glittery octopi chariots.

So maybe my true intentions were not very clear, not even to myself. But yeah, I was lonely and would have welcomed any visitor, even someone as weird and inaccessible as her.

But there was nobody to be visiting me that day. Not so much as a bug rider appeared over the hills, only bees that shuttled in like clockwork through the gap in the bluffs.

When the sun went down, I got a few of my lamps to glow and chomped on some roots barely disguised as baked potatoes. I went to sleep early in my scratchy bed, making a mental note to weave myself a nicer blanket.

***

In the morning, I was back at it again, roaming the flats, hacking at weeds with one of my will sticks, all while keeping an eye on the hills.

About mid-morning I was rewarded with a sighting. Nothing that twinkled, but a slender bug with lacy and delicate wings an odd bulge to the aft—a damselfly overloaded with two riders and excess baggage. It was all fluttery and struggling to control its descent into my hollow as it skimmed the ridge tops.

Tigger was already zooming off to intercept them, but I called him off and tossed aside my stick. This was to be a friendly visit. Bern and Lille were coming to visit!

My excitement was quickly tempered by a pang of guilt. I needed an alibi and fast. They were going to want to know why I blew them off for breakfast the other day.

And then I remembered the mess I had made of the house. Lille was a neat freak and I would never hear the end of it if I didn't get things straightened up. I scrambled inside to see what I manage with a two minute cleaning binge.

My kitchen was an absolute mess, with stray bits of root escaping from their bins, the floor tracked with mud, and some unidentifiable gunk splattered on the back splash.

I grabbed a stick off the table and just started projecting myself willy-nilly. The roots were easy to deal with. I just sped them up till they slithered out of the house and hid under the porch. The stuff on the walls I turned to fluff. It flaked off and fluttered down, so I kicked up a whirlwind to blow the bigger, looser stuff off the floor and out of the room.

I couldn't do everything with willpower alone. I ran into the bedroom and straightened out my sheets, realizing that I had forgotten to fix my blanket. It had regressed further overnight and was now looking like a bunch of hairballs quilted together. I decided right then not to include my bedroom on the tour.

As I consumed myself in a flurry of tidying I heard the flutter of wings followed by a heavy thump as my visitors touched down on the mudflat. I stepped onto the porch and tried to look all casual and cheerful like it was a pleasant surprise and no big deal to receive visitors.

Bern grinned and waved from the saddle, but Lille just stared at me with a half-scowl rigidly affixed to her face.

The damselfly was a beautiful little creature with jewels for eyes. Various boxes and bundles were strapped to its thorax, so many that they made it hard for my friends to dismount from their bug. Once he got his leg untangled from some cording, Bern managed to hop down and help Lille descend.

They were both dressed for travel, wearing rugged, loose fitting khaki slacks and vests. Lille had her hair tied up in a blue scarf with a pair of old-fashioned aviator's goggles pulled up over her forehead. As I went down my front steps, I smoothed my hair back with a swipe of one hand and approached them.

"Hey guys! What a nice surprise. I love your new bug!"

Lille glared at me. "You think you can simply ignore an accepted invitation without apologies? Were you raised by wolves?"

"I'm sorry, Lille. I was gonna come by. But I just couldn't. I got some bad news and I just needed to be alone."

"You could have sent word down to us. We prepared a very large spread for you."

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"No worries. We brought it along. This is about that girl, isn't it?"

"What girl?"

"How many girls are you seeing these days?"

"None. I'm not seeing anybody. There's nobody to see."

"I believe he and Miss Karla had a falling out," said Bern.

"I'm well aware of that. I thought he was seeing someone else. Pardon me if I had the wrong impression. Sometimes it's hard to keep track."

"Perhaps you're thinking of Miss Urszula, dear."

"She got taken. Over in—"

"We heard," said Bern. "We had Mikal over for breakfast when you didn't show."

"But we brought plenty of leftovers," said Lille. "Don't worry. It's all root-based. It doesn't spoil."

"Let me unburden poor Alice. Such a good girl, hauling us and all our baggage such a distance."

Bern stroked the bristles on the damselfly's gleaming face.

"She is a pretty one, don't you think?" said Lille. "Bern was worried about her daintiness but I think she's proven herself well on this trip. She's much, much stronger than she looks. While you two are unloading, I'll be inside assessing things. Cute house, James, but I can see that we have some work to do around here.

***

Alice's bundles contained just about every household nicety one could imagine: throw rugs, bath towels, bed sheets, scrub brushes, pots and pans, all securely woven with an eye to functionality and authenticity.

Lille nearly fainted when she saw my primitive bathroom arrangement. She immediately set Bern to work with me to remedy the situation, and we struggled to re-engineer my pit latrine into an actual flush toilet.

Bern dropped a pebble into the hole and counted to eleven before he heard a splash.

"Good gracious! This pit goes halfway to China."

"The deeper the better was my thinking."

"Not deep enough to satisfy Lille, I'm afraid. We'll need to do this up proper. How is your water pressure here?"

"Fine. It's all gravity fed. Can be a bit gritty sometimes but I don't mind."

"A settling tank will take care of that."

A horrendous bang came from the kitchen followed by some secondary clunking.

"What the heck is she doing in there?"

"Cleaning behind the stove, I would imagine. Lille hates nothing more than dirty little surprises. No mote of dust is safe from her broom."

We fashioned enough faux PVC to plumb the toilet up to standard though it still drained straight down into the cavern blow. Next step was to dig out a spot for a settlement tank on the rise just behind the house.

As we passed through the hall down to the porch I got a glimpse of Lille's 'improvements.' The place was looking a lot less like my Florida boyhood home and more like a pensioner's cottage in the Cotswolds. Not exactly the look I was going for, but I wasn't about to express anything but gratitude to Lille for her efforts.

I was more than happy to shift our work outside. That way I didn't have to cringe at every swap of décor. Digging was more my speed, anyways.

So I worked on expanding a pit while Bern struggled to craft a large polyethylene cistern from the bounteous roots that lay just below the surface.

Something crashed off the back porch and I saw it was the ceramic lamp I had recreated from the one my mom had inherited from her aunt. I couldn't say it was attractive or that I would really miss it, but it had been part of the environment I had been trying to recreate and thus had sentimental value.

I probably should have mentioned something to Lille about the theme of my interior decorating. Maybe she wouldn't have felt so free to jettison everything that disagreed with her sensibilities.

Bern caught me staring.

"Sorry about all this. But you know how she is."

"Oh no. It's fine. I ... uh ... appreciate the help."

As Bern and I were throwing the last shovelfuls of dirt over my new settling tank, Lille bustled back out onto the porch.

"Supper's ready," she said, melodically. "Why don't we have it al fresco? Looks to be a lovely evening out here."

"Excellent, dear. We're just wrapping up. Bern clapped the dirt off his hands. Uncharacteristically scrumptious aromas wafted across the flats from the kitchen.

"Whoa, that smells great!"

"Oh, it's nothing fancy," said Lille, bearing a large casserole dish. "Just a simple shepherd's pie with parsnips and leeks. I do think it came out well this time. Not a hint of root apart from the parsnips."

Bern and I washed up with the garden hose, wiping our hands dry with a fresh towel that Lille had brought out for us to share. There was a new round wicker table on the porch with a set of four matching chairs. Atop it was a formal place setting with embroidered place mats, bone china and a full set of silverware. Beside each plate were linen napkins cinched with silver rings.

"Some wine?" asked Bern.

"Um. Sure."

"Red or white?"

"Red would be nice."

He removed a cloth pouch the pocket of his shirt and sprinkled a pinch of powder into a glass carafe filled with water. When he flicked his fingers, a burgundy cloud spread through the contents.

"Your root stocks are running low and not very fresh. We'll need to rectify that situation before we leave tomorrow."

Lille took my plate and served me a large heap of the pie and passed the casserole dish to Bern for him to serve himself. I lost my head and tore into it before Lille could even put some on her plate.

"This is amazing!"

Her expression wavered between a frown and a smile as she served herself.

"You poor thing. You must have been famished."

"I'm not the best cook."

"You could be. It just takes some careful imagining. You can' be too hasty when it comes to food. The details matter."

"It's great having you guys here."

"Well, we were worried about you. It's not like you to skip out on a meal invitation."

"Yeah, well. Like I said. I wasn't in the mood for company."

"She's just probably doing just fine."

"Who?"

"Miss Urszula, of course. From what I hear, the Penultians are very deliberate with their prisoners. Their justice system is quite elaborate and thorough."

"Yes dear, but I hear they can be quite strict. Their penalties can be quite severe."

"For what possible crimes? Trespassing?"

"Maybe espionage," I said.

"In a time of war, standards are different. Soldiers following orders are not tried for attempted murder are they?"

"Maybe not."

I gathered up another heaping forkful of the shepherd's pie. It really was magical. Subtly and delectably spiced. Not too salty. Not too greasy. Not too anything but delicious.

"Hope they're feeding her well," said Bern.

"No matter, even if they're not," said Lille.

"What do you mean by that?"

"She's a hemi, is she not? She can eat whatever she wants when she oscillates back."

"True," I said. "I wonder where she goes these days, when she goes back."

She smirked.

"Czech Republic."

"How do you know that?"

"I have my ways."

"But how?"

"A little mouse told me."

Maybe I should have showed up for that breakfast after all.
Chapter 10: Zuzanna

Every day, at least once a day, Urszula would catch at least one strange mouse-like creature staring at her. She would spot them in the shadows, perched on a fencepost, or secreted in the middle of some trash heap, just sitting there, watching her.

The instant she noticed them they would vanish into background. It happened too regularly to be coincidence. And then a week ago, as she passed through Hungary, she was resting on a park bench when she spotted one in the rot hole of a linden tree.

It was the first time she had gotten more than a quick peek at one and immediately she noticed something very wrong. In had no eyeballs, merely pits opening into a hollow skull. The realization sent a chill running down her back. As soon as the creature noticed Urszula staring back, a pair of wings unfolded and it flew away.

Obviously these were not mice. Nor were they bats. She knew their true identity. She was not stupid. But the question was, were these avatars friends or foes? Not that it mattered, either way. Being tracked didn't help or hurt. As long as she stayed positive, she would remain in the living realm where the Pennies couldn't try her.

Today, she had covered more ground than any day since leaving Romania. She had managed to sneak onto a lumber truck in Slovakia and made it hundreds of kilometers all the way through the Czech Republic to Krnov. It was the most she had done since the front tire of her stolen bicycle blew out on the road to Miskolc. Most days she went by foot and was lucky to travel forty kilometers.

When the trucker pulled into the lot of a saw mill, she had slipped away, squeezing through a gap in the fence and into town. She had a few hazel nuts left in her handbag, but she would need to scrounge something more to eat before she settled down for the night. Day old bread and spoiled produce provided her sustenance most days. When she spied a young man emptying some bins into a dumpster behind a supermarket, she smiled and thanked the powers-that-be for this latest windfall.

Tomorrow she would enter Poland, her fourth country since leaving Romania. Hungary had been the most difficult border crossing as Romania did not belong to the Schengen Area had still had vigilant passport controls. As she owned no passport or any identification documents, she had needed to make the crossing in the remotest corner of northwestern Romania she could find west of Carei.

Once inside Schengen, she had enjoyed clear sailing through Hungary, Slovakia and the Czech Republic. She would eventually need a passport if she wanted to get into Great Britain through the front door. A Syrian refugee had told her that Amsterdam was a good place to buy fake travel documents, if only she could acquire the funds to afford them. But there were other ways to gain access to a country.

She had no money to spare on a hostel room that night so she found a quiet cemetery near the soccer fields on the edge of downtown. Some of the larger mausoleums had overhangs near their entrances that would shield her from the rain. While no storm threatened, the clouds overhead looked quite pregnant with moisture this evening. She couldn't rule out enough nighttime showers to render her miserable if she were caught out in the open.

The mausoleum she chose to bed down in belonged to a man named Gustav Schneider who passed in 1928 according to the bronze plaque. A German name, she wondered what his story was, and where his soul resided these days.

It looked like someone had slept here before. There was a glass jar on a window sill half-filled with water, and scraps of soiled cardboard on the granite plinth that probably cushioned someone's repose and insulated them a bit from the cold stone.

These were better accommodations than she enjoyed most nights. It was early, but it had been a long day rattling around atop a load of shifting logs, trying not to get crushed. She just wanted to eat something and go to sleep.

She had salvaged a piece of plastic foam sheeting she intended to use as a blanket. Her canvas bag would be her pillow. Inside was a plastic sack with the withered apples and stale pretzels that she had retrieved from the grocery store dumpster.

Like a silent mantra, over and over she ran through her mind how lucky she was, how good it was to be healthy and alive. Counting her blessings incessantly—that was how she defied the roots prowling the fringes of her consciousness.

And it was true. She was lucky. This was far more comfort than the Deeps had ever offered her, though cold and pain in life impinged much more acutely than anywhere in the after lands. But it was only temporary. Things would improve once she got to England and linked up with James and his friends. She had nothing but good things to look forward to. Her life already was more than tolerable and things would only get better.

It was a struggle, but she had to believe these things. The instant she let her optimism flag the roots would drag her back to the prison tribunal in Penult. One of these times they would finally get through their elaborate and interminable procedures and execute her. She needed no seers to foretell her future. But all it took to avoid that fate was to stay happy here on Earth. Was that really so hard?

She took a bite from an apple, which despite its wrinkled skin was still quite edible. The pretzels too, were still soft inside although the salt that had crusted its exterior had dissolved in the condensation.

With a full stomach after a much more successful than usual scavenging operation, why should she feel anything other than happy? Even the rain seemed to be holding off. Some breaks in the clouds let through the last light of day.

Somebody across the cemetery was singing. Yet more reason to be pleased. A full stomach. Improving weather. Happy, friendly people out for a stroll. With a nice, long nap she could be up and walking to the border by first light, another day working her way north and west, another day closer to Amsterdam.

The singing grew nearer and louder. There were two voices, both male, both quite slurred. She snuggled her cheek against her musty handbag and tucked the plastic sheet beneath her to ward off the prying breezes.

The proximity of those men made her uneasy and kept her from closing her eyes just yet. But the light was fading quickly, and as it did, automatic lights began flicking on around the cemetery grounds. She hoped that the shadows would disguise her.

A pair of figures came around the corner of a mausoleum silhouetted against a flood light down the alleyway. They wobbled as they walked, one man draping an arm over the other's shoulder.

Urszula kept still hoping they wouldn't notice her, but when they spotted her under the overhang, their singing ceased abruptly. Urszula made no move. She feigned sleep, hoping they would not disturb her, but continue on their way.

But they stood there staring at her, muttering to each other, before one man let go a full-throated barrage of Slavic epithets. The hair bristled behind her neck. She spoke no Czech, but curses sounded like curses in any language and she was pretty sure that she recognized the words for 'pig' and 'cunt.'

She lifted her head off her handbag. "Fuck off!" she said in English.

A bottle came hurtling end over end, smashing against the wall above her. Beer and bits of glass rained down as the men rushed at her. Before she could react, one of them yanked off her blanket. The other grabbed her hair and dragged her off the plinth.

The spontaneity and intensity of their reaction took her by surprise. What had she done to deserve this? Were they upset that she had taken their spot? Did they intend to rape her? Either way, they had picked on the wrong woman. She ripped her head free and sprang up to defend herself.

She had fought numerous fights in the decades of being dead, deriving methods of flinging her weight that had little to do with any traditional martial arts and more personal trial and error. She knew how to get people off their feet. She knew how to hurt and if necessary, kill.

She used every part of her body to attack and parry. Her blows were quick and sharp and the overweight and sluggish men were easy targets. But both were so well-padded with muscle and fat, her blows did little damage. But one lucky flailing roundhouse struck her brow square and knocked her on her knees.

She teetered, dazed, as blood trickled down the bridge of her nose. Then a boot struck her ribs and the pain cleared her head.

She rose back to her feet and faced them, finding a stable and efficient stance from which to deflect their awkward blows. The men bellowed at her, their tempers inflamed, both determined to do her serious harm.

Those faces! So monstrous! Flaring nostrils, saliva-flecked whiskers. More terrible than any creature she had encountered in the Lim. She had more sympathy for Cherubim who had least had the excuse of not being in control of their own will. Why would they do this to her? Was it merely the alcohol clouding their brains?

She was certain they would murder her, given the chance, but she did not intend to give them that chance. She watched patiently for an opportunity to run.

She caught one of her attackers with a solid side-kick causing him to stagger into the path of the other man who was coming after her with a block of stone he had pried loose from a wall. Both stumbled and tripped, collapsing onto each other and the block went skidding across the walkway.

This was her moment. She grabbed her handbag and sprang off down the alley.

***

Leaving the cemetery gates, Urszula gritted her teeth and sprinted across a road barely avoiding a car that was speeding down the road. She made for the lights and sounds of people at an athletic field. One whole side of her ribs was sore and there was something very wrong with her knee. Glancing back over her shoulder towards the cemetery, she was relieved to find no one giving chase.

She slowed her pace, limping past a well-lighted football field where a group of blue uniformed middle school kids was practicing. Those on the sidelines stared as she passed into the darkness on the far side of the field.

Comforted by the cover of shadows, she stopped to rest beside a shed, staring back across the field towards the cemetery gates to check again if she was being followed. But there was no one there. She was free to leave this place.

She took inventory of her condition. Her knee was swollen, her shin was bruised, but it didn't feel like anything was broken in her leg. But her ribs were another matter. She felt sharp, stabbing pains in her side where one of the men's boots had struck her. Her face was so battered and bloody she could no longer breathe through her nose. Blood dribbled down her chin and onto her clothes.

Satisfied that she was functional enough, she resumed her flight, crossing an unilluminated practice field towards the residential neighborhood beyond. She was lucky to have escaped. Another few minutes and she might have been asleep and totally vulnerable to whatever brutality these men decided to inflict on her. But here she was, on the move, her stomach still full, if she could only manage keep everything down with her nerves on edge the way they were.

She sensed the roots mobilizing, anticipating an imminent fall in her mood, but she refused to succumb. She had just survived an attack from two very large and very drunk men and emerged victorious! This was something to celebrate, not be sorry about.

And yet tears welled beyond her control. She fought them, screaming in defiance until could not help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. And when the roots shrank back like maggots from a flame, she smiled. This was truly a victory she could celebrate.

She left the shadows of the field for splashes of light below the streetlamps lining a residential street thick with row houses. As she dragged herself down a sidewalk she looked for a garage or garden shed or some place she could retreat to regroup and clean herself up a bit, and maybe sleep a little bit if that were still possible.

What she really needed was a walk-in clinic, but she didn't trust those places. People asked too many questions and tried to do much.

Headlights washed across her as she stood on the curb, contemplating a garden beside an unlit house that might offer her a haven. An Audi purred down the street and pulled up right next to her. She was too startled to flee as the window rolled down.

A youngish woman with immaculate makeup and stylish black hair leaned toward her peered up over her glasses.

"Don't be scared, Urszula. I am here to help you."

"Who ... who are you? How do you know me?"

"Just ... a helper. Some friends of yours asked me to check up on you. I apologize for my tardiness. You handled yourself well back there, I must say. I was just about to intervene, but then you got away on your own. But don't worry, those men can not bother you now. Their bothering days are done."

"Which friends? Who the fuck are you?"

"I am Zuzanna. I worked for Frelsi. Now I work for ... everyone. I don't know your friends. The people who sent me, they do not tell me such things. But please ... get in the car. I can take you out of here. Someplace safe ... and warm."

Urszula hesitated only for a moment before opening the door and climbing into the car. The way the woman was looking at her, so calmly and undemanding, it was almost mesmerizing. She trusted this stranger even though she was likely an assassin. It made so sense that she giggled nervously as she slammed the door.

Perhaps mind games like this are how these people trap their quarry, but Urszula didn't care. Trusting her soul with this one could be no worse than fleeing bruised and bleeding into the night on her own.

"It must have been James. Was it James? Did James send you?"

The woman shrugged. Her sleek black hair rippled and bounced as if possessed by its own life force. She set the door locks and sped away from the curb.

"I think you mean this James Moody, but no, I have no idea who sent for me. I simply do what I am asked. They only tell me what I need to know."

"How did you find me?"

"Never mind," she said. "Just know ... we have ways. And so do our enemies."

***

Second thoughts troubled Urszula as they sped off out of town and into the countryside. She feared the worst, but as they went along, and the car never pulled over into the flanking forest, her calm returned. If this one had meant her any harm, Urszula would already be dead.

Gradually, her sense of calm returned. Zuzanna drove them across the border into Poland, where she flashed an ID and was waved through a loosely monitored Schengen check point. Within a few kilometers they entered a fairly large town where they wound through several side streets before pulling into a car port.

Zuzanna got out first and helped Urszula out of the car. Her knee was getting stiffer and it was hard to walk now. Through a glass door and up a staircase, Zuzanna steadied her by step by step. She unlocked a door on the second floor and they entered a tiny flat.

It was quite Spartan inside, under-furnished with minimal decoration. There were no pictures or posters or anything on the walls other than a simple clock. The bookshelves were empty, but there were boxes piled in the corners. It looked like she was just moving in or about to move out.

Zuzanna pulled a military issue first aid kid from under a sofa and pulled some plastic squeeze bottles. She wiped the blood from Urszula's face with pieces of sterile gauze dampened with saline.

"I am not a doctor," she said. "Not even a nurse. I think you might need some real medical attention. Do you possess any identification papers?"

"I do not."

Zuzanna frowned. "Well, this is a problem. If we can get you up to Warsaw I can put you in touch with those who can help. I can't take you there myself, I'm afraid. Not right away, anyhow. I am needed here this week. Maybe we send you by bus?"

Urszula grew alarmed.

"Warsaw? No! That is wrong direction. I need go west."

"Well, yes dear, but first we need to get you fixed up. You could probably use an X-ray. Maybe stay in a hospital for a few days for observation in case you have internal bleeding. Then you can go wherever you want, but you will need some kind of identity papers or you will not get very far."

"Amsterdam. They say I can get a fake passport there."

"Well, you certainly could yes, but that's not the only place. In Warsaw you can get them too. And in the meantime, trust me, you some need medical attention. I see how you hold yourself. They hurt your ribs badly I think, didn't they?"

"I am fine," said Urszula, wincing as she tried to sit up straighter.

Zuzanna smiled. "You can't fool me. But I see you are a stubborn one ... and proud. That is good. It will serve you well. Maybe you will change your mind once you get some rest. Let's get you out of those bloody clothes and get you cleaned up. I'll draw a bath for you. There should be some things that will fit you in one of those boxes. This place is just one of our safe houses. I don't actually live here."

"Oh? And where are you come from?"

"Prague," she said. "But ... I go many places. The east is my territory. All the way to the Russian border."

"You are assassin?"

Zuzanna grinned and shook her head.

"I told you, I am a helper. I help in many ways. Bringing death is only one of my jobs."

***

Zuzanna filled the tub and left Urszula alone with a fresh towel, and bathrobe and a pair of puffy slippers with ears and eyes. They looked ridiculous. The steamy water in the bathtub looked inviting, but Urszula could not bring herself to climb in. She was in far too much pain.

She peeled off her clothes, alarmed by the massive bruises along her side. Her ribs were showing. She had not been eating as well as she had thought.

Finally, she gathered the strength to step into the water and perch on the side of the tub, splashing herself with the warm water, scrubbing gently with a series of soapy wash cloths, tossing each aside and grabbing another from a shelf when they got too bloody.

She pressed her fingers against her ribs as hard as she could stand, worried that some might be fractured. But they were all positioned where they should be and none were unusually mobile. Her fingers found no jagged ends. Her knee was simply bruised, her shin contused. Every other pain was more of the same, just a bunch of bruises, contusions and a bloody nose.

These findings further solidified her conviction against visiting a hospital or diverting course to Warsaw even if it would garner her a fake passport. She had healed up from far worse injuries on her own in the Lim.

No need to inform her kind host of her decision, however. She could simply board the bus early and say goodbye at the bus depot in the morning, then ditch as soon as the Audi drove out of sight. Let them track her if they could. She would not let anyone delay her westward journey.

Not that she was ungrateful. She just knew that if she went to Warsaw, the roots would use the opportunity to ambush her. Psychologically, those miles of diversion, even if temporary, would be certain to dampen her mood. As illogical this justification might sound to anyone not hounded by roots, it made plenty of sense to her.

Perhaps it was only due to Zuzanna's intervention that her soul was still here and not dragged back to the cell in Penult. The odds that she would have lasted an entire chill and pain-filled night with her soul intact were slim. Urszula wished she knew a way to sufficiently express her gratitude, but it was likely that Zuzanna expected nothing. She was just doing her job. 'Helping.'

When she left the bathroom she ignored the silly slippers and wore only the bathrobe. Zuzanna was reclined on her little couch holding a glass of vodka over ice and a romance novel.

Her host smiled. "Feel better now?"

"Much."

"I found you some pajamas. They might be a little large on you but maybe that's a good thing. Help yourself, by the way, to anything you find in those boxes. That's what they're there for."

"Thank you. I think, maybe I sleep now? I can put something on floor."

"Floor? Heavens no. You will have my bed."

"I don't need a bed. The floor is fine. We just put something soft maybe."

"Listen. This flat only has one small bedroom, but it is for you. I can sleep here on the couch."

"You are too kind."

Zuzanna got up and showed Urszula to the little bedroom where a single twin was all made up with the covers pulled back. It had been a long time since Urszula had slept in such a bed. She could already feel the roots recoiling as she anticipated being swaddled in soft, clean cotton.

"Oh! You are still bleeding!" Zuzanna went back into the siting room and fetched several plasters from her medical kit. She stuck one on Urszula's elbow and another on the bridge of her nose. "I am out of antibacterial ointment, but I think this will be okay for now."

"I will be fine," said Urszula, descending onto the bed and sinking into the pillow-topped mattress. Heaven tonight was a soft bed with lavender-scented sheets. "Very fine."

Zuzanna handed her a pair of pills and a glass of water. "For the pain."

"I do not need."

"Take it. You will sleep better."

Pills from an assassin. Urszula probably should have known better but she sensed not a speck of ill will from Zuzanna. If the woman wanted her dead, why would she bother to take her here and mend her?

So she took both pills and chased them with a gulp of water. Maybe they would garner her a bit more rest than the pain would have otherwise allowed.

Zuzanna smiled and retreated back into the sitting room. "I'll be here, if you need anything. I'm still wide awake."

Urszula found her mind already drifting as she sank her head into the fluffy pillow. Pills from an assassin. The idea would not stop pestering her, but as the cobwebs descended, it hardly mattered anymore. She was so exhausted that sleep came to take her like a spider takes a moth.

Sleep. Pure sleep. No roots. No death.
Chapter 11: Trackless

We sat around the little table on my porch sipping more glasses of wine reconstituted Bern's 'magic' root powder. It didn't taste as bad as I expected, kind of like a cheap Merlot. Not that I knew much about wine, but I knew how cheap Merlot tasted. Compared to the kind that came in a box, this was better.

Lille had tried to fill me in on what she and her ex-Sanctuary contacts had found out about Urszula and some of it was disturbing.

"What do you mean they lost track of her? How did they lose track? What does that even mean?"

Lille looked discomfited. "We don't know. It could be anything. Maybe she figured out how to ditch them. Or maybe ... maybe something else happened."

"Like what?"

"Something bad," said Bern.

"Why dwell on the worst case scenario? It may very well be something quite benign."

"I should mention," said Bern. "There's another expedition currently being planned ... against Penult."

"Bern, now is not the time—"

"Pardon me but the boy should know. It may impact Urszula ... in a good way ... if she's being kept prisoner."

"What's this? Another raid?"

"No mere raid," said Bern, his eyes betraying considerable excitement. "More like an invasion. They may be sending an entire army this time, to hit them while they're weak"

"Such nonsense! Nothing but the ravings of a few belligerent men."

"Quite the contrary. There is serious interest brewing, especially on the Duster side. They believe it might act as a deterrent against future aggressions."

"Oh sure. Deter them with a provocation. That makes sense."

Bern winked. "We could use you, James. Just saying."

Lille's face flushed. "Can we at least give my contacts a chance before involving him in some foolish and dangerous escapade that may never come to pass?"

"Of course, dear. I just thought James should know that something else was in the works, just in case ... just in case things didn't work out with your tea ladies."

Lille nearly coughed up her wine. "Tea ladies? Excuse me? My Sanctuary friends are tied into the most expansive and intricate intelligence network in the living world."

"Who exactly are these people?"

"You know them, James. They tried to recruit you. Freesouls mainly, though some are former Hemisouls who broke ties with the Lim and now work exclusively from the side of life. But there are Hemisoul intermediaries who communicate back and forth."

"Like ... Wendell?"

"Yes. And his colleagues ... and superiors. My Sanctuary friends function mainly as brokers. They identify those seeking to sever their ties with life and evaluate their cases. Not everybody gets assigned. Murder is not for everyone."

The mention of 'murder' made my stomach turn. I was stuck here in the Lim because a Penny agent had poisoned me. I couldn't help but wonder why Urszula and the other prisoners were being given such elaborate trials while my sentence seemed to have been delivered on a whim. Unless I had been tried in absentia, I couldn't help but feel I was getting some short shrift here. What made me so special?

My Freesoul status was more involuntary than most. In my final moments, I had been lucky to leave the influence of the Core—the gravity-like force that shunted souls to the Deeps. Escaping the core was a loophole that had been exploited by many generations of Freesouls—a quirk in the workings of the after lands.

"James? Are you okay?" said Bern.

"Yeah. I was just ... thinking."

"The war had put a damper on their operations," said Lille. "As you can imagine, not as many folks wanted to commit to an eternity in the Lim. It gave many of our former associates a new appreciation for life. Well, things are almost back to normal now. Business for Facilitators is booming. And what a business it is. All of these diverted inheritances certainly add up!"

Bern looked askance at his wine, whose colors seemed to be separating. He reached into his pocket and took out another pinch of powder. A sprinkle restored the contents of his glass to a deep burgundy. Satisfied, he took a sip and rocked back in his chair.

"I bet it was this Wendell chap who put the trace on the girl," said Bern. "Back when she was with you in America. He must have used her to follow you. I doubt they were terribly interested in her specific case."

"Yes it was, indeed," said Lille. "Her handbag. It had a little avatar woven into it. A piece of Mr. Wendell's will with virtual eyes and ears."

"The boy knows what an avatar is, my dear."

"So where was she ... I mean ... when they last saw her?"

"Czechia. Near the Polish border, last we heard. She has been on the move, heading north and west through Eastern Europe."

"Do you suppose the Pennies have already killed her?"

"Hard to say," said Lille. "They certainly aimed to, once they got through their formalities. For all its bluster, their justice system is decidedly rigged. All that process makes them feel more civilized, I suppose."

"Well ... shit."

"Chin up, dear," said Lille. "All hope is not lost. It is in her power to avoid all of this. The trick is for her to stay happy. I'm sure she's clever enough to understand this. If the roots stay away, the Pennies never finish their trial, and she avoids execution. Assuming ... she's still alive."

"I wish there was something we could do."

"Believe me, we are trying. As we speak, my friends are trying to re-establish contact. And once they do, the Facilitation network has agreed to keep an eye on her. Give her a morale boost whenever she needs one."

"Hah! That's like asking a hyena to cheer up a road kill."

"Bern!"

"You know I find these Facilitator types rather squirrely."

"I would say they are quite professional. They seemed to have facilitated our transitions quite nicely."

"Nicely? Easy for you to say. You were already in a coma. I was conscious the entire time! And they were none too gentle."

"It was a murder, darling, not a massage."

"But Bern has a point," I said. "These guys are assassins. We're asking them to babysit her?"

"That's not all that they do, James. They look after many diverse interests in the living world. There are messengers, journalists and therapists, though I suppose you might call them mediums in reverse. The dead use them to learn about the living."

"There's always the military option to fall back on," said Bern. "Just saying."

Lille patted Bern's hand. "Darling. I thought we'd agreed—"

"I'm sorry, Lille, but the boy deserves the chance to participate. He really is a marvelous fighter. He has skills we have not had on our side since Victoria went rotten. It's not even clear yet when the operation will happen. Ubaldo is facing a ton of opposition. But if they go James should be with them."

"Why poke the bear?" said Lille. "Why not let it sleep?"

"Because some will tell you that the bear has never rested and is already planning their next invasion."

"Nonsense. They ran off with their tail between their legs. Nobody's coming back here unless we goad them into it."

"Not true. There is evidence of a buildup. There's a reason they left their Cherubim behind."

"Foolishness," said Lille. "How about we leave them be on their little island and we mind our own business?"

"If only they would be happy with that arrangement, dear. Signs are, they're not. I'm not alone in thinking the Pennies need to be taken down another peg before they'll leave us alone. You've seen their arrogance. They see themselves as the overseers of the afterlife. They believe that to be their ticket to higher stations."

Bern turned to me. "I can put a word in for you if you like, James. I've ... uh ... I've been attending every meeting. I'm sure your involvement would be welcomed."

"Honestly, it's a waste of time," said Lille. "What if it backfires? What if it leads to the wholesale slaughter of prisoners?"

"They've already executed every Free Soul they had in custody. Next they will be going after the Hemis. We don't have time to dilly-dally."

"We? You sound like you want to volunteer yourself," said Lille.

"I might. I just might, if they would have me," said Bern.

"Over my dead body," Lille growled.

***

Bern and Lille spent the night in a guest room I didn't even realize I had. I guess Lille had been a busy little bee while Bern and I were digging the latrine. I sat up in my rocker long after they retired, trolling my will, begging for another bout with the Singularity. I reached and yearned but the flow wouldn't take me. Maybe my risky and dangerous demands during my previous excursion had spooked it. I hoped I hadn't ruined things and that it hadn't abandoned me forever.

I fell asleep in the rocker, waking up all stiff halfway through the night. I dragged myself to my bedroom where I found that Lille had transformed my scratchy blanket into a high thread count nest of lavender-scented linens and an ultra-plush down comforter. I slept like someone truly dead, devoid again of dreams, but they were not missed.

I awoke to the scent of biscuits and bacon. When I flung open the door and stumbled into the bathroom I was startled to find Bern already in the shower. I was not used to having people here. Even more startling was the hot water coming through the pipes and steaming up the mirrors.

I snuck back out before he noticed my intrusion and made my way to the kitchen.

"Ah, there he is," said Lille, frying something in a pan that looked remarkably like a pair of eggs. "I'm making a full American breakfast for you. How did you find your bed?"

"It was ... easy."

She saw the sleepy confusion on my face. "Let me rephrase that. How do you like what I did with your room?"

"Oh! It's great. Thanks so much."

Bern came trotting in, wearing no shirt, only trousers with a towel around his shoulder.

"Darling, that is no way to present yourself for breakfast."

"You know, I could have sworn there was someone in the bathroom with me just now," he said, ignoring Lille's admonition and sitting down to his plate. I looked straight ahead, not admitting to my faux pas.

Lille didn't press the issue as she took a seat between me and Bern.

"So James, dear. Bern and I plan to return home after breakfast."

"So soon?" I said, with a little too much unctuousness.

She paused and gave me a knowing smile. "I know how you value your space. But I hope you learned your lesson, young man. Do not expect to come to New Axum without visiting with us next time ... both of us."

"Don't worry. I will never let that happen again. I promise."

This time I meant what I said one hundred percent. I picked up a forkful of fried egg and it was all tender and buttery just like mom used to make. Not a trace of rootiness. Only an idiot would ditch her breakfast invitations.

"Oh, and James, please do give my Sanctuary friends a chance. They really do want to help. And they're very good at what they do. Just give them time. They'll find her."
Chapter 12: _Wrocław_

Thanks to pain killers, Urszula slept quite deeply. But once their effects dissipated, no position on that bed offered any comfort or relief. She had no choice but to rise, and even that was a struggle. In stages, she extracted her battered body out of bed and staggered into the bathroom.

The toilet seat was cold, but at least it was clean. It was a luxury not to be squatting behind some bush.

Her nose was plugged. She had trouble breathing. She ripped off some toilet tissue and tried blowing her nose but it was just too painful. If she applied too much pressure it might hemorrhage. Better to breathe through her mouth than risk another gusher of a nosebleed.

Again she cursed her frail body, such a downgrade from the robust and resilient vessel she had possessed in the Deeps, where pain was only an option. Blows she regarded as mere bumps would crack these earthly bones.

She had no idea of the time, nor did she care, but the sky outside the bathroom window was gray with earliest light of dawn, just enough to reveal the spectacle in the mirror. She dared not flip on the light switch or be witness to the full horror of her face—the two black eyes and a mass of swelling that bulged out her cheekbones. Nothing crunched when she pressed at her nose. Hopefully that meant no breaks.

More blood had trickled from her nostrils and dried while she slept, leaving her with a crusty brown Hitler's mustache. She ran the tap and scrubbed it away, ruining another of Zuzanna's immaculate white wash clothes. She cupped her hands to catch some water to drink.

A brush lay on the bathroom counter but the pitiful pink implement was not up to the task of taming her hair. She had fallen asleep with her hair still wet and now large spikes of it poked in every direction. Dreadlocks might be a sensible hairstyle for the mop on her head. It seemed to be evolving naturally into that condition without much effort. Though, maybe she would be better off shaving her head and starting over.

She clutched her aching torso and hobbled through the dim flat, seeking the kitchen. She needed a small bite to eat, to settle the pang in her belly. She left the lights off to avoid disturbing Zuzanna, but when she walked by the couch, she found it vacant. A pillow was squashed against an arm rest and there was a rumpled blanket on the floor. Urszula spotted a note on the coffee table. She picked it up and took it over to the window where the light was better.

Dear Urszula,

Please help yourself to anything. I have a small errand to run. Be back soon!

Love, Zuzia

She saw the bottle of pain killers on an end table and took to a large handful, a few for now, the rest to save for later. She stood there and stared at the note and the empty couch, and was possessed by a sudden urge to flee.

With Zuzanna gone, there was no one here to stop her, no one to talk her out of leaving. She knew it made no sense. Zuzanna had been nothing but helpful and kind, but Urszula trusted no one but herself.

She looked for her handbag, aiming to stuff it with anything useful she could find, but it was gone from the chair where she had left it. Her dirty clothes were missing as well, along with the contents of her pockets—including her precious Swiss Army knife and the little bit of cash she had been conserving.

Urszula swung into a panic, rifling through the closets and boxes, looking for her things. The lights were still off and she dared not turn them on lest someone outside might be watching the flat for activity.

Then she spotted a wicker hamper in the corner. Inside she found her torn and filthy jeans with the contents of the pockets intact. The handbag was nowhere to be found. Why would Zuzanna have taken it?

She lurched around the apartment, frantic. There was not much of value in the bag, really just a little bit of money, some hard candy and a toothbrush. But the leather and canvas bag was her pillow, her teddy bear, her confidante and best friend. In it she had stored the bounty of many dumpster dives. She had owned it since day James brought her back to life, and it was the most precious thing she possessed.

On a coat rack next to the door hung a blue nylon Jansport daypack. She went over and slipped it off the hook, unzipping the main compartment to find it mostly empty apart from an empty water bottle and a soiled bandanna.

She carried it over to the boxes in the corner and began stuffing it clothes—any underwear and T-shirts and sweaters that looked to be about her size. With great difficulty she pulled on an oversized Bayern Munich football jersey and slipped pair of charcoal gray jeans over her badly swollen knee.

She went into the kitchen and found some cheese and dried sausage in the refrigerator and a wheel of dried figs on the counter. She hoped she might find a loaf of bread but she there was only a white paper bag with a few stale heels of pumpernickel. She stuck it in her pack anyways.

On her way out the door, she grabbed a fleece-lined windbreaker from the coat rack, slipped her hand into the pocket and made a pleasant discovery—a small wad of Polish zlotys that Zuzanna had left there. Grinning at her windfall, she winced her way down the stairs and burst out the door to a burgeoning morning and freedom.

***

She walked in solitude, favoring quiet streets over larger roads where she might be more likely to encounter Zuzanna driving back from whatever errand she had undertaken. Murder? Coffee?

This evasive maneuvering might all be for naught. She suspected Zuzanna might have some ability to track her. But it was nothing she could control, nothing she should worry about. She could only do her best to stay free.

A sign told her that this town was called Prudnik. Its streets were dead. Apart from an old woman walking a dog, there was no one out and about. She would have expected more activity in such a large town. Perhaps it was Sunday, or a holiday? Urszula had no idea what day it was or even what month. Time on that scale was irrelevant to her—a meaningless concept when existence was eternal.

She stood on a corner, wondering which way to cross, when a bus pulled up out of the blue, blasting a puff of diesel particulates in her face. The door opened and she just stood there, as the driver glared impatiently. Without a thought she climbed aboard, holding out her wad of zlotys to let the driver claim the proper fare.

The bus was sparsely occupied—a woman in a nurse's uniform returning home from an overnight shift, two old ladies propping up an extremely elderly man dressed for church. She had no idea where it would take her, but she rode it to the end of its route, which terminated at a larger station.

She made her way across the outdoor landing to another blue and white bus idling at the curb, which appeared to be ready for boarding. Based on the placard propped in its window, this one seemed to be headed for a place called Nysa. She consulted a map on a billboard and discovered that Nysa would bring her one step closer to Wrocław, a destination compatible with her general westward migration.

When she tried boarding, this driver refused her cash and scolded her. He jabbed his finger towards a ticket booth inside the small waiting room. She dragged herself back out of the bus and over to the counter, rectified the problem and made her way back on board.

She found a seat in the very back and scrunched herself down against the window. Her ribs were starting to hurt again and the swelling in her knee was not going down. The daypack wasn't as nice a pillow as her old handbag but at least it was well padded with the clothes she had 'borrowed.'

She felt a little bad for leaving Zuzanna behind without a goodbye or a thank you. But Zuzanna's motivations still baffled her. Why would she want to help? What was in it for her?

She pulled out the figs and ate some as more people piled onto the bus. She studied each face to ensure none posed a threat, but no one even looked at her.

Satisfied that all was secure, she squirmed around her seat until she found a position she could tolerate. The door closed. The bus pulled out of the station.

***

The bus ride was far shorter than she expected, arriving in late afternoon. She was feeling awful and decided to spend the night in Nysa, blowing a good chunk of her remaining zlotys on a cheap room in a small hotel. Her body wasn't quite healed enough to bear the stress of sleeping out on the streets just yet. While its bed wasn't quite the fluffy nest that Zuzanna had prepared for her, at least the room was clean and quiet.

Again she slept until a terrible pain in her midsection overtook her. Something was very wrong for the pain to be still getting worse. She wondered if she was bleeding inside.

She pushed herself out of bed and out of the room because she knew if she didn't keep moving her mortal flesh might just never leave this hotel. There was a tiny restaurant on the ground floor providing free breakfast—just toast and jam and thinly sliced ham. She had some with her pills, not because she was hungry, but because she knew her body needed it.

Back at the bus station, she hunted for bus for Wrocław and was quickly rewarded. The ticket price consumed the last of her zloty bills and she was left only with a few miscellaneous coins.

No worries, she told herself. Another few days and she would be fit enough to walk and stowaway on trucks as she had done before the altercation. But the prospect of resuming a homeless, penniless existence instilled in her a persistent dread that she knew would attract the roots. Perhaps Zuzanna's kindness had spoiled her.

The pills brought the haze that insulated her from the harshness of the physical world. A short ways out of Nysa, it had started to rain. The showers only increased in intensity as day wore on.

Out of nowhere, with no reason, the roots came prying at her consciousness. Distressed, Urszula struggled to keep them away. Why were they here? What had summoned them? She had thought she was content. Content enough, anyhow, to keep them away. This was a good day to be on a warm, dry bus. She would have been miserable out in the open. She felt lucky and grateful and hopeful for more luck to come.

A visitation by roots felt like having worms in her brain. No pain, just a scratching at the edges of her soul, as they plucked and grabbed, attempting to pry it free. She knew not to panic. That only made their task easier. She kept calm and quelled her uncertainty, promising herself that everything would be alright once she reached _Wrocław_. Maybe she could steal a purse or two to get more money for another room or for the next bus fare.

And it worked this time. The scratching eased and quieted and she was left to stare out the window, telling herself how pretty the countryside was, all moist and green and the rain would only make it moister and greener. She did not dare go to sleep. She was more vulnerable unconscious when the roots were so near and actively probing.

She had her lunch at her seat—nibbles of stale brown bread interspersed with bits of smoky sausage. She wished a giant bee would find her and bring her some nectar but that was never going to happen in this realm. And she would never glide above the roads on the back of a giant dragonfly. She banished those negative thoughts before they could gain traction and tried to do nothing put admire the pretty hedgerows and trees.

***

The bus finally reached the end of the line and disgorged its passengers in a tunnel beneath a large train station. It was a struggle to get out of the seat. Her knee was in bad shape. She was the last passenger to exit.

In the lobby of the train station, she took more pills and chased them with a few swallows of water from a water fountain. She checked the schedule board to see when the next train west was leaving, and it seemed there would be one coming through headed for Dresden, Germany in about forty minutes. The man at the ticket counter spoke only Polish but she was able to make her inquiry known by pointing at a map and gesturing. A ticket to Dresden would cost almost two hundred zlotys, quite a bit more than she had left.

She thanked the man and went up to the platforms. Maybe there would be a way to sneak onto one of these trains. Even if they kicked her off, they would at least bring her to the next station. That way, she made progress westward, moving ever closer to her destination.

Climbing the stairs was extremely difficult given the condition of her knee, but she made it to the top panting, more from the pain than the exertion. The pills she had taken on the bus hadn't kicked in yet. Maybe she was developing a tolerance. Maybe if she took a couple more? She resisted the urge to reach into her pocket.

On the platform, a small crowd was huddled under an awning to keep out of the rain. All the benches were full but for one at the far end that was exposed to the windswept rain. There, a young man sat alone. Tufts of sandy-blonde hair poked from beneath a grey watch cap. Raindrops dappled his long wool coat. The fool didn't know enough to get out of the rain.

Urszula kept her eyes fixed straight ahead as she walked past him to go stand beneath the shelter of overhang protecting a pad-locked service closet. She had only a half hour now before the next train. She planned to simply get on board, claim a 2nd class seat and when the conductor came by, pretend to have lost her ticket. The train people were probably accustomed to such ruses, but so be it. Let them handle however wished as it got her some kilometers westward.

She stood there, wishing for an unoccupied bench that wasn't wet. The young man in the long coat kept glancing at her, never staring, but definitely curious. Urszula avoided all eye contact with him. She kept thinking of the two men who had beaten her and her pulse rate began to rise.

And then her head began to swim. A film formed over her eyes, blurring and warping the world. She thought at first it was the pills, that maybe she had taken too many too soon. She tried to blink away the haze but it only got worse. A wave of dizziness overcame her.

It was happening too fast for her to resist. She reached for a support pole but her hand never reached it. The roots pounced and peeled away her soul before her body even struck the ground.
Chapter 13: Pounce

Bern and Lille left me with all the dirty dishes, which was fine with me; well worth the tradeoff of eating real food for a change (or at least way more realistic than anything I could concoct). Besides, washing dishes in the after lands is a snap if you have any mojo at all. You just hold up a plate, project your will, and what had been food just crumbles and slides off. Of course, you had to go easy or else you could undo the plates as well. But no biggie when that happens. You just go and weave yourself some new ones.

My dear friends left me not only a ton of leftovers but also plenty of food for thought. I found the news of this new military action being planned by Ubaldo pretty damned exciting. This wasn't going to be some two bit commando raid. Massive swarms of bugs, battalions of Dusters and Frelsians and unaffiliated Surfies would be mobilized.

I had to play it cool in front of Lille but Bern and I knew damned well that I would be going on this operation. I would be bored shitless hanging around this hollow by myself. If there was going to be some action, I wanted in on it. Was there a better way to make things up to Urszula?

I had been to Penult before so I knew what to expect. The Pennies had some nasty weapons, but we could pull some nasty stuff of our own. I wouldn't be nearly as anxious as I had been before the first raid.

If the attack was successful, it would put an end to any chance of the Pennies being a threat to us for a very long time, if ever again. And maybe there was a chance, just a chance, we could bust Urszula out of whatever prison or dungeon they were keeping her.

I needed to get word to Ubaldo that I was interested. Patrols from New Axum stopped by the hollow from time to time on their way out to the plains. Maybe I could send a message back with one of them. I'm sure Bern would put in a word for me, but they needed to hear from me directly.

With a fire now lit under my butt, I wandered into my back room and looked over the collection of will projection sticks I had amassed since I lost my sword. Every time I went on a walk I brought back a few branches and saplings to try out.

The Old Ones were big on these scrawny, smooth-skinned trees called greybarks that only grew on the drier, leeward slopes of the mountains. They grew all twisty and knotted up but they were super tough and impossible to snap.

The Dusters weren't as fussy. They would use just about any old branch as a 'scepter,' relying on trial and error to figure out what best channeled their will. Frelsians like to make their own stuff, faux metal woven from undifferentiated root stock and shaped into weird-ass guns.

A slacker like me, I took after the Dusters. I had a few greybarks in my collection, but most of my sticks were random crap picked up wherever and whenever. My back room had piles of them. It had taken all my begging to keep Lille from tossing them out on her cleaning binge.

The heaps were sorted into the new sticks I had yet to try out, those that showed a little promise and deserved a second look, and a huge pile that were good for nothing but stoking the fireplace. My best specimens were laid out on a table in the center of the room. Some had made the grade because they felt good in my hands, others just because they were all gnarly and looked cool.

But none of them could conjure my will as consistently as that old sword of mine. I sure missed that thing. I had tried to make a copy but it just didn't have the same mojo.

Yeah, I knew that these sticks and swords were just crutches. Victoria and Luther had never needed anything more than their hands to channel their spells. I have my moments, but I'm nowhere near their caliber yet. Neither is anybody else, except maybe some of the Old Ones. Even Olivier relies on a nice, old scepter that one of his Duster buddies had gifted him.

A good stick just makes your will flow out of you that much easier. I have to say, there's something about a long steel blade that inspires extra confidence.

So I grabbed an armload of my better sticks off the table and hauled them out into my back lot. I would call it a yard if had any grass, but it was just a dry and dusty flat with a bushes and a few tufts of weed here and there. My attempt to replicate my boyhood environment had its limits.

I kept a row of seven targets lined up about fifty meters out—fake pumpkins on posts basically. I had intended to fashion a bunch of realistic human-shaped mannequins for target practice but got lazy halfway through. Still, they were approximately the height of a person's head and a direct hit made a very satisfying 'plonk.'

The nice thing about will projection is that it's really hard to miss your target. Bits of will usually obeyed and went wherever you intended. You just needed to keep your concentration and be very certain about what exactly you wanted to hit. They could even correct their course mid-flight if you changed your mind. The hardest part was keeping your projectiles together so they struck with enough force to do some damage.

My two best rods were a greybark and a sun-bleached length of driftwood I had picked up from the outwash delta of the big river. The greybark was pretty, damned potent, but I had a hard time hitting anything with it, at least on purpose. My shots all tended to come in high and hot. I kept it around just because it was so nasty. When I learned how to control it, I would be dangerous.

The driftwood hit with way less punch but it had a knack for compensating for my scattered brain and homing in on the best target, even if there were more than one clustered together. Somehow, even when I was distracted or otherwise impaired, it could filter through competing demands and make sure it at least hit something. This bugger had a mind of its own.

I kind of liked the feel of it, too. Good balance. Smooth on the fingers. The handle end had these scalloped indentations that made it really easy to hang onto. All the bark had been stripped off and the branch tips worn down to polished nubs. I had a feeling some Duster had lost it in the river during some battle. Yeah, this one was a keeper.

So I had all seven targets lined up before me. I waited for the churn to build in the pit of my stomach and then worked my way down the row, blasting away at them, one at a time.

I was five for five direct hits plus one grazing shot when I spotted a shimmer in the sky over the ledges hemming in my little hollow. My last shot went winging high over the targets and into the hills. I freaked that my blast might hit the flying octopus thingie but my distraction had not only sent it off course but also caused it fizzle away into a harmless swarm of dissipated will.

My watcher was landing way closer than usual. I didn't even have to think. I took off running and didn't even bother calling Tigger, who was still sunning himself on the rocks behind the house.

***

I crossed the creek on my crude little causeway near the outlet of the pond and ran up the trail I had blazed into the foothills. The path switched back and forth, following paths of least resistance, gullies and fracture lines and stone shelves.

But I didn't have to go far. As the trail curled around the first hillock, a gray, translucent hulk reared up and hissed at me, raising four spike-tipped tentacles ready to pierce me through and through. Ezekiel!

"Down Zeke," said Gaia, who was on her knees, gathering handfuls of sand into a bag. "It's okay. It's only James."

Her beast slithered back and relaxed.

"You really can't keep surprising him like that. He's very quick to defend me, you know."

"Sorry. I was just coming over to say hi."

"You saw us descend?" She rolled her eyes and sighed, "Oh, don't tell me his shroud was sparkly again."

"Not so much. I mean, it's ... better. But I can still kind of tell he's there."

"Well, that won't do it all. I don't understand. He's always been invisible. Perhaps his age is showing. He is a centenarian, you know."

I watched as she pulled a drawstring on a cloth sack and stuffed it into a large, overstuffed bag slung over one shoulder. She caught me staring.

"Soil samples. Just a favor for my friend. He studies the composition of the realms. He was curious whether the rootquakes here had changed anything."

"You guys have scientists?"

She shrugged. "Not really. I doubt he would call himself a scientist. It's just his thing now. His hobby. We all have our things. And it's not always what they were in life."

"But you've always been an artist."

She paused and squinted at me funny before answering. "Yes indeed. I did paint in life. And I still do. But it's not my only thing."

"So what else is your 'thing'? Spying?"

She cocked her head and let her gaze drift into the sky. "Anomalies attract me. Things that don't belong, that stick out. Like giant insects. Misfit souls. Loopholes. Rifts. You know. Flaws in creation and such."

"How'd everything get so screwed up? Didn't you guys build these places?"

"Us? Um, no. Not at all. What makes you think that?"

"I thought you guys were like ... the makers?"

She shrugged gracefully. "Not my colleagues. Not those from Loom. We make things, yes. Small things. But we're just ordinary souls like you."

"So who made these realms? Was it God?"

She looked at me kind of sadly.

"That you can tell they are constructs should tell you something. Even you can see that they are flawed. Which should tell you that the Makers are quite human."

"But what about ... God?"

What about Her?"

"Does She exist?"

"Wish I could tell you."

"What does that mean? It's a secret? Or you don't know?"

"Wish I could tell you. That's all I can say."

"Fuck."

"Don't fret your pretty little head. You're doing fine here. All of you. Things are working out."

"What is this? An experiment?"

She wrinkled her nose.

"No. Nothing like that."

She smiled, and she was a pretty woman, in a lanky and muscular way, with pale blue eyes and a shock of short, blonde hair. Her face rode the cusp of youth and maturity.

"I see your friends came to stay."

"You've been watching."

"It's good that you have friends. I was worried about you."

"What are you? My nanny?"

"A concerned party. That's what I am. And you are my research project."

I should have pissed, but I wasn't. I was intrigued to be an object of study. Maybe I could learn something about myself if I let her hang around. It didn't hurt that she was pretty.

But she seemed really intelligent too—both quick-witted and deeply thoughtful—but she was also modest and unimpressed with herself. The only thing that made her so exotic, really, was Ezekiel. How many ordinary souls had a giant shape shifting watch dog/beast of burden as a sidekick?

I knew her entire background, her whole life's history, thanks to the Singularity. I was dying to tell her all that I had learned about her, but there was no graceful way to broach the subject. I couldn't hold it in any longer, so I just blurted it out.

"Your name ... it's Gaia."

She gaped at me in amazement. "How did you know this? I never mentioned my name."

"I have my ways."

"Tell me. How?"

"Well, there's this place. Maybe you've heard of it? Some people call it the Singularity?"

Her look went sour.

"You be careful. That place is highly irregular and dangerous. I do hope you limit your exposure."

"Oh no. It's fine. They like me. They take care of me. Have you never been?"

Her expression only grew more piquant.

"I have no access. It's not an actual realm. Not officially. Not available to those like me."

"Really? That surprises me."

"Why? It's not really a place. It's just a flaw in the works, a seepage between several of the realms. Places I can already access directly with my chariot."

"So they send you here to collect dirt, when you're not stalking me or painting landscapes."

"You are the stalker, seeking my name without giving me the chance to introduce myself. What else do you know about me?"

"Your full name is Gaia Vibeke Pounce."

She gave me an exasperated look.

"Be careful how you say that," she hissed.

"I know where you grew up. How you died."

Now she just got sad.

"And so are you proud of this ability to pry into my personal details? Does that make you feel empowered? Superior?"

"What? No. Whoa. Where'd that come from?"

Her eyes transfixed me.

"You don't belong in this realm, James. It was a mistake. You have an elevated soul. That is why I come. Too understand how the vetting could go so wrong."

"So where was I supposed to go?"

"Not here. Lethe or Elysium, perhaps. Maybe even with us. But definitely not here."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Your resonance. It is all wrong for a place like this. It's clear from your strands. Even clearer from your abilities."

"Okay. So what are you guys gonna do about it? Promote me or something?"

"I can't do anything. There is nothing to be done. You are already here. It is just a curiosity. A puzzle. I am only trying understand it better."

"How did you find out about me?"

"Honestly? By accident. I really did just come here at first to paint landscapes. It's such a lovely realm. A terrible shame that most of its occupants never get to see the surface. That in itself puzzled me and then those stupid wars happened and puzzled me some more. But you stuck out. The things you did. The places you went. I plucked your strand from a loom and started tracking you. You're not the only misplaced soul. There are others. I have no authority or ability to change anything. I just appreciate the curiousness of it all."

"So you do this ... for the entertainment value? Skulking around and watching us like some peeping Tom? Like we're bunch of fish in a tank put here for your amusement? That's just creepy. We're people here, you know. Real people."

"I realize that."

"You could have been helping. You saw what the Pennies tried to do to us."

"What would you have expected me to do?"

"For starters, that Zeke over there, he could probably take out a whole battalion of Cherubim by himself. And you just sat back and watched?"

"Things have a way of working out on their own, don't they? The war is over now, yes? And the Penult colony is once again tending to its own affairs. It can be messy, but justice usually, eventually prevails. That's the beauty of human prevails."

"I'm not so sure, about that. There's word out they're gearing up for another invasion. A bunch of us are fixing to nip that in the bud."

"Excuse me?"

I probably shouldn't have said anything to her. Her sympathies seemed more in line with our cause, but spilling the beans to someone who probably had the ability to muck up the whole operation was not too smart. Still, somehow I couldn't help myself.

"Some friends of mine are planning a pre-emptive attack. A big operation. I'm thinking of joining them."

Gaia was aghast. "That would be beyond foolish. I ... I would not recommend such a thing."

"They're weak right now," I said. "We could really put a dent in their ability to come after us again."

"You have no idea of their capabilities. Your last little adventure was took them by surprise. They will be ready for you this time."

"You knew about the raid?"

"Of course."

"Yeah, well, if we hit them hard now, they might think twice about attacking us again."

"On the contrary, they might perceive you as an existential threat and come after you with renewed purpose. Why not leave well enough alone?"

"Hah! You're sounding just like Lille. Listen. They took prisoners. Hundreds of them. And they're killing them off one by one. Even my friend, Urszula. They got her, too."

Gaia's eyes widened.

"So you're worried about your friend?"

"Well yeah. Sure, I'm worried. She was on that raid with me. She never came back."

Gaia opened one of her shoulder bags and pulled out a bundle of multicolored, translucent strands. They kind of looked like gummy worms, colored at both ends, transparent or blackened in the middle. She thumbed through them and peeled several away that seemed to have a wider band of color at their tips.

"What the fuck are those?"

"This is a skein, compiled from a loom. We use them to track souls and assess their connections with others. Please do me a favor. Hold off on this military business until I can look into her situation. Will you do that for me?"

"Why do you care?"

"Just humor me, please. I beg you. Just give me a little time to check on some things."

"Um. Sure. I mean, it's not my call. I'm just thinking of joining up. It might not happen for a while. They're just now getting organized."

She clapped her hands and her 'chariot' sprang to life, rising and transforming from a shapeless blob draped over the boulders like a stranded jellyfish into a rigid platform with overlapping walls of curving plates, one of which remained horizontal, forming a ramp. Gaia boarded her chariot through a gap in its steely petals.

"I will return soon. But please, let me come to you next time. We don't need Ezekiel cracking your skull open like a walnut. You don't know how fortunate you've been."
Chapter 14: Benefactor

Urszula lay face down on cold, waxy floor of her cell, in disbelief that the roots could have taken her so suddenly and with so little warning. And she had been trying so hard to stay positive.

She had sincerely been looking forward to getting on that train, visualizing the dry and cozy second class seat she would occupy before the conductor came and kicked her out. By then she would be many kilometers closer to their destination. And maybe by then, the rain would have stopped.

What had provoked the roots? Her discomfort? Fretting about the rain? Were those few petty complaints enough to paint a beacon of despair? She had been doing so well fending them off.

The pain was completely gone, at least. She breathed freely through re-opened nasal passages. Her ribs no longer screamed with every bend and twist of her torso. Her knee was back down to a normal size and flexed freely. How ironic to be rendered pain free just in time for her execution.

She rolled over onto her back as a sickly yellow glow spread up the walls of her cell, announcing her return to the holding cells of the Judicial Temple. She could already hear the Hashmallim trotting on the walkways above.

Two guards appeared and stared down at her. Always, these guards were men. How could the Penny women be so passive and traditional compared to her own people? What was their role in this warped society?

One guard carried a bundle of what looked like quilted blankets. Funny, they had never given any consideration to her comfort before. What had changed?

The guard with the quilts kicked the toes of his boots into notches along the rim of her cell and the slots carried him down the face of the slick and seamless wall. She tensed, anticipating this might present an opportunity to escape, but before she could react, a tethered sprite flew down from above and punctured her neck. Instantly, she lost all feeling in her extremities and slumped to the floor of the cell.

The guard stepped off the floating tread and came to her, unfolding the bundle as he approached. Urszula was still able to speak, though she couldn't hold her head erect and her jaw felt sluggish and numb.

"What are you doing?" she said, slurring her words.

"I'm here to dress you up," said the Hashmal. "Something new the Board came up with. Experimental still, but it's supposed to keep you from fading."

He knelt beside her and tucked the material beneath her legs working his way up the length of her body. The edges of the sticky fabric sealed together when they touched and like shrink-wrap, pulled snug against her skin, uncomfortably so. She felt like she was being squeezed into a sausage casing.

She gritted her teeth and grunted. "It is too tight."

"That's how it's supposed to be, hon. All the better to cling to your soul. It's a newfangled technology they cooked up at the academy. Not entirely foolproof yet, but it seems to work. Makes most of you Hemis stick around here a bit longer. You see, it's still the wee hours and everybody on your panel's asleep in their homes. This way we get you to stay put until they come in for the day's hearings."

"No! I won't let them take me."

"I don't think you have much choice. They have you in here for illegal entry, espionage and sabotage. Those are all serious crimes. And as for taking you, either they will or they won't. That's for them to decide, not us."

"They ... will ... not ... take me!" Urszula shouted, shunting her will against the fabric. Her muscles might be useless but her soul remained strong.

"Yes well, come morning you'll have your say. For now you're just going to have to sit tight and wait."

"Fuck you! You can't make me!" She screamed. A wave of disappointment swept down the Hashmal's face.

"Ah shit! Not again."

His companion leaned over the pit.

"What's wrong, Dieter?"

"These things are worthless. She's already fading, and quicker than ever."

***

Urszula opened her eyes to find herself staring up at the unshaven chin of the young man with the sandy hair who had been sitting alone on the wet bench. She was on that bench with him now and her head was resting on his lap. She yanked off the rain jacket that had been draped over her and tried to escape. She could only sit up partway before the screeching pain in her side forced her back down onto the young man's lap.

Eyes panicky, he tried to calm her in Polish.

The pain under ribs, so jarring after the respite, brought unwanted tears.

The young man continued to jabber away in Polish.

"Stop. I don't understand you. I don't speak your language."

"English? Okay! I know some English! I am just saying, take it easy. You fainted and fell. I was just trying to help you. Nobody else here was helping you. Not even the police."

"Okay, so now I am awake. You can go away."

"But you are badly hurt. What happened? Who did this to you?"

"Nobody. I just had a bump."

"Bullshit," said the young man. He tried re-draping his raincoat over Urszula's shoulders but she shrugged it off.

"I don't need this." She sat up carefully and craned her head around to glance up at the schedule board. "What time is it? Did I miss the train?"

"The one to Dresden? Yes. But there is another coming in an hour. You might need to change your ticket. It is a different line."

"I have no ticket."

"That is a problem, yes?"

"I don't need no ticket. I don't care. I'm getting on it."

"Don't you think you should see a doctor, first?"

"Fuck no. I am fine."

"You don't look fine. I tried getting the police to call an ambulance for you, but they refused. They said you were drunk. I found these pills in your pocket."

He showed her a small handful of white tablets.

"I need those! Give them!"

She snatched them out of his palm and stuck them back into her pocket.

"How about you leave me alone, and let me wait for my train?"

"Where are you from? Are you a gypsy?"

"No gypsy. But I am Romanian."

"Your face. It looks bad. You might have a fracture. May I check you?"

"Check me? What the fuck? Are you a doctor?"

"No, but I was medic in the Army for three years. I know some things."

He looked to be in his late twenties, with a few days growth of whiskers and a scar beneath one eye that mirrored the arch of his eyebrow. His eyes were brown with a splash of gold—hazel. His expression was earnest and serious as he patiently awaited her response. He was showing her respect. Somehow, she trusted him.

"Okay. You can check me."

He pressed gently against her bruised and swollen cheekbones. His hands were soft. He was no laborer, this one.

"Good," he said. "Nothing is broken in your face."

"I could have told you that."

"You were hit very hard. There is so much bruising around your eyes. You must have strong bones. I see, there is still some bleeding from your nose. Have taken any antibiotics?"

"No."

"You should have some. To prevent infection."

"I cannot go to a clinic. I have no papers."

"That is no problem. I know the people. I will tell them you are my cousin, visiting from ... Bucharest, or something. They will take care of you."

"No. I can't risk it. I have to keep moving."

"Okay. But wait a bit. Maybe I can get some medicine for you."

Urszula sat up and swung her legs off the bench. She had every intention to simply thank him for his concern and leave. The next train was arriving at a different platform. When she tried to stand, her injured leg wouldn't straighten out completely and she couldn't put any weight on it at all. The swelling was far worse it had been at any point since the injury.

She cried out in pain and collapsed back down onto the bench. The young man caught her and supported her as she sat back down.

"I don't understand. I could walk before. Why is it getting worse?"

"You fell pretty hard when you fainted. There was no one there to catch you. Maybe you re-injured your leg. I really think you should go to that clinic."

"I am not going anywhere but on the next train."

"You are not fit for travel like this. You should find a place to stay. At least for the night."

"Just leave me be, okay? I can take care of myself."

"But you can't even walk. Please, let me help you."

Out of nowhere, with even less warning than the roots usually gave her, tears welled up and gushed down her face. A full-blown rage rose up for being so weak and revealing that weakness to a complete stranger.

He looked upset himself as he patted her shoulder gently.

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to go anywhere. Stay right here if you want. I will leave. You can have my coat. Keep it. If you decide you don't want it. Just throw it away. I don't care. I just don't want to see you so sad."

"Don't you know anything? I am not sad! I am upset! I am angry!"

She quelled her tears, more than a mite surprised that her little outburst had not immediately summoned the roots. It hurt too much to wipe her face on her sleeve so she left her face wet.

"Where are you going?" she asked, as he started backing away towards the stairwell. "Don't you have a train to catch?"

"Nah," he said, pausing, his hand on the rail.

"Did I make you miss it?"

"No. I'm not going anywhere."

"Then what are doing sitting at a train station? Are you waiting for someone?"

He shrugged. "Not really. I always come here to think, watch people. A place like this makes me feel more connected with the world."

He just stood there, smiling wistfully, on the verge of walking away if she showed an ounce more discomfort towards his presence. Urszula studied him, looking for tells that he might be something other than the person he seemed to be. But there were none, as far as she could tell.

He was a strange boy, but strange in a good way. She detected not a speck of pretense about him. His soul seemed utterly naked and exposed to the world. She was unaccustomed to meeting souls of his ilk in any realm, living or dead.

What struck her most about him was his utter lack of guile. He had not once tried to impress or flirt with her the way most men his age did if they were not trying to beat her lifeless. He really did seem to have her best interests at heart.

She realized now that she did not want him to leave. To keep him here, she must treat him like a skittish cat, not risking any sudden movements or expressions that might scare him away.

A rash idea struck her.

"Do you live nearby?"

"Yeah. Not too far."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are not a Frelsian?"

While Urszula studied his reaction, he just looked confused.

"A who?"

That settled it. Her instincts told her that this one was no threat. He was a genuinely docile soul, or at least too beaten down by life to be aggressive towards her. And even if that changed, he did not look so fit or strong enough to have a chance against her. Not that he was fat but his core seemed soft, his muscles less than fully developed. Injured or not, she could handle this one.

"Can I stay with you? At least until my leg is better, until I can walk on my own?"

He just stood there in a daze, his mouth slightly agape.

"Um. Sure. I think so. Okay."

Urszula reached out her hand, inviting him to take it.

He hesitated at first, apparently in awe, as if she were a mythical creature offering her paw. The moment passed and he came and helped her off the bench.
Chapter 15: Beer

The next day began without many prospects, but that was to change. Gaia had told me to sit tight, so I stayed put. I made the rounds of the house, reversing some of the inevitable fraying that devolved from my unstable weaving. Roots really prefer to be roots and took every opportunity possible to revert.

Tigger had gone off to prowl on his own in the big valley before returning to his favorite rocks to catch some rays. I kept my eyes peeled on the hilltops for signs of Gaia's return but she had not said when I could expect her. Knowing that she promised to return, though, at least gave me something to look forward to.

Hanging around that house all day by myself could get pretty boring. One nice thing about being at New Axum was all the artists, musicians, actors and storytellers. Culture, I guess you would call it. Stuff I took for granted when it was ubiquitous.

Here in the hollow, there was just me, and I was a pretty sorry self-entertainer. Daydreams and whistling were poor substitutes for satellite TV and Spotify. I only knew two actual chords on that mandolin of mine and a handful of simple melodies that I played over and over. Keeping this journal would help if I could just quit whining about my boredom all the time.

Waiting for Gaia was driving me batty, but there was not much more I could do about the entertainment deficit. Maybe that was why I was so gung-ho on going to war again.

My food and beverage situation, on the other hand, was something I could rectify, and making meals could be pretty entertaining. I tried taking inspiration from Bern, dicing and pounding some roots into a powder, and brewed myself a great, big pitcher of faux beer.

The first batch was a disaster. It was basically brown dishwater with a fibrous sludge at the bottom.

I bore down and set my will a little harder against the next batch. I used a greybark swizzle stick to swish around a solid pinch of root powder while remembering in detail some of the bitters that Renfrew had shared with me when we made the rounds of the Brynmawr pubs. Chanting the names of my favorite breweries helped. Otley. Tiny Rebel. Hopcraft. Waen.

And boom! This time I got bubbles, and there was way less sludge to boot. The color looked awesome, like Baltic amber. I poured myself a tall glass and while the head was a bit lame and it didn't quite match the maltiness of a true Welsh bitter, it came out extra hoppy like a Vermont IPA. Somehow, I must have gotten my wires crossed. But here I was, with a pitcher of actual beer!

Unfortunately, unlike Bern's wine, I couldn't quite discern whether it had any actual alcohol content. It did absolutely nothing for my buzz. But no matter, it tasted great, and that was good enough for me for now. I saw many improved pitchers in my future.

I was chilling on the porch, sloshing that glass of experimental brew, when the most wonderful racket started. The buzzing and rattling building over the hills tore me out of my rocker and over to the rail where I studied the sky raptly, trying to figure out where it was all coming from.

It grew louder by the second, sounding more and more like the helicopter raid scene in Apocalypse Now. All it needed was a soundtrack playing 'Ride of the Valkyries.'

I sprinted off the porch in time to see them coming over the rise, the sun glinting off their wings. Well over a dozen bug riders were winging into the hollow. I counted at least six robber flies and a bunch more mantids. Tigger was already up in the air with them, either greeting or challenging them. It's hard to tell sometimes with dragonflies whether they were being friendly or territorial.

They all set down in the scrubby flats beside the ponds, stirring up great big clouds of dust. The riders dismounted and most of the bugs scuttled over to the pond's edge to lap at the murky water and rehydrate.

I was kind of blown away as to what to do, unused to having this many guests all at once. I just stood there awkwardly, waving at anyone who looked at me, waiting for someone to approach.

There was not a single dragonfly in the bunch. The flight consisted entirely of mantids and robber flies eighteen strong. This was not a mere surveillance patrol, which were usually much smaller. These insects were geared up for battle, their saddlebags bulging with provisions, spare weapons and armor.

I had never seen so many mantids together in one place. If this was to be part of the attack on Penult, it kind of surprised me. True, dragonflies were scarce after the war, but getting mantids across that strait was an iffy proposition. They were not greatest long distance fliers, though they were pretty damned awesome in close quarters combat.

As I was gawking at the spectacle, this tall Frelsian guy in a leather bombardier's jacket came striding over to me with a purpose. He was a big, rangy alpha male type with a face too perfect to be original. He looked kind of like a movie actor and I bet that was no accident.

He stuck out his hand when he reached me. When I took it, my own felt puny and soft in his grip.

"Name's Ian. Ian Galbraith."

His accent was most definitely down under, though I had a hard time distinguishing New Zealanders from Australians.

"James. James Moody."

"Oh, believe me, we know who you are. Master Ubaldo insisted that we stop here on our way, see if we could get you to join us."

"Master? He goes by Master now?"

Ian grinned. "He doesn't like it. But that's his title."

"Are you in charge of this bunch?"

"Nah, that would be Miss Priscilla. She'll be over in a moment. She's probably going potty. This is our first stop since we took off this morning. It was a pretty long flight."

"Would you like some ... uh ... beer? I have to warn you, it's warm and a little flat."

His eyes flared and he clapped me on the shoulder.

"Beer, did you say? Priss is a bit of a teetotaler, but I always appreciate a good pint, or even a bad one. Real brewed, is it?"

"Um, no. Root powder. But ... it's not too bad for my first try."

I led him back to my porch and he took a seat on the rocker beside mine, while I poured him a mug from the pitcher I had made.

"So ... where are you guys headed exactly?"

He gave me a bit of a squirrely look. "Have you not been apprised of what's in the works?"

"The operation? Yeah, I heard something about it. So it's on? The big attack? It's actually happening?"

"We're just staging right now in little pockets closer to the coast. We don't want concentrate everyone till we're ready to jump, but when it all goes down, our group will be part of the vanguard."

"So when is it all happening?

"As soon as we're all in place. It'll take another week or so, I'd guess to get everybody together. We'll be three hundred strong when that happens. So, would you be interested in joining us?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Then, grab your kit and come. Our staging area is due south of here, just a couple clicks in from the coast. We don't want their scout flights to see us so we're gonna lay low until the main body is in place."

A raspy but feminine voice rang out in my front yard. "Ian?"

"Over here Priss! Come and meet James."

A Duster woman in chitinous armor and tattered leggings came striding up the dirt walk.

"Watch your tongue with this one," Ian whispered. "She doesn't suffer fools. She's a spitfire."

Priss sprang onto the porch and contrary to Ian's warning she didn't look that grumpy. She was actually laughing.

"Unbelievable. Beer, Ian? If there's a tap within a hundred mile radius, leave it to you to find it."

"To be honest Priss, I would call this a near beer. No offense, James."

I shrugged, sheepishly. "None taken. I'm new at this brewing with root dust business."

"Not bad for your first try. I have to say, you've got the hoppiness down right."

Priscilla came over and perched up on the porch rail facing us. She was not very tall but solidly built. I could tell from her mottled and pebbly skin that she had come over with the new wave of Dusters from the Deeps. Those scars and callouses took a long time to fade. As was common with Duster warriors she wore no mark or insignia of leadership, and she was remarkably casual.

"Would you like some tea?"

"No thank you. Just had my fill at the pond."

She was looking me over like I was some steer she was planning on adding to her stockyard.

"Pardon me for saying this, but you don't look as rugged as your reputation suggests."

"Well. That's' because I'm not."

"But Mister Olivier tells me you're a fighter."

"I try my best."

"Priss. Give him a break. He's more a mage than a grunt."

"I'm just being curious. We've all heard the tales. I just want to know if the man lives up to his myth."

"Myth? He's not a myth. He's sitting right in front of you. Just another bloke who happens to have some wicked skills. Isn't that right, mate?"

"I guess. So they tell me. I mean, yeah ... I've done some ... interesting ... things."

There was some kind of raucous commotion growing outside. The fighters gathered around the pond were all staring past the house and muttering and jabbering to each other.

"Finish your beer, Ian. We need to get going soon if we're to reach the staging area before nightfall." Priscilla then looked straight at me, her brown eyes probing.

My back door slammed. Someone had entered the house.

"So, will you be joining us?" said Priss.

I was a little disconcerted by the footsteps in my foyer.

"Um—"

"No. He most definitely shall not."

Our heads turned to find Gaia standing at the entrance to my sitting room. Her homely attire had been replaced by a flowing blue and white gown. Her hair was pinned back and interlaced with green ribbons.

***

Priss and Ian looked at her and smirked at each other. Ian leaned back in the rocker and grinned, his mug of beer perched on his knee.

"So ... would this be your little lady?"

"Um. No guys, this is—"

"Don't you dare mention my name!" said Gaia, glaring.

"What kind of soul are you?" said Priscilla, screwing up her face. She turned to me. "She's not a Penny, is she?"

"No, I am not of Penult. I am here to see James and James alone. I have no business with you fools."

Daggers flew from Priscilla's eyes. Ian practically leapt from the rocker and took her by the arm, leading her towards the porch steps.

"Powers-that-be," whispered Ian, as they walked away. Priscilla paused at the top of the steps, calling back to me.

"If you do care to join us, in the coming days there will be more detachments coming through. Just tag along with any of them. They'll show you the way to our staging area."

She and Ian returned to the rest of their group, who had remained close to their tethered bugs, staring out at the porch.

Gaia took Ian's place in the rocker and held up the nearly empty mug he had left on the floor. She took a sniff and wrinkled her nose.

"What kind of drool was this intended to be?"

"Um. Beer."

"Beer? This is not how you make beer." She emptied the dregs onto the floor.

"I thought you didn't like to be seen in public. What's the deal of barging in like that in front of company?"

"I told you I would be returning, did I not?"

"Yeah, but...."

"I have an urgent matter to discuss. It couldn't wait."

"Well, I was in the middle of—"

"War preparations! Yes, I know. But I told you! You should not be getting yourself involved in this stupid boondoggle of theirs."

"What business is it of yours?"

A wave of disgust washed across her face.

"You asked me to help you! I have some news about your friend and time is of the essence. What is with you today? Do you want to argue with me or do you want to hear what I have to say?"

"Okay. Go ahead. Shoot."

"Your friend is in incredible danger. The Temple of Justice has her soul in custody, which in itself is a guaranteed death sentence. She remains oscillating freely but it is only a matter of time before they complete her hearing and execute her sentence. And I am afraid to say, the path and prospects for a soul of her strain look quite poor. She is not likely to stay within the Liminality."

"What do you mean? Is she going to the Deeps?"

"Worse."

"There's worse?"

"Much worse."

I took a deep breath and then took another.

"So maybe I should be going on this attack then, I mean, right?"

"And how exactly would that help your friend?"

"Well, we can bust her out ... or something. And not just her. All of the prisoners."

"No prisoner of theirs ever leaves the Judicial Temple. It is run like a slaughterhouse. Whoever goes in never comes out. Even if the city is threatened they will merely expedite the sentencing and clear their inventory, so to speak."

A rattle and hum commenced outside, droning like an exhibition of electric lawnmowers and chainsaws. One by one, the overloaded bugs and their riders lining the shore of the pond took to the sky.

"How do you know this for sure?" I said.

"You are not the only soul I watch. I spend time over there, too."

"Oaky. So what am I supposed to do?"

"There is a way to help her, but it is very risky. You will need to trust me explicitly."

"What way? Risky how?"

She leaned toward me, putting the full force of her gaze into mine.

"Tell me, do you trust me? Absolutely?"

"But I hardly know you."

"Fine. If you don't trust me. This will never work. I am wasting my time."

She rose from the rocker.

"Wait! Okay, sure. I trust you. Now tell me, what can we do about Urszula?"

She looked down at me calmly.

"You and I, together, shall go and petition for her release."

"Petition? What does that mean? We're gonna go and collect signatures?"

She rolled her eyes.

"If you can trust me, I have a plan to free your friend. But you must be ready to leave at a moment's notice. Do everything I tell you to do. Say nothing unless you're prompted. Let me handle all of the negotiation."

"You want us to go to Penult? By ourselves? Unarmed? To talk?"
Chapter 16: Janusz

They navigated around the puddles of _Wrocław_ like a pair of old drunks. Urszula leaned heavily on her benefactor's shoulder to bear the weight her bum knee refused to support. Feeling so feeble and elderly infuriated her. There was nothing worse to her than weakness.

The young man didn't speak much. She was never any good at reading faces but she was pretty sure she detected equal levels of pity and fear underlying his general befuddlement. He did not seem at all confident in his decision to let her stay with him.

Urszula did nothing to reassure him. She was perfectly fine with him changing his mind and leaving her out on the street. She had girded herself for that outcome and she would survive and even find something positive out of the event. She was getting good at the art of wringing nectar from lemons.

Frankly, it surprised her that he had acceded to her request so readily. She had expected him to be meeker, more easily intimidated.

But the young man did not waver. He led her deep down side streets dominated by warehouses and train yards. There was nothing green anywhere but weeds and verdigris strains down the bricks from corroded copper flashing. She was surprised to find herself descending a concrete stairwell.

The graffiti-tagged black steel door at the bottom of the pit was not auspicious, but Urszula had stayed in far worse environments since leaving Romania. The young man fumbled with several keys and locks, the level of security worthy of a lair harboring vast riches.

But it turned out to be just another ordinary basement flat. Urszula limped over to the sofa on the back wall and collapsed onto its frayed cushions. The essence of sour milk and mildew hung in the air and permeated the upholstery of his second hand furniture. Still, the place was far tidier than she would have expected for such a young man living alone.

The dishes were clean and lined up neatly in a rack. The carpets were immaculate and the painted concrete floor had been swept. His magazines were all stacked neatly. Not a stray bit of clothing was strewn.

He insisted on helping her take her coat off, even though she was chilled and might have preferred to keep it on. But he was insistent and she was too tired to resist.

"By the way, my name is Janusz. I was not born here in Poland. My parents moved here from Lithuania. Our family name is Kudirka."

All pointless and unsolicited information as far as Urszula was concerned. She just looked at him and forced a smile. She didn't really care who he was or where he was from. But he just he stood there, staring and waiting.

"Life pro tip. This is your cue to tell me your name."

She gazed down at the floor.

"Does it matter?"

"It just helps to have something to call you other than: 'hey you.' Yes?"

When she failed to respond to his feeble joke, he smiled a bit sadly and looked away.

"I'll be right back."

"Urszula. My name is Urszula."

"Just ... Urszula?"

"If it's enough for me, it should be enough for you."

"Fine. Nice to meet you," he said, flatly.

He wandered off into the next room.

She propped her leg up on his coffee table. There was a small TV in the corner, but she had no interest in turning it on. She didn't care what happened in this world and didn't need any stupid actors to entertain her.

But that was a bad attitude. She needed to take more care with her apathy or it could easily degenerate into displeasure. The slope between ennui and despair was a slippery one.

Her gaze drifted to some instrument amplifiers stacked along one wall. She had always appreciated music of any type, good or bad. An electric bass leaned on a stand in the corner and there was an acoustic guitar hanging from a hook on the wall.

Janusz emerged from his bathroom lugging a bulging olive drab bag. He sat on the couch beside her and unzipped it on his coffee table revealing a mess of heavy compresses, bandages and tourniquets. It was a field grade military grade medical kit, optimized for treating battle wounds.

He ripped open a gauze pad and dampened it with a squeeze bottle of alcohol, reaching toward her face. Urszula pulled her head back.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Just cleaning you up a bit. You have some dried blood on your lip. And that cut on your nose, you should let me put a plaster and ointment on it. Otherwise it might get infected and scar."

Scars didn't bother her. She hadn't even bothered to treat this particular wound. Her practice had always been to expose contusions to the open air. But the sooner she let him get on with it, the sooner she would stop pestering her, so she submitted.

Once he got her face cleaned, he stuck on the plaster and then prodded her nose gently with his fingers.

"I will give you some zithromax to prevent infection. Some ibuprofen too for the swelling but you really should eat something first."

Her eyes lit up at the mention of food. Even though she had been eating much better than usual since her encounter with Zuzanna, it had been many hours since she had eaten a substantial meal.

"Look at those scabs on your knuckles. From the fighting, yes? I hope you gave them as good as you got."

"That I did. And more."

"Who did this to you?"

"Ah, nobody. Just some drunken men. Homeless. I found some shelter in a cemetery for shelter and they came out of the graveyard like jackals. Angry that I was in their special place, maybe."

"You should not walk alone in such places."

"Oh? And who will walk with me?"

He shrugged. "I would volunteer. If I was there. To keep you company. Why not?"

She found that a strange thing for him to say. Or maybe it was the way he said it, with a pathetic sense of longing and selfless sacrifice.

"I don't plan to sleep in cemeteries anytime soon. When I'm dead again, maybe that will change."

"Dead again?" He chuckled. "What are you? Some zombie? A vampire, perhaps?"

When Urszula didn't answer, his smile again faded.

"Tough crowd tonight."

He took a breath and continued.

"So where were you going ... on that train? Were you just ... wandering?"

"I hope to reach England. Eventually."

"For ... work?"

"No. I have friends there. A friend. I think. I just needed to go somewhere. Out of Romania. There is no one left there for me. And I had nowhere else to go."

"I have cousins in England. They moved after Poland joined the EU. They worry about Brexit, but at the time it became an easy place to immigrate. Marek is a gardener. Jozef works in a restaurant. They both live in Cheltenham."

"Is that a good place?"

"Who know? I have never visited. But they seem to like it. They keep telling me I should join them. It is not too hard to get a job there. But I already have a job, though it is shit."

"What kind of work do you do?"

"City government. I process municipal fines. Penalties. Shit work."

"That sounds not so terrible. They give you money, yes?"

"Not enough."

"Then maybe you should find something better."

"No. I don't care. I am ... done. I am done looking for something better."

The way he stared out into the emptiness when he spoke sent a chill through her. She knew that look. Such unresolvable despair usually prompted visits from roots, but she suspected his malady seemed closer to resignation than full blown depression—accepting of his fate, not thrilled about the future, but not entirely hopeless.

It was not like her to care about other people's problems, but his combination of vulnerability and salvageability made her curious.

"If you could do anything with your life, what would you do?"

"Anything?" He waved his hand across his array of instruments. "Music, I guess. But ... I don't play out much anymore. My last band broke up about a year ago. I still play ... and write songs ... but only here ... on my own. I had my chance. That's over now. I'm done."

His pathetic response made her reassess her opinion. Maybe he really was a lost cause. An attitude like that allowed to fester would eventually draw the attention of roots for sure. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come home with this one. It was like denning with an injured rabbit in a forest swarming with foxes.

But again, he seemed so placid. He didn't act dejected, just stuck in neutral. He had found his place in the universe, and even though it was a low place, he accepted it.

His persona intrigued her. Maybe she could learn something from him. Like how to keep the roots at bay without needing to stay chipper and bright all the time.

She remembered James telling her about train stations and the lone men he would always see there, watching people but never going anywhere. He had always worried that they might be sentinels of some sort. Lookouts. Spotters. Assassins, out to get him. Did Janusz represent that type?

"So what were you doing there at that train station?"

"I told you. I go there to think. And sometimes I see ... and meet interesting people."

He smiled sadly. Again. She wondered if her impressions were misdirected by the natural geometry and musculature of his face. Maybe he wasn't actually sad inside.

"You go there to meet women?"

She had meant it as a playful jab, but it flustered him.

"No! I mean, yes, you are a woman, but I did not go there to meet you, or anybody. Sometimes it just happens."

"I don't care if you do or you don't. I was just asking."

His eyes flitted over to his kitchenette. He pursed his lips. "Are you hungry?"

"Oh yes!" she said, eagerly. "I can eat."

"I don't have much in the cupboard right now. I need to go shopping tomorrow. But I have some dry sausage and bread. Maybe a tomato."

"That sounds good."

"How about I pull some things together while you wash up, okay?"

"Wash?"

"Yes. I think maybe you should bathe, no?"

"Are you saying that I stink?" She sniffed at her armpit. It had only been a day or so since she last washed.

"No! Not at all. I just thought you would enjoy a shower. If you need clean clothes, you can borrow some of mine. In the meantime, I can wash whatever you're wearing."

"Ah, I see now. You're just trying to get me out of my clothes."

He avoided her eyes, again displaying that stupid, sad smile. "I'm just trying to be helpful."

He refused to play along and flirt back. This guy was no fun at all. His soul was as neutered as a Cherub's.

Urszula grimaced as she raised herself off the couch

"Fine. I'll go and take a shower."

***

As Urszula hobbled to the bathroom, Janusz rushed into his room and retrieved a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt from a dresser drawer. He came out and offered them to her.

"These belonged to an old girlfriend."

"You like big girls, I see."

"Yes, but they don't to seem to like me. She left no undies. Sorry."

"Do I look to you like a woman who wears baggy underwear?"

Urszula took the clothes and he shut the bathroom door for her. She still had some of Zuzanna's things in her pack. It wouldn't hurt to keep them in reserve. Strangers seemed to treat her nicer when she was clean and fresh.

Though, she worried that all of this bathing would spoil her for the road. She was plenty clean by her own standards. In the Deeps, no one ever washed. Even in the Lim, she preferred dust baths to water.

But once she was under the showerhead, the warm water seduced her and she lingered under the spray much longer than necessary, filling the bathroom with steam, losing track of the time.

"Hey! Are you okay in there?" Janusz called, disrupting her trance. "Save some water for the fishes!"

It was nice to hear him displaying a little spunk for a change.

"I am just getting out," she said, reaching down to turn off the tap.

She still had trouble bending her knee and almost toppled over trying to step out of the tub. Still, she managed despite her soreness to towel herself dry and put on this old girlfriend's clothes. Her slender form swam in a sea of denim and flannel as she limped out of the bathroom.

Janusz had the television tuned to some unintelligible political discussion and had prepared two place settings on the low table in front of his sofa.

"Is it okay that we eat in here? I think it would be more comfortable for you."

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me."

He took her arm to help her over to the couch. She would have preferred to make her own way, but bit her lip and humored him, saying nothing as she descended onto the cushions.

He stood, hands poised to catch her as if he feared she might slip off the sofa.

She glared up at him. "Why are you hovering?"

"Sorry!"

He scurried off into the kitchen and returned with a platter of fried sausage, sliced tomato and cucumber and a basket of rye bread. He placed a bottle cap with several pills next to her.

He then returned to the kitchen to fetch more things but Urszula was too hungry to wait. She tore into the platter, not bothering to use the small plates and forks he had set out for them. He returned with two small jars and a bottle. He sat beside her and poured them both a portion of something pink and bubbly that smelled of sweetness and grapes.

"Lambrusco," he said, smiling. The word meant nothing to her, though she supposed he meant the wine.

"Take your pills. I am worried about your knee. If the swelling doesn't down, there could be some ligament damage."

"I was walking fine this morning."

"Yes, well take your pills and we will see how it goes overnight."

She took the pills in her palm. Two were reddish-brown, one was white. "Will these help with the pain?"

"Well, yes. The ibuprofen should. It is not as strong as the Vicodin you were taking but it is better for the swelling."

"I liked my other pills."

"Yes, well it is not good for you to take so many. I think that maybe is why you had trouble at the station. I will keep them for you while we try these. Okay?"

"You will give them back to me."

She posed it as a statement, not a question.

Janusz ignored her request.

She didn't press the issue for the time being. She popped his pills into her mouth and took a swig of bubbly wine to wash them down.

"I have ice cream, too. Do you like peach?"

"I will eat anything you want to give me," she said, mouth full. She realized that she had already eaten more than half of the sausages her host had put out and restrained herself from taking any more. She reached instead for a piece of bread.

"My, what an appetite! It is like you are eating for two. Are you?"

"No, I am not pregnant. I am sorry I eat so much."

"Don't apologize. Please. If we need more, I will just go to the shop. It's okay."

"No, this is good. This is enough for me. But you know, I think maybe I would like to go to sleep soon."

His eyes popped wide.

"Oh! Of course. You must be exhausted. No problem. You can have my room. The door can be locked from the inside."

Lock the door? Did he think she was scared of him?

"No need. I can sleep right here." She lifted her bad leg onto the sofa and onto his lap.

He glanced back and forth between her and the leg.

"Take my bed. Seriously. You are injured. You should be comfortable."

Urszula enjoyed a good bed, but there were limits to how much charity she could accept. Zuzanna had been one thing. But Urszula had just been severely injured and her benefactor had been a Frelsian with unlimited resources. This guy didn't have much. He deserved to keep his own bed for himself.

"No. This is good enough. Even the floor would be fine if you put something down."

"Floor? If you don't want my room, that's fine, but I will not have you sleep on my floor. Let me get some sheets."

With moves like a limbo dancer, he extracted himself gingerly from beneath her legs.

"I don't need any sheets. Just a blanket would be fine."

"I can get you a pillow too ... or would you prefer a rock?"

She smirked at his attempt at humor. At least he was finally showing some spirit. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

"I will tolerate a pillow. Thank you."

As she squirmed around to seek a more comfortable position, he set a quilt and pillow down beside her.

"Here is the clicker, in case you want to watch some television."

"No television. I hate television."

"Oh? Why didn't you say so?" He turned off the TV.

"I am just going to wash a few dishes and then I will leave you in peace. Okay?"

"Do would what you need to. I would help you, but I'm pretty useless these days."

"No worries. I can handle it."

Urszula found an angle that didn't make her rib cage ache as much and pulled the quilt up over herself. This was luxury compared to her usual sleeping accommodations.

She watched Janusz wash the dishes. He was so thorough and meticulous in the way he scrubbed and rinsed and racked them. Urszula wasn't sure whether to be impressed or disturbed by his compulsions.

As she watched, he kept glancing over his shoulder at her. He had a strange look in his eyes, but at least he wasn't sporting that sad sack smile.

"Why do you keep looking at me?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Just tell me why?"

"I don't know. It's just ... nice ... to have someone over for a change. Someone to talk to. Someone ... my age."

She cocked her head at him.

"Your age? How old do you think I am, Janusz? Take a guess."

He turned and stared deep into her eyes as he dried his hands on a dish towel. He maintained that gaze with a steadiness and drive that he had thus far not been able to sustain.

"Two hundred," he said, with not a hint of a smile. "Am I right?"

Urszula shuddered. Could he sense that she was not of this time?

He walked by her, keeping his gaze fixed to the floor, and went to his room. He paused at the threshold.

"I'll be up for a while, reading. Just knock if you need anything." The door closed behind him.

***

Not a single root plagued her dreams that night. That was a good sign. Often, they took advantage of her less vigilant dream states to remind her when they were near. Perhaps it was a tactic intended to deflate her spirits enough to bring her in range of their hooks.

She awoke all cozy on the couch, fully clothed and snug under the cotton quilt. Tucked under her chin, it smelled of cheap detergent and sunlight with a hint of smoke. She was glad she declined the offer of his bed. Not only did this act establish a social distance between them, it brought her one step closer back to life on the streets.

Her ribs were still quite sore but she was glad to find her knee fully bendable. It still hurt plenty when she moved it, but function mattered more to her than pain. She lay there, debating whether to pull the same disappearing act she had done with Zuzanna, when then bedroom door creaked open and Janusz came drifting out, eyelids heavy and hair sticking up almost as much as her own.

He paused and looked a bit startled, as if he had forgotten until now that he had hosted an overnight guest.

"Good morning! How did you sleep?"

"Okay."

"Do you drink coffee?"

"Yes."

He went and got busy clanking around in the kitchen while Urszula got herself off the sofa and made her way to the bathroom.

"You are walking!"

"Yes," she said, in a flat drone. "I have two legs. Amazing."

"I think the ibuprofen helped you. You should take some more."

When she emerged from the bathroom the air was redolent with hot coffee vapors and hot butter. Something was sizzling in a pan on the stove. She went back to the couch and sat.

Janusz eventually came out of the kitchen juggling two steaming mugs and a plate of fried rye bread.

"I have no eggs. No meat. So sorry. But I will go to the store today. I promise."

"Not for my sake," said Urszula. "I will be leaving."

"Oh? Are you sure you don't want to stay more day? Make sure you are healed? I can make us a big supper. Some ham. Roast potatoes?"

The offer was tempting, but that was just her stomach talking.

"We can go to the market this morning. You can pick whatever you want. I will cook it."

"Don't you have to work?"

"I can call in sick."

"You are ill?"

"No. I just don't feel like working today."

"What kind of job do you have? You only go to work when you feel like it?"

"It is not every day a beautiful and interesting woman wakes up in my flat."

"Beautiful?" she said, nearly spitting out her coffee.

"Well, yes. You are attractive ... in a ... rustic ... way. And you are very, very interesting. If I want to stay home and take care of you, is that so bad?"

Suddenly he was getting a little too familiar with her, and using words that sounded a little too much like flirting. It was enough to get her fight or flight instincts spinning a little faster.

"Honestly, I hate my fucking job. I have been hoping they would fire me for a long time now. Bureaucracy is poison to the soul."

"There are worse things in this universe."

"Yeah. Middle managers."

"You have no idea," she mumbled, crunching a piece of buttery toast.

Janusz peeled a jacket and several cloth mesh bags from the back of a chair.

"So, if you can walk, do you want to come shopping with me? That way you can help me pick whatever food you want for dinner. I will cook it."

Urszula desperately wanted to decline his invitation. It would have provided an opportunity to slip away without awkward goodbyes, the way she had done with Zuzanna. But she was still hungry for something more substantial than toast. And ever since she had left Romania she had harbored a fierce craving that had been thwarted at every turn. Her mouth watered at the idea of finally getting some roasted chicken. It was not the kind of meal you find in a dumpster.

"Okay. You can take me shopping."

"I can?"

He stood there, acting as if Urszula's response was the last thing he ever expected to hear come out of her mouth.

Okay! Great! Maybe first we fix your hair a bit?"

Urszula shook her head, flinging her tangled spikes. "It is not broken. Let's go."

***

Her bad leg bore her weight and swung wherever she flung it. That was all that mattered, not the pain, not the clicking and grinding that happened whenever she bent her knee.

Janusz strolled along slowly, pausing and meandering to accommodate her disability. She wished he could have been less obvious about it.

Down the street and around the corner, they came upon an open-air farmer's market occupying one end of a plaza dominated by a very large church, if not a cathedral. As they approached the first stalls, the glass front of a brick and mortar jewelry shop caught her eye. She diverted course and wandered in through the open door.

Urszula was like a magpie in her attraction to shiny things. She had never actually owned any real jewelry of her own, but before the war she had kept a small cache of geodes and uncut gem stones she had found around the mountains of the Lim. Root quakes had destroyed the communal grotto where she had kept them. She missed her little treasure trove.

Janusz caught up with her as she glided along a glass cabinet of turquoise and jade pendants. Diamonds had never inspired her as much as semi-precious gems. Sure they were twinkly, but they were colorless and bland. She preferred stones with more color and character.

"I thought we were shopping for groceries."

"Don't worry. I am just looking."

The woman behind the counter looked at them and whispered something to the security guard. He unbuckled the snaps on his holster.

"You are making him nervous. We should go," said Janusz.

"Are we not customers?"

"No. We are not." He touched her arm. "Let's go! I mean it. That man is scared of you."

"Of me?" Urszula burst out laughing as they retreated from the shop, engaging the guard's eyes until he was forced to glance away.

"You are a little bit crazy, aren't you?"

"A little bit?"

Back out in the market. Urszula sampled shards of cheese while Janusz cruised the produce stands, purchasing bundles of asparagus and chard.

"What? No meat?"

"The butcher shop is on the far side of the square. What do you want for supper?"

"Can we buy something to eat now? Already cooked?"

"Well, there are some food trucks on the edge of the market. We can try—"

But Urszula had already lurched off, having caught whiff of her quarry. Janusz, caught flat-footed, ran to catch up with her.

"I see your leg is feeling much better."

"There is roast chicken somewhere! I can smell it!"

"It is cheaper if we buy some from the market and roast it ourselves."

"I am hungry now!"

"Fine. Go get some."

They located the truck from which the heavenly aromas were emanating and took a place in line. Janusz let slip a tiny smile as Urszula leaned on him for support.

***

Urszula followed him back to his flat, but she was beginning to think that this was time to make her break. Yes, her knee was acting up again, but she was mobile enough now to get herself back to the train station. The meal she had eaten would keep her sated for the rest of the day. There was no more reason to stick around.

Her fingers were still greasy from the chicken as she ran them through her hair. Coins jingled as Janusz fumbled in his pocket for his keys.

What words did the situation demand? A thank you and a good bye were warranted, but how to phrase it appropriately? He had been far too kind to her to deserve her standard callous, curt and rude treatment. But she had little experience being nice to good people and could not decide how to proceed. Should she give him a hug as well? A peck on the cheek?

And yet the words never took form on her lips. When he opened the door, she followed him inside, as if she were a puppet no longer fully in control of her body. Her stomach sank in disgust at her own cowardice.

Hanging around was just delaying the inevitable. What was she doing? Yes, he was a nice guy, but so what? A nice guy wasn't going to save her from the roots. Once the novelty of steady food and sleeping under a roof wore off, reality would creep back and diminish her hopes. Running kept her alive. Every day, seeing a new horizon, was the only way she knew how to sustain her mood.

She slunk over to the sofa to sit and sulk while Janusz unpacked and put away his groceries.

"Obviously, we will not need lunch now but later I can make us a good supper, yes?"

He was smiling, but something was different about it, as if his state of mind had ticked up a notch. Urszula just looked at him blankly, trying to fend off doubts and regrets. Concern seeped into his expression.

"How is your leg? It looked like you were limping a lot more on our walk back. You should elevate it and rest. I can bring you an ice pack."

"My leg is fine!" she snapped.

He put down a loaf of bread and took a step towards the couch, extra cautious, like someone trying to help an injured animal and taking care not to spook it.

"What is wrong? Are you mad about something?"

"I am thinking that ... maybe ... I should be leaving. And soon. Very soon."

His eyes widened. He drifted closer.

"What is the rush? Give yourself a day to rest and heal. I can take you back to the station tomorrow."

"No. I have to keep moving or else ... bad things might happen."

"Bad things? What do you mean? Are you afraid ... of me?"

"Oh please. I am not afraid of you."

"Then what bad things? Is someone after you?"

"Even if I told you, you wouldn't understand."

He came and stood directly in front of her, wringing his hands nervously.

"Listen. I need to tell you something. Listen to me. Okay?"

"I am listening."

"This is going to sound strange, but there is something happening here ... to me. I don't understand what it is exactly, but ever since you showed up last night, it is like something has woken up inside me. I didn't sleep much at all last night. I just laid awake, thinking. And the strange thing is, I am not even tired. But it is like my life suddenly has ... a point. A mission. I want to help you. I need to help you. I don't why. But I do. I don't need anything in return, just to be allowed to help you. I know how strange this must sound. And I don't mean to scare you. If you need to go, then go. You can go today, or you can go tomorrow. But ... when you go ... I think I would like to come with you."

"That's ridiculous! What about your job?"

"I hate my job. I told you that."

"But your life is here."

"Life! What life? Shuffling papers? Watching TV. That's not life."

"It is more than I have and I'm not complaining."

"That's not my point! Are you listening? Just give me one day to put my things in order and then we can go. I don't have a vehicle, but I can pay for train tickets, airfare, whatever you want. I will take you all the way to England. Once we get there, I will go stay with my cousins and you can do whatever you want. Go see your friends. Whatever."

Urszula just stared. She didn't know what to think. None of what he said made any sense.

"You meet a stranger and you immediately want to abandon everything and run off with her? That's insane. And you say I am crazy?"

"I'm not saying that I understand. But I've never wanted anything more than to go to England with you right now. Please. Just let me help you get there. And then ... I will disappear from your life and you can go on your way. I promise."

Urszula had the acute impression that something strange was happening here. No stylish assassins or valiant young men had been swarming out of the woodwork to help her when she had been struggling to cross through Hungary a week ago. What had changed? She narrowed her eyes.

"Are you sure you don't work for Frelsi?"

He let out a burst of breath and rolled his eyes. "I wish you would stop asking me this. I still don't know what it means."

Urszula's head was aching more than her knee. The pills Janusz had given her were not nearly as effective as Zuzanna's at dulling the pain. But suddenly, like a cloud sweeping past a mountaintop and opening a vista, the situation became clear. She sat up and jabbed her finger in his direction.

"Oh, I know now what is happening. You are possessed."

"Possessed?"

"Someone else is making you do this. Their will ... it is possessing you."

"That is nonsense. I ... I want to do this. Me. No one is making me—"

"You know nothing about such things. How could you?"

"But there is nothing possessing me. There is ... no such thing as ... possession."

She knew better than to argue with him. How would he know? Those who projected their wills knew how not to leave traces.

Somehow, this revelation put her more at ease. It seemed someone was trying to help her, though less directly than Zuzanna, through an unwilling, unexpecting intermediary. True, her host's disposition likely simplified the process. An ordinary man in his situation would either have tried to bed her or put her out on the street by now. Janusz' behavior felt unnatural, and now she understood why. She had no idea who might be helping her or why, but why not take advantage of it?

She detested the idea of being weighed down with a traveling companion, but couldn't deny the merits of traveling with someone who could pay their way, provide train fare, food and lodging. She supposed she could shed him at any point should his presence become intolerable.

Though, it was hard to imagine him becoming less than tolerable. He was far from intrusive. He respected her space and made her feel comfortable with everything he did. Whoever had selected him had done a fine job of vetting. This might actually work.

She looked at him directly.

"Are you certain you want to do this?"

His eyes were big and earnest.

"Of course. I have never been surer ... of anything. Yes, maybe I would rather you stayed here. With me. But if you are going to leave, then I want to leave with you. I just need a little time to get ready."

"One day," she said, sighing. "I can manage to wait one more day. But by tomorrow morning, we need to be out that door and heading west. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely."
Chapter 17: Opportunity

I told Gaia yes without thinking. Yes, I would let her take me to Penult. Yes, I would leave my weapons behind. Yes, I would let her do the talking. Yes, I would do whatever she told me to do. Yes, I would not question her motivations.

I regretted all of it very early the next morning when she showed up at my bedroom door all dressed up and ready to go. The hills outside my window bore only the faintest brush strokes of dawn when she rapped on my door frame.

She had spent the night inside her shape-shifting chariot, which she had induced to puff out to create a sort of bloated tent on stilts, highly weaponized and extremely vigilant, as I discovered on an attempted and aborted evening stroll.

"It is time," she said, wearing a blue, shimmery dress that cascaded down her lankiness like a frozen waterfall. Her sandals had no straps. They appeared to be glued to the bottoms of her feet.

"Time for what?"

"Penult."

"What?"

"Your friend is there right now. We must go."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Why now?"

"Because she is there."

"I'm not ready."

"You promised to be ready to go at a moment's notice. Did you not?"

"Sorry, I'm just not ready."

"I don't care how ready you are. We must go. She is there."

"I know she's there."

"Her soul! It's currently resident in this realm. We have an opportunity to free her if we go right now."

"And I'm telling you I'm not ready."

"And when will you be ready?"

"I don't know. I need more time to think about this."

And then she exploded on me, laying into me like I had betrayed her. I didn't have the greatest defense. It was just that her explanations of what we would be doing in Penult had been too vague for me to be comfortable with the risks.

I had way more confidence in the prospects of the military operation currently being planned. I mean who would you trust more to protect your ass, a hundred battle-hardened warriors riding giant insects or a girl in a frilly blue dress and her freaky flying elevator creature?

Gaia continued to badger and bully me, calling me cowardly, obtuse, oblivious and uncaring for declining her offer to take me to Penult to petition for Urszula's release. Considering the venom she spewed at me, you would have thought that Urszula was her friend, not mine.

She could not understand my reluctance. She made going to Penult sound no worse than going down to the DMV to appeal a speeding ticket—unpleasant maybe but hardly hazardous. She implied that we could go there, talk to the right people, and come back with Urszula. That sounded way too easy. I wasn't buying it.

No matter how much she pestered, there was simply no way I was going back to that place without an army to back me up. Especially, since an army of sorts was in the process of forming up to go there very soon.

And then, just like that she dropped the whole thing. She had dug into that bloated purse of hers, pawing through the skeins like some old lady sorting through her knitting gear. She pulled out a set of glowing noodles all cinched together by some kind of napkin ring, slapped them down on her knees and sighed.

"Too late now. She's gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes. Thanks to your dilly-dallying, she has faded."

"To the living. That's good! And well, you see? We wouldn't have had enough time to do a damned thing anyhow."

"We did not know that to be the case at the time."

"But now we do."

"My point is, we need to be able to act fast if we are to rescue her."

"Okay. Well, next time I'll try to be readier. Okay?"

"You must do more than try."

"You tell me to jump. I'll ask how high? How's that?"

It didn't satisfy her. She accused me of flippancy and remained disgruntled with me the rest of that morning. I half hoped she would take her chariot and leave, but no, she had to hang around and mope and give me the stink eye. I had half a mind to kick her off my property. But who was I to tell someone like her where to go?

She kicked off her shoes. "Honestly, I hate dressing up. I only did it for the Penultians. I hope you don't mind if I go change."

"Knock yourself out. By all means, go casual. Go naked if you that's you're into."

She smirked. "Don't tempt me. I just might, if I thought your soul was mature enough to handle it."

***

Things had calmed by afternoon. She had changed out of her dress back into her casual khaki safari suit and had gone off with her easel to paint a picture of the buttes opening out onto the plains.

I have to say, she could paint some pretty impressive landscapes. Some of that work would look pretty sweet hanging up in my living room.

I tried making myself another batch of beer but it came out even worse than my first pitcher—with no bubbles whatsoever, and a purplish tinge. Somehow, my will had cross-contaminated it with Bern's wine recipe. I went over to my rocker and slugged one down anyhow. The crap tasted like beet juice.

Sometime late in the afternoon, Gaia wandered back onto the porch with her art gear bundled under her arm.

"Want to try some beer?"

"No thank you," she said, abruptly.

"You still mad?"

"Of course."

"Can you just chill? What's done is done."

"We lost a window of opportunity. Who knows how many more chances she has left? Only the brevity of her most recent visitation saved her. They are preparing to execute her, you know."

"I got cold feet. It won't happen again. I promise."

"I overestimated you. I took you for a man of action."

"Oh come on. It's not like you asked me to go for a walk on the beach. This is Penult we're talking about. Those Pennies know me. They've been out to get me for a long time. I'm probably their public enemy number one. If they had an FBI, I'm pretty sure I'd top their most wanted list."

None of that fazed her in the least.

"You need not worry about any of that. I know how to deal with these people. I would be there with you. I would keep you safe."

I was tired of arguing with her. The only possible goal I could see of her laying this guilt trip on me was to make me feel bad. Well, mission accomplished.

I wandered off and found a way to keep busy, pulling up weeds in the yard that I had never been inclined to pull up before. That gave me the peace and space I had been seeking.

But after a while, she found me out back. I gritted my teeth as she approached, but something had shifted in her. She was actually smiling.

"What's up?"

"That spare bedroom of yours, do you mind if I claim it?"

"Claim it?"

"I mean, can I stay there?"

I wasn't expecting to have her be my roommate. But I wasn't about to say no.

"Okay."

"Would you mind if I redecorate a bit? Make it a little more cozy?"

"How long you planning to stay?"

"Until your friend returns to Penult. Until we mount our rescue."

"Okay. Sure. Knock yourself out."

I had run out of weeds to pull and looked around for some other kind of busy work. An hour having her out of my face had worked wonders. Imagine what another hour might do.

"I can make us dinner."

"That'd be nice."

I can build a fence, I thought. I could gather some logs and rope them together. There was plenty of deadwood along the creek. Rainy season always brought a bunch of wood down from the hills. Maybe I could find myself a nice piece of graybark along the way.

"By the way, I have taken some measures for your friend."

"Oh?"

"I have consulted my strands and have optimized wherever and whatever I could."

"I don't know what that means."

"Suffice it to say, there will be less friction against her in the living realm. I'm not saying no friction. Less."

"That's nice of you."

I had no idea what she was talking about and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I just wanted to be alone with my sticks and logs.

"We'll eat just after sundown. Will that be alright with you?"

"That'd be swell," I said, making my way to a tangle of deadfalls clogging the creek bed.

"Be careful not to stray too close to Ezekiel coming back. He may look dormant but he's not."

"Do we have to feed that thing? What does it eat?"

"Oh no. He is extremely low maintenance. He requires little more sustenance than a bit of water and some air."

"Okay, well I promise to keep my distance if he promises not to growl."

She beamed at me, that perfect row of straight, white teeth; stunning me like headlights on a deer.

"Later then. I'll try to concoct something not too alarming."

"I'm not fussy."
Chapter 18: Westward

Janusz insisted that Urszula call him Jan. He asked if there was a name she preferred, but no one had ever used a diminutive or nickname with her. She had always been Urszula and only Urszula. She worried that her host might be getting a little too friendly and familiar for comfort.

Jan wasted no time whatsoever in getting his affairs in order. He got on the phone and placed call after call. Within the hour, a bearded, long-haired friend of his had pulled up with his 'furgonetka' and they loaded up every musical instrument, amplifier, stereo component and television in the apartment while Urszula watched from the couch, her bad leg propped on a pillow.

"He will sell them at a consignment shop, and forward the money to us later," Jan explained. Though she had not the slightest interest in his dealings, she noted his curious use of the word 'us,' and found it more than a little disturbing.

When the van pulled away, Jan continued to bore her with his personal minutia.

"The rest of the furniture will stay," he said. "Another friend of mine may sublet this flat. He has been looking for a chance to move from his parents' house."

Urszula just nodded. His need to narrate his every move, as if she cared about the details, was getting a bit annoying. It was a relief to see him rush out to get to the bank before it closed. It gave her some time to rest. Simply witnessing his frenetic energy was exhausting.

Her cat nap was interrupted when he returned, but he made up for the disruption with a small sack of dumplings stuffed with ground meat and cabbage. She feasted on them greedily.

As she gorged herself, he sat on a crate and watched her. Somehow, watching her eat amused and pleased him, like he was some small boy who had managed to gain the confidence of some shy beast at a petting zoo.

"I checked flights and if we can get you the right papers, that is how we will go. Ryanair, Wizz Air and even LOT have some very inexpensive tickets from Wrcolaw to London."

"Flights? You mean airplanes? Oh no. You are not getting me on one of those machines."

"You are scared of flying? But it is the quickest way. In two hours we can be there."

"I don't like them, and as we both know, I have no papers."

"Well. Give me a few days, we can get you something. Maybe we can get you qualified as a refugee. Lie about where you are from. Pretend you are from Syria maybe? Why not?"

"Few days? No! I am not staying another day. And I will not be flying on any machine."

"Machine?" He chuckled. "A train is also a machine. Would you prefer we travel by horse?"

Urszula did not answer him. But the idea of flying on an aircraft bothered her immensely. She was perfectly comfortable with dragonflies, but had absolutely no faith in anything mechanical. They were unnatural, and far too risky in her eyes.

Even trains made her nervous, but at least if they failed you just rolled to a stop. How far could a train fall in Western Poland?

Jan seemed to know better than to press the issue. From their first moments together he somehow knew when to give her the space she needed to express and indulge her own feelings, however irrational they might have seemed to him. He was uncannily quick to understand and accept her needs.

And besides, she was in no hurry to actually get to England, particularly since she was not exactly sure what she would find there. It had been a long time since she had seen James and could not be certain that he even spent any time in the UK these days. The journey mattered more to her than the destination. Keeping moving toward a place that gave her hope—that was the important part.

Not that she didn't appreciate Jan's help. With him along, she would not have to worry about food or shelter. That alone would make for a far more pleasant trip than the penniless trekking she had thus far endured. That prospect perked her up immensely.

And as much as she thought she preferred traveling alone, she had to admit it would be nice to have some company for a change. His presence would allow her to relax and ease her vigilance. And that was important while she remained less than whole with her hurt leg and sore ribs making her feel more vulnerable than usual.

Of course, she found it strange and foolish of him for abandoning everything and running off with her, but that was his problem. She didn't need to dwell on it. His insanity or stupidity meant free food, shelter, transportation of her choosing. She knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

***

Another night on the sofa. More pills. More healing. She slept in fits and starts, and in her waking moments, she felt anxious and antsy. When morning came, she was ready to leave.

But Jan insisted that he needed one more day to prepare for leaving. He still had to put in his official resignation and get his friend to sign the lease. And then he had all of his many friends and relatives and acquaintances to say goodbye to. He seemed to know a hell of a lot of people for someone who called himself a loner.

After one particularly dramatic and teary goodbye with a young and broad-hipped blonde woman who seemed far more invested in him than he was in her, Urszula began to feel a bit unsettled. From her usual position on the sofa she had endured a heavy barrage a suspicious and envious glares from the young woman.

"Are you sure that I am not ruining your life?" she said, after Jan returned from walking the young lady to the corner.

"What? Marylka? You think I was going to marry her? She just a friend. I don't care what she thinks. She just a friend."

"You are giving up your friends, your job. It sure seems like my coming has disrupted your life."

"What life?" He chuckled. "I can get another job somewhere else that bores me equally. I'm quite good at finding boring jobs. Not so good at finding adventures. I have been waiting a long time for this."

"For this? You knew this would happen?"

"Not this, specifically. But something. I have been waiting for something ... like this. Something to get me moving. And this is it. What I've been waiting for."

He stared at the wall, pensively at first, but a smile grew ever so slowly.

"Okay. So are you done making arrangements? Can we go now?"

"Almost. Just a few more errands. I promise."

***

While Jan went out and about to finish the remainder of his tasks, Urszula lounged in his flat all day, tending her wounds, resting, healing. She was thrilled with the progress in her knee and made sure she kept the bottle of Jan's magic brown pills close by. She was more than ready to take on the world again and it took all of her restraint not to bolt outside and bolt off on her own. But Jan would be returning with the train tickets that would make getting to England so much easier.

Snacking on crisps and sipping apple juice from a plastic cup, she stared out the casement window and watched the world walk by, high stockings, low stockings. Skate boards. Wheelchairs. Countless knobby knees. One small dog pressed its nose against the glass to stare at her.

Jan came home as the light was fading, a half dozen plastic shopping bags entwined in his fingers. He had bought her some more clothes, now that he knew her size. He had some food for the trip as well. A loaf of bread and some hard cheese. A small bottle of wine.

"I have our tickets!" he said, holding up an envelope. "Sleeper berth to Zurich. From there we go to Paris and take the late train to London."

"That is very nice of you. Thank you," she said, conjuring a smile that she hoped seemed genuine and grateful enough. It's not that she wasn't happy about these gifts, it was just that her feelings were not that simple. The idea of dependency, of accepting the assistance of another, still made her a little uncomfortable and put a damper on her excitement.

Everything good that had ever happened to her she had gotten on her own. Everything that is, except maybe the time James brought her back to life, but she was still not quite convinced that had been a good thing.

Urszula pored through one the bags that Jan had brought back and held up a pair of brightly colored slacks.

She made a face. "Pink? Really? You expect me to wear this color?"

He shrugged and grinned as he buckled the main compartment of a large, frame-less backpack.

"They were on sale. Seventy-five percent off!"

"Fine. I'll keep them. Maybe they'll look better once I get them dirty."

"Pack them up. We have a train to catch."

"We are going? Now?"

"Yes. I thought you wanted to go and fast."

Urszula scrambled off the couch and snatched her daypack off the floor.

"I am ready."

***

It felt strange walking with Jan, almost not real. This was different from following him around the market. That was just a casual stroll through turf familiar to him. Here, she was accompanying him into the unknown, to places neither of them had ever seen. Whatever adventures or troubles lay ahead would be shared. She wasn't used to this kind of arrangement, and was not sure she liked it, and even less sure that she didn't.

They climbed up the stairs to the very same platform they had met after her drug-induced collapse. Clouds streaked across a pale moon already visible in the twilight. They stood together, keeping a safe distance apart, saying nothing, looking straight ahead. Urszula tried not to dwell on how awkward she felt, but the feeling nagged her.

The train arrived a few minutes late, screeching, slowing so gradually that it almost seemed that it would never stop. She rushed inside the moment the doors opened, brushing past the conductor. Jan apologized for her in Polish while she plunged down the aisle to find a seat.

"Where are you going?"

"To sit," she said, annoyed.

"We have a berth. I told you. This is an overnight train. Follow me."

He led her into the next car and opened up a narrow compartment with a pair of bunks and a small steel washbasin.

"Beds?"

"I'm sorry, I thought you understood. Have you never traveled by sleeper before?"

"Both are for us, yes?"

"Of course." He seemed startled by her query.

"Then I take the top one." She tossed her pack up onto the mattress and climbed up after it.

***

She had never felt so comfortable on a train before, though all of her prior experiences had been on freight and commuter lines. The pillow and sheets smelled fresh, the mattress somehow managed to be both soft and firm.

The steady and repetitive kerchunk of the rails was hypnotic and soothing but she really didn't need any more rest after lounging and napping on the couch all day while Jan had been out and about. When good things came, though, she had learned to binge on them. She didn't know when or if she would ever be this cozy again.

But as much as she tried, she could not sleep. Jan was still awake. She had peeked over the mattress several times to check. He had turned on a small lamp and was reading from a tattered book. She was dying to know what he was reading about but did not feel like starting up a conversation.

She pulled on her shoes and climbed down off the bunk. Jan barely glanced in her direction as she left the compartment.

"I will be back," she said, even though she wasn't entirely positive she meant it.

"Yes. I assumed you would be."

"I am just going for a walk."

"That's fine," he said, annoyed, flipping a page.

"That must be a very good book," she said, as she closed the door behind her.

She went down the aisle exploring, from sleeper car to dining car. Trains had enchanted her ever since she had been a child. She remembered being amazed by the idea of a giant machine moving through the countryside like a village on wheels. But she grew up in a time when such machines were still rare outside of cities.

She remembered very little about her youth. Her memories had been weathered thin from all that time in the Deeps. Even her parents' faces were vague and blurry in her mind. She remembered her mother's hand more than even her voice. She often wondered what other treasures she had lost.

Like most who knew the Deeps, she had taken her own life, but couldn't really remember why. It seemed not to have been a rash decision. She had simply decided that life, and the future, were not meant for her. She just did not belong to this world.

She had kept calm about it. The day of her hanging had been uneventful. And yes, she remembered visiting Root in the days leading up to that final deed. The experience had puzzled her more than it had dissuaded. She thought it was only a nightmare.

But thoughts like these would only stir the roots. Her soul was quite different now. She had received another chance at life and needed to learn to love it. She had no desire to ever return to the Deeps. And there was no guarantee that the Deeps would be her destination if the Pennies had her executed. There were other places, far worse, that a soul could go.

The train slowed as it pulled into a station. They were still in Poland, though she wondered if this might be the border. She went up to a window in the corridor and pressed her face against the glass.

There were only a few people waiting on the platform. Among those waiting to board was a couple whose clothing seemed far too stylish and daring for a provincial train station. The woman's purple dress had rakish asymmetric lines. The man wore a jet black suit coat with oversized lapels and collar.

When the doors opened and other people started to come aboard, the couple remained on the platform, standing cheek to cheek studying a device that looked almost like a sun dial. Urszula had a bad feeling about them, and her suspicions were confirmed when they looked up simultaneously and both made eye contact with her, as if guided by their device.

Urszula ducked below the window. Where to go? The doors had opened only on one side of the platform. She scurried back down the corridor in a crouch, drawing curious glances from fellow passengers, fleeing back to the compartment three cars down. She burst in, breathless and slammed the door shut, fiddling with the latch, panicking when she couldn't get it secured.

"Jan! How do we lock the door?"

"What's wrong?" he said, looking up from his book, one eyebrow askew.

It went against her instincts to let herself be trapped, but now she was responsible for Jan's welfare as well as her own. The bolt finally clicked into place and she turned to face him, her heart pounding.

"They were waiting for me. Like they knew I was coming this way! How, I don't know."

"Who followed you?"

"The Pennies ... or their friends. They have ... people ... here. Right here. Living people."

Jan closed his book. "What in hell are you talking about?"

"Keep this door locked!"

"Okay. But what is going on? Who is this Penny?"

Urszula stared down at Jan, her chest heaving, breathless. There was no other way. It was time to tell him about the afterlife. This could only be awkward. He couldn't possibly understand all she had to say. She had been hoping to avoid the topic altogether, but now that the Pennies were near, he had to be brought up to speed about the denizens of the afterlife and their agents in the living world. His life and safety depended on it.

How he reacted to what she was about to say would tell a lot about him. She couldn't blame him if he decided to abandon her. In fact, she would highly recommend it.
Chapter 19: Escape

Jan lay with his arms folded behind his head, book open on his chest, staring at the top of his bunk. Urszula leaned against the wash basin, studying his reaction, waiting for him to speak. She had just finished telling him all there was to tell. She left nothing out, covering everything from her suicide to her time in the Deeps, the breakout, her years in the Liminality, the wars with Frelsi to James and her resurrection.

She had expected him to interrupt, to laugh and even mock her but he had listened quietly throughout, never questioning. Did he believe her? It should not have mattered to her, but it did. She couldn't understand why her heart was thumping so hard.

"Say something!"

He sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

"What are you thinking?"

"I am thinking that you have had a hard life ... and ... death ... and after death ... and life again."

"You are making fun."

No. I am serious."

"So you believe me?"

He just lay there, staring.

"Say something! Talk!"

"Why should I doubt you? There are things happening to me that I can't explain. Your explanation makes as much sense as anything I can come up with."

"I don't understand why things are the way they are. But that is how they are."

"It does make me think ... maybe I should not be in such a hurry to die."

"You are ... suicidal?"

"There are times I wonder why I am here. What is the point? Why go on? So sure. Sometimes I am."

"Have you ever known Root?"

"No. I have never seen anything close to the place you describe. I have felt a darkness in my ... uh ... I suppose it's my soul. I have bad dreams, but never ... none of these ... roots. No pods. No ... Reapers."

"What that means is you were never serious about it. You were never very close to doing something final."

"Maybe so. I guess just being miserable doesn't count. Not yet anyway. But meeting you makes me want to hang around and see what happens. Even before you told me all this I thought you were interesting. Now I know this for certain."

"If you don't want to be around this, now is the time to leave. The Pennies won't hurt you. They are after me."

He chuckled and let out a little gasp of faux exasperation. "Why would I leave you now? Things are just getting interesting."

"Things are getting dangerous."

"Which is interesting. And besides ... I like you."

He might as well have punched her in the stomach, the impact of his phrase was the same. She stepped away from his bunk.

"No. You can't. We can't."

"Can't what? I can't help what I like. Who I like."

"You can't ... you can't fall in—"

"Who's falling? I just said I like you. Is that a crime? You can't tell me how to feel. I can't control how I feel. How I feel is how I feel."

The way he looked at her, so sassy and defiant and self-reliant, not at all needy, encouraged her.

"I like you ... as well," said Urszula. "But just like. Like."

"Is that so hard? Like is good. How can it be bad to like someone?"

"Because it means I care. I don't want to see you hurt."

***

They spent the entire trip to Zurich locked up in their compartment, opening the door only to sneak out to the bathroom and to allow the conductor to check their tickets.

The train was minutes away from reaching the main train station. Jan had checked the schedule and found an alternative train to Paris requiring only a two hour layover.

They sat together on the bottom bunk and shared a tea bag Jan had snagged from the dining car as the damp countryside swept by their window.

"We would have been at my cousins' house already if we had gone by Ryanair. And maybe these Pennies would never have found you. I am just saying."

"I told you. I will never fly in a machine."

"And maybe these Pennies know this. Going forward, maybe you should do things you don't normally do. Buck your trend."

"I am."

"Oh?"

"I normally travel alone."

"I see." He sighed. "So maybe that is how you ended up in Wrocław? To go to England from Romania, you never should have come to Poland. You should have gone through Austria."

Urszula shrugged.

"I go where I can, how I can. Wherever people take me. Wherever the buses go. Yes, it is good to keep moving and not be so predictable. My mistake was getting hurt and staying in one place too long."

"Ah, but if you had gone through Austria you would have never run into those bastards who beat you."

"There are bastards everywhere. Even Austria, I'm sure."

"You might already be in England. And maybe these Pennies would not have found you."

"But I never would have met you."

She looked directly at him and touched his hand. It made him blink and blush. She leaned towards him and waited for a response, but he just sat there like a lump.

She shoved him away, exasperated.

"Ah! You remind me of my friend James. Both of you can be ... how you say? Clueless?"

"It's true, you might have never run into them."

She rolled her eyes.

"Not these ones, maybe. But ... they are also everywhere. Someone would have found me."

"Of course. Because you are such a dangerous criminal. What was your crime—trespassing on an island?"

Urszula had told him much about the afterlife but there was also much that she had left out. She had mentioned the war, but not the details of how it had been fought, with soul-less Cherubim, spells cast from bits of projected will, raiders and scouts borne on the back of giant insects.

Urszula cocked her head.

"You have no idea."

***

Brakes screeched as the train lurched onto another set of tracks making the switch into Zurich's central station. Urszula lay back in her bunk and listened to the shifting sounds—the rumbles and grumbles of trains leaving the station on adjoining tracks, echoes revealing they had entered under a roof.

They lurched to a halt. Announcements with instructions for disembarking and claiming checked luggage came in three languages over the intercom.

"So," said Jan. "We are here."

"Okay. How do we do this?"

"Maybe we just stay on this train," said Jan. "Tell the conductor we had a change in plans. Family emergency Whatever, Pay whatever we need to pay."

"But where is this one go next?"

"Who knows? Back to Germany? Italy maybe. Does it matter? You said you like to be unpredictable."

"I do. Doesn't matter to me. As long as we keep moving."

Jan pulled on his jacket. "Alright, let me go out and find the conductor and find out what's what. While I'm out there, I'll do a little scouting. These people you are worried about, can you describe them for me?"

"The woman had a purple dress. Perfect hair. Expensive clothes. They both look like ... dolls. Fancy dolls."

"That's not much help. There are people like that in every crowd."

"Don't worry. You will know. These are not normal people. I think their flesh has been woven."

He gave her a blank look.

"O-kay. Whatever that means. Did you actually see them get on this train with us?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, anyhow, off I go. Wish me luck."

"You be careful out there."

"Oh, I'm not worried. Your bad guys don't know me. Even if they did, why should they care about me? I've never been dead and don't plan to change that anytime soon. I'll be back in a few minutes. Just keep the door locked."

"When you come back, how will I know it's you?"

"You know my voice by now, don't you?" When she didn't respond immediately, Jan rapped his knuckles on the frame of the top bunk in an intricate syncopated pattern.

"What was that?"

"My secret knock."

She smirked. "Sounded like a woodpecker having a fit."

He left the compartment, his hair disheveled, shirt tail hanging out. Urszula smirked. Her sense of style was beginning to rub off. What a pair they made.

***

It had been nearly thirty minutes since Jan had left. What was taking so long? Urszula paced the tiny compartment, fearing the worst, her brow and palms growing moister every minute Jan stayed away. She began making plans for an escape. She could make her way back to the last car down the platform and flee down the rails. Just when she was convinced he would never return, a staccato drumbeat erupted on the door.

She undid the latch and ripped the door open, half expecting to find a Friend of Penult on the other side, relieved to find it was only Jan. He popped into the compartment, all chipper and grinning. His shirt was now tucked and his hair was neatly combed. He tossed a pair of tickets onto the bed and held out a paper sack with bread rolls and a string of sausage links.

"We're in luck," he said. "Everything's cool. This train has one more stop before it goes out of service. The conductor made me go into the station to refund the old tickets and buy new ones. They only gave me a partial refund. We switch in Basel now. We are now booked from there to Paris."

Urszula retrieved the tickets and inspected for signs that they were something more than strips of thin card stock, but they seemed completely inert. No avatars.

"Did you see any strange people out there?"

"Well, sure. Plenty. This is Switzerland."

"What I mean is, was anybody watching you?"

"Well, yes. This is Switzerland. Everybody stares."

"You make a hopeless scout."

"I survived my mission, didn't I? Got us some provisions, unmolested." He shoved the bag at her. She pushed it away.

"I am not hungry."

She climbed back into her bunk and let her head flop back onto the pillow with a sigh

"How long do we stay in Basel?"

"Not long. Hour and a half maybe."

"We need to be ready. The Pennies will be waiting for me."

"How will they even know you where you are? You have not shown your face since we crossed the Polish border."

"They have ways."

"You worry too much. This makes no sense at all, dead people walking among the living, wanting you dead by killing you in the afterlife that is not really an afterlife."

"When I say the Pennies are here, I mean their agents. They have agents among the living. The Friends. I just call them all Pennies to make it easier for you to understand."

"Yes, well, your strategy is not working. I am more confused than ever. Honestly, I think you are being a little too paranoid. Seeing demons in every shadow. Not every nicely dressed person is your enemy."

She looked at him, and those big naïve eyes of his. Regardless of her warnings and explanations, he still had no idea what he was getting into.

She should have slipped away when she had the chance. For his own good. She still might, but something was keeping her.

"What's wrong?" he said, furrowing his brow. He touched her hand and she froze, staring at his fingers.

"You don't have to be scared, he said. "No one is going to hurt you with me around."

She would have laughed at the thought of this slightly pudgy musician posing as her protector, but she was too touched by his sincerity. He was too good to be true.

She studied his eyes, sifting his expressions for any sign of deceit. Might he be a Friend of Penult himself working a long con? Or was she merely suffering from a bout of paranoia?

***

Urszula let herself relax a little too much once the train was back underway. She tried to fight off a wave of intense fatigue, but the drowsiness overtook her. She drifted off to sleep just as they were reaching the outskirts of Basel. Dreaming of the Deeps, her eyes opened to Jan shaking her by the shoulder. She awoke irritated and confused.

"What the fuck do you want? Leave me alone."

"But we are here. Bahnhof Basel. The end of the line. And they want us to leave the train. Now. No worries. I've already been out to the platform to see and the coast is clear. Nobody watching or waiting. No strange looking people. Just us. Everything's cool. I promise."

She crawled down off the edge of the bunk and dropped to the floor, forgetting all about her tender knee. As the pain shot up her leg, she barely winced, grabbing her pack from the corner, stuffing it with the stray bits and clothing that had gotten away. Her clothes were rumpled and her hair was messier than ever, but she didn't care.

They said nothing to each other as they exited the train and left the platform, making their way over to the track where they would catch the next train to Paris. Urszula kept her eyes roving over the milling crowd, searching for anomalies that might signal the presence of her enemies. She spotted nothing out of the ordinary.

"We have some time," said Jan. "Want to look around?"

"Look around for what?"

"I don't know. I can buy us some coffee. You look like you could use some. And ... there are shops."

She bristled at the mention of shops. What kind of woman did he think she was? A shopper? Did Jan have an image of her as some typical brainwashed female only concerned with looks and fashion?

As they passed through the shopping area, Urszula made it a point to act sullen and disinterested in the frou-frou racks outside Chîcorée. She made a point of lingering by a display of hunting knives to show him what she was really all about. She would teach Jan not to categorize her. But the same store sold outerwear and she could not help her eyes from being drawn to a military style field jacket in the window display.

She tried to ignore it, but it was too perfect, sewn from a rugged dark khaki material with a hood and pockets upon pockets, inside and out, some with flaps, some with zippers.

She went inside and found her size on a rack. When she tried it on it fit perfectly, with just enough room in the shoulders to wear a sweater underneath. She was in love and sorely attempted to walk away without paying, but that would be too risky. They couldn't afford to attract any attention to themselves.

Jan sauntered over. He had been hovering near the entrance to a bookstore, pretending at first not to notice her infatuation.

"You want that? I'll buy it."

She looked at the price tag and blanched. "No. It's too expensive." She started to take it off.

"But you like it. I can tell, you like it a lot. Let me buy it for you."

She didn't just like it. She loved it. It was everything she ever wanted in a jacket, soft and tough, with material that wouldn't tear if she ever needed to climb a fence or crawl through a ditch or bushwhack through briars.

"Okay," she said. "Um. Thank you," she mumbled. Why was he smiling like that? It was almost enough to make her change her mind.

He seemed completely thrilled and proud that she had allowed him to do this for her. The instant the purchase was made she had it out of the bag and on her person, tags and all. She had stuffed her old jacket, holey pockets and all into a trash bin while Jan had been in the queue to pay.

Jan then went over and bought them some brioche and latte from a nearby stand. They found a bench tucked away from the main platforms where they would be less likely to be spotted but could keep an eye on the entrance to the station.

The coffee was exactly what she needed to recover her wits. She didn't usually drink the stuff. She rarely had the cash to waste. It was strong and good. The caffeine seemed to bypass her stomach and go straight to her brain.

The bandage on her face was starting to come apart so she ripped it off and tossed it into a trash bin. She spotted a piece of broken cobble on the ground and snatched it up to keep in one of her larger cargo pockets. It was both sharp and heavy and would be useful in a fight.

She remained on edge, scanning and vetting every passerby as a potential threat. Jan, meanwhile, remained as calm and carefree as a pensioner on holiday. Or perhaps this was evidence of his immaturity, as oblivious of the dangers as a child on an outing with his mother.

He had no idea how many living souls with evil hearts lurked in his own realm, never mind those in the after lands who meddled from afar. But maybe it was better to leave him be at peace with his illusions. How else could a person lead a normal life?

The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself of the need at some point to strike out on her own. As much as she had wavered before, she now knew going solo would be safer for both of them. And the longer she delayed the harder it would be to make the break.

When she left him, it would need to be spontaneous. She could not warn him ahead of time. He could not be reasoned with. He would never understand. Why she cared so much about this stranger's feelings puzzled her. Not only had returning to life cursed her with a softer body it had also left her soft in the head.

For now, she would live in the moment and be happy to be sharing a bench with Jan. It was best for her mood to banish any thoughts of leaving. She was in a vulnerable spot and could not afford to be sad even for a second. Those ever vigilant roots were forever patrolling for breakdowns in the state of her soul.

The caffeine may have gone straight to her brain, but the rest of the coffee had made a bee line to her bladder. Without a word, she stood abruptly and started walking away from the bench.

"Where are you going?" said Jan, looking a bit startled.

"Relax. I am just looking for the toilet," she muttered, without looking back. Again, as she walked, she kept her eyes busy sorting through the milling station crowd, seeking gazes that seemed a little too interested in her, glances that lingered a little too long. She wasn't pretty enough to make a young man look twice, though her hair was getting a little out of hand and approaching clownish. Nothing a couple handfuls of water from the sink couldn't tame.

The women's bathroom was remarkably quiet for such a busy station. That was perfectly fine with her. She hated queues. She would much rather drop her pants behind a support column than wait in line for a stall.

She didn't bother to close the door. She hated feeling boxed in more than she valued privacy. This often drew frowns and awkward double takes from women passing to other stalls, but she didn't care. This way she could keep an eye on who was here. She patted the rock in her pocket as she peed.

When she was done, she stayed seated. It was good to be alone for a minute. She did some of her best thinking on the john. No one ever tried to converse with her. People let her be.

Before she could stop herself, her mind wandered back to the pit in Penult, where the Pennies kept her bound and though her clothes were always gone off of her whenever the roots brought her back, but those bindings always seemed to find their way back around her ankles. The chains seemed like overkill. There was no way she could climb up the wall of that cell, not with two fractured wrists. She couldn't even keep herself clean on the other side. Her fingers had been too swollen to even make a fist.

Dangerous thoughts, but so far she felt no signs of the roots. Defiance was good. Defiance was healthy. Thoughts of resistance and escape kept the roots at bay.

It suddenly struck her that this might be her opportunity to slip away from Jan. He had all of their tickets, but no matter, she would make her way westward by other means.

She tried predicting how that would make her feel. Freedom usually brought her joy. She thrived on being alone. But this time was different. She sensed already that she would miss him. She was already in too deep.

She decided to defer the decision. The longer they stayed together, the harder it would become to ditch him, but she could not leave him now. She still felt too vulnerable.

She left the stall and went out to the sinks, washing her hands and face with globs of soap from the dispenser, picking at specks of glue leftover from the plasters and bits of dried blood staining the skin beneath her nose. Why hadn't Jan said something about her appearance?

She thought about giving her unruly hair a thorough washing but the trickle of water coming from the tap was hardly enough to rinse with, so she just damped it all down and raked it flatter with her fingernails.

When she was done she straightened up and studied herself in the mirror. She only the ugliness. Asymmetrical swelling. Bruises. Scabs. How Jan allowed himself to be seen in public with her was a marvel.

She sighed and marched away from the bank of sinks, but as she exited the bathroom, despite all her deliberations and deferrals, a mischievous impulse struck her. She turned away from the bench where she had left Jan and kept on walking.

This was it. She knew better than to resist her instincts. This was what she had been waiting for, the surge in will and resolve that would allow her to break free. She was grateful for all Jan had done for her, but she operated better on her own. She didn't even feel sad for him. She was doing him a favor.
Chapter 20: Bern

Urszula had not taken two steps out of the bathroom when a determined looking man in a dark blue suit stepped in front of her and shoved a strangely knobby pistol against her sternum. A diaphanous beige scarf was draped loosely over it to screen it from bystanders. A coil of something silvery and slithery squirmed in his other hand, bearing a frightening similarity to the sentient ankle restraints the Pennies were using on her back in her cell.

"You will be coming along with us please. No fuss or we end it right here." His accent was faintly British, but tainted by mother tongue based somewhere on the continent.

Before she could even react, a sandy-haired blur came hurtling into the man's mid-section, slamming him into the tiled wall. The snaky thing went flying into the ladies' washroom. The man landed on his side at the base of the wall but maintained control of the gun.

Urszula stomped on his wrist before he could raise it. With a crunch, the gun slid free of his grasp. Jan, on his knees, snatched up the weapon and slammed the man in the back of the head. His body went slack.

Jan looked up at her, dazed. His hair was mussed, his collar torn. People began to peel away from them, colliding others in the crowd who had yet to notice the altercation. Suitcases toppled. Strollers clipped ankles. A slow motion catastrophe evolved before their eyes.

Urszula noticed a woman in a crinkled silk pant suit with an oddly asymmetric hairdo, eyes wide, mouth agape. She held a round device tucked under her arm that resembled a clock without hands. When Urszula took a step towards her she turned abruptly and clattered off on her high heels.

The silvery coil came crawling back out of the washroom. It stiffened when it sensed Urszula, wound itself tight and came springing after her. Jan deftly kicked it away with the side of his boot, flinging it against the side of a trash can.

"What the hell is this thing?" he said, as the creature regathered itself and came crawling back.

"Don't worry. I think it wants only me." She backed away from it slowly.

He held up the gun. "Should I shoot it?"

A pair of security officers on the far side of the station struggled against the flow of the dense throng attempting to move to safety in the opposite direction.

"Don't shoot! Run! They will think we are terrorists."

***

Jan stuffed the gun under his waistband and they tore out of the station, skirting the plaza that formed its frontage. Moments earlier she had been stepping out of his life without saying goodbye. Now she was thrilled to have him beside her as they ran through the misty, rain-slickened streets of Basel.

Undercutting her giddiness was the sense that the wheels of fate were now spinning completely out of her control. Her attempt to turn them in the opposite direction had failed utterly.

"Keep running! There may be others," he said, gasping. "I saw those two go after you when you went into the toilet. But there was another man with them who went outside."

Jan led the way, turning down a narrow street, cutting through alleys and parking lots seemingly at random. Urszula worried that they might be circling back to the train station, but when they crossed a major avenue she caught a glimpse of the station building now a considerable distance away.

Jan veered into a wooded park and made his way into a copse of trees. A hedge of lilac bushes screened them from the main walk. He collapsed onto the damp grass, panting, and pulled out the weapon he had taken.

He held it up, taking care to keep the business end pointed at the ground.

"Look at this thing. This fat part must be a silencer." He unscrewed the canister and tossed it behind a bush. He ran his finger along the extra-long magazine. "Twenty rounds! 7.33mm."

"You know guns?"

"Not so much. I was a medic in the Army. But I know enough." His actions belied his words as he ejected a round from the chamber and popped it into his pocket. "So much for that train to Paris. I don't think we should be riding trains for a while."

"No. We should not. That woman we saw, the one with the funny hair, she—"

Jan was giggling.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Funny hair, did you say? Pot meet kettle?"

She frowned and continued. "I saw her before. She was the one I spotted waiting near the German border, while we were still in Poland."

"Then they really are after you. You were not joking."

"I don't ... joke."

"No kidding. So what did you do to them? Did you steal something precious?"

"I told you. On the other side ... we are ... at war."

"Not just on the other side, apparently."

Something fundamental had changed in his expression. On the train, he had listened intently if not alertly to her long-winded explanations of the after lands. At the time he had seemed remarkably receptive and open minded to her ramblings, and yet now she had the sense that he had simply been reserving judgment.

Because now, any tinge of skepticism in his attitude was gone. He accepted the full reality of the situation, like a man finally accepting that the stray poodle he thought he had rescued was actually a wolf.

He pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen.

"Who are you calling?"

"I am finding us an Uber."

***

Urszula was incredulous that Jan, with a few taps on his slender slab, could order a stranger driving an ordinary car to show up exactly where they were hiding and whisk them away to safety.

"Now!" he said, as a little blue Fiat pulled over by the corner of the park.

They burst from their hiding place among the lilacs and sprinted across a field. Jan flung open the back door and they clambered in, breathless.

Perhaps she had underestimated how useful it was to have a guide who understood the workings of this unfamiliar modern world. Her intuition had served her since returning to life, but it had its limitations, particularly with regard to technology.

The driver spoke very good English, which was fortunate because Jan could not decipher his German.

"Is Bern too far? Can you take us to Bern?"

"It will take one hour and a half at most. About two hundred Swiss Francs."

"That's not bad," said Jan, sitting back.

"Bern? Is that on the way to Paris?" asked Urszula.

"Not really," said Jan. He hushed his voice. "I'm thinking misdirection. Bern is not an obvious place for us to be going. If we are still being followed, maybe we lose them or confuse them."

Urszula shook her head. "You don't know these people."

"No worries. I know what I'm doing. I know my way around. I was an exchange student here for six months."

"Fine. Let's go to Bern."

"I don't think it is a good place to get you false papers. Not many immigrants pass."

"I'm not worried about papers. I have yet to show a passport to cross a border."

"Here is okay, but the UK is not part of Schengen. Immigration is more strict."

"Romania is not Schengen either. I crossed, no problem."

"Not at a checkpoint. Not unless you were smuggled in the back of a truck."

"It was the middle of a forest. No fences. No border guards."

"May I remind you? The UK is an island."

"So we swim."

"Now you are just being silly. I think we go to Amsterdam. Get you some high quality documents. It will be expensive, but then we can just fly."

Urszula thrust her head back and sighed. "Whatever you think is best." She wriggled about, trying to find a comfortable position.

"We take it one step at a time. First priority is getting away from those people who are chasing you?"

"Sure," said Urszula. "We can try."

It was nice to offload some of the decision-making responsibilities for a change. She almost didn't care now if they ever made it to England. It was becoming more evident that only the journey mattered. Keeping on the move one step ahead of the Friends of Penult—that would sustain her just fine, particularly if Jan was along to help her keep watch and pay for meals.

Something had changed. Something inside her had come apart. It was not a matter of deterioration but rather a restructuring, an opening up to possibilities. She was learning surprising things about herself. These changes pleased her as much as they made her uneasy.

She didn't understand exactly what was going on, but she found herself noting the proximity of Jan's shoulder and how easy it would be to slide her head over a tad until it rested on his shoulder. If he had leaned against her first, she would not have complained.

Until now she had not acknowledged the situation, but clearly a flame had been ignited. Perhaps that was why she had attempted to run, to snuff the inflagration before it burned out of control. Fire brought not only warmth, but danger. She felt as helpless as a moth circling a candle.

Both in the Deeps and in the Lim she had taken lovers, but they were fleeting liaisons born of opportunity or desperation. This was something new and different. The stakes were much higher.

***

Once in Bern, they checked into a hostel near the river. It was raining quite heavily and Urszula just wanted to hole up in her bunk, but Jan insisted they go out and see the town.

They had no rain gear or umbrella but luckily most of the walkways in this odd city were protected by awnings. They passed on four restaurants with ridiculous prices before they finally found one they could afford. They ordered soup and bread from a rundown café tucked inside a cavernous old market building splashed with gaudy and garish murals. The place was frequented mostly by young people.

The rain poured down, cascading down stone walls, droning on the skylights. Jan kept his eyes on the deluge, and he was smiling in a way she could not interpret.

"So what do you think?"

"Needs more salt," she said, reaching for a shaker.

"Not the soup, silly. What do you think of Bern?"

"Soggy."

"What do you think about staying here for a while?"

She took a deep breath.

"No."

He chuckled. "Is it that bad? I might you might like this place."

"It is nice enough. I would prefer to keep moving."

"We just arrived not two hours ago."

"I can handle one night. In the morning we leave."

He looked disappointed.

"Really? And I thought this might be a good place to rest up and gather ourselves for a few days. We could even go see the mountains. It is a short ride by train."

"I would rather not put down roots, anywhere."

"Two days would hardly qualify but ... I understand. It's not your kind of place."

"No city is. There are too many people. Short horizons. I feel safer in the countryside."

"Maybe we go and stay in a village? Maybe Thun? Wengen?"

"No. I would rather keep moving."

"Okay. We go. Tomorrow. First thing."

"I'm sorry, Janusz."

"No. I understand. You need to feel comfortable. This is not about me. No one is out there trying to kidnap me. I can't imagine what that is like."

"So no more Paris?"

"Maybe not. Those people might expect us there."

"Amsterdam?"

"That might be our best bet."

"Is it far?"

"Too far to Uber."

"No more trains. I am done with trains."

"That makes it hard."

"Then you take the train. I will walk."

"I'm not going anywhere without you. Let me look into a motorbus or something."

He downed a hefty swig of his beer.

"One thing you told me has been puzzling me. I am struggling to understand. These people—the Friends—you say they want to kill you, not here, but in the afterlife. What is the point if you are already dead?"

"But I am not dead. Not anymore. I am a Hemi. I just visit the realm of the dead."

"Okay, but you told me there was a war where they killed people who were already dead. Do you see why I am having trouble getting my mind wrapped around that? I mean, what would be the point of killing dead people?"

She sighed deeply before proceeding. "Souls can sift through many levels, and many ... how you say? Packages? Containers?"

"Vessels?"

"Bodies, basically. But they are different from these." She pinched her arm. "Maybe a lot different in some realms. And the Lim is shallow and connected to life. But some are deep and difficult to escape."

"So what happened before this thing happened with your friend? This James. Were you just a little bit dead? And he undid that"

"No, I was very dead. Dead as dead can be."

Jan looked both wistful and incredulous, if that were possible. "And now you're not. So what are you, a cat? Do you have nine lives?"

"Nine deaths, maybe. But I really was dead and deep, two levels down for a long time before the second rift opened and I entered the Liminality. And from there ... James brought me here to live again."

"This James. You make him sound like he's some kind of sorcerer."

"I don't know what he is, and neither does he, but he is special. He can do things few souls can do, and he can do them here. Very unusual. I am helpless here. Little more than flesh."

"What did you expect?"

"Spellcraft. You would know what I mean, if you had ever been to Root. But I don't want you to go. Better you stay ignorant. Better you stay alive."

"Someday I'll have no choice but to go."

"Not so soon I hope."

"Yes, well. Whatever happens, happens. And then maybe I become a superhero sorcerer, like James."

"James is no superhero. He is just some skinny boy ... like you."

"Like me? A boy? Did you just call me a boy? I am twenty-six years old veteran. I serve in the Army for three years."

"A boy. I look at you and I see ... just a boy."

"Fine. So I am a boy, then. Finish your soup. And then we go and find ourselves a ride that gets us a little closer to Amsterdam."
Chapter 21: Biding Time

"Yo Gaia! You in there?"

I stood transfixed outside the sphincter-like entrance to the former guest room that Gaia had transformed into some fleshy monstrosity. I didn't dare go inside. It now sported quivering, gelatinous walls that absorbed any dust or detritus that blew in.

This is not what I had bargained for when I allowed to redecorate. Gaia had taken my perfectly good four-cornered room and turned it into a shapeless, hollow blob with amoeboid appendages that bathed and massaged her at will

She made me taste its secretions. "Safe as milk," she assured me. She insisted that it was an experience not to be missed. She was wrong. It was as disgusting as suckling the breast of a giant octopus (if octopi had breasts).

But I had to admit, the stuff wasn't bad. Cool. Sweet. Like a low-cal version of bee nectar. But never again would I let those fast and bulbous tentacles near my lips. I had suction prints on my face for hours.

Ironically, I had gone to find Gaia to have her try the third iteration of my brew. This latest batch was a bit sour and lacking fizz but it finally had the piney notes I had been striving for. I was proud of it and wanting to share.

She didn't respond to my yells and there was nothing to knock on that wouldn't get my knuckles licked. I wasn't about to go in there to see if she was napping. The last time I tried, the throbbing floor tried to wrap around my feet and give me a pedicure.

When I went out onto the back porch I spotted her in the back lot sketching a portrait of Tigger as he basked on his favorite ledge. I filled a mug from my pitcher and ran outside.

She spotted me approach and removed the paint brush she held in her teeth.

"What a beautiful and shiny beast you have, Mr. Moody."

"Yup. Tigger's a pretty one alright. Wanna try some IPA?"

She glanced at the mug and shook her head.

"No thank you."

"But this is the best batch yet!"

"I'm sure. Bring some to dinner. I'll make something that goes with near beer."

"Nuh-uh. You're not making dinner tonight. It's my turn."

She smirked.

"Did you not enjoy my lunch?"

"Not particularly."

"It was far more wholesome than the dreck you've been eating."

"Listen. Let me make dinner. I know I'm not the greatest cook but at least my stuff resembles food."

She scrunched up her face.

"I am not the picky one here."

"Hey, you checked on Urszula lately?"

"Only five times today."

"Can you check again? If you don't mind."

She sighed and reached into her bag, which never left her side. Urszula's strand was at the top, the only one not bundled together with others. She removed it and pressed it firmly into the reading slot of her tablet. Colors from the semi-transparent cord seeped into the slab, separating like a mixture of inks flowing into paper.

I had also seen her read the cords directly but apparently the tablet allowed her to extract more information. It was all ink blotches to me but Gaia read it like a book.

"Well? How is she?"

She pulled the strand out of the slot and stuck it in her bag.

"She's fine."

"Just fine? Can you give me a little more to go on?"

"Okay. She's still among the living, which I already knew because I have asked Ezekiel to inform me when she's not. And from what I can tell, she is doing very well. In fact, I do not think we should expect her to cross over anytime soon."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"I suspect she may be in love."

"Urszula? In love? With who?"

Gaia was smirking. "Does it matter?"

"Well, no. I'm just surprised."

"You didn't think she was capable."

"No. I know she's capable. It's just ... not like her. She's always been a hard nut to crack. Irascible. Unsentimental. Cold, even."

She smiled.

"I did mention my ability to sway the odds a bit using the strands, did I not?"

"Is that what you meant? You played Cupid?"

"Not exactly. But there are ways of making a soul more susceptible to positive emotions. It can never be forced. There has to already be some natural chemistry developing for it to work. But I can lower the barriers. Like alcohol, I suppose, though a little more specific."

"You got her drunk?"

"No. Not exactly. Just peeled back some inhibitions. But that's a good thing, yes? If it keeps her there?"

"How are we supposed to bust her out of Penult is she's stuck over there?"

"Listen to you! If she never comes back to the Lim. There will be no need. Will there?"

"Is that possible? That she never comes back?"

"Yes. Many souls have fleeting experiences with Root, never to return. It's how the Makers intended this place to function. Scare souls back onto the proper path."

"So I may never see her again."

"There is no such thing as never. You should know better than that."

"So why are we even doing this? Why are you here?"

"James. Her situation is not secure. All it takes is one bad day for the roots to whisk her back. A lover's spat. An injury or an illness. These things are inevitable."

"So we're supposed to be like a volunteer fire department? Sit around and wait for a call?"

"Basically. Yes."

I took a deep breath.

"You're not planning on any more redecorating, are you?"

"Don't worry. I've put a check on her growth."

"Her? Your bedroom is a she?"

"Well yes. Of course."

"Okay. But we share the cooking. Got it? I'm doing dinner."

Gaia shrugged and turned back to her painting.

***

I was determined to show Gaia I meant business when it came to cooking. I prepped by digging up some of the freshest, wiggliest roots I could find down in the cellar and I sat and meditated on one of the best meals I ever had down in Fort Pierce—crawfish gumbo all gooey with okra.

I had a pot going on the stove, with real heat, and everything was coming out realistic. Spicy as heck and not a hint of that muddy aftertaste that usually plagued my culinary weaving.

A frantic fluttering disturbed my ritual. I peeked out to see Tigger zooming up into the foothills. A drone soon became evident and it grew to a rumble.

Gaia came strolling back onto the porch with her easel and canvas.

"Company coming! I said, cheerily.

She looked a little rattled.

"I had better make myself scarce."

"Nah. It's okay. Probably just a patrol."

"No. I really should not be seen here with you. I have rendered Ezekiel inert. He can blend pretty well when I want him to. I don't expect he'll be noticed. No one should be murdered or mauled."

"No, really Gaia. It's okay. I know these people. They're my friends."

She brushed right past me.

"I will be in my room."

"But I made gumbo!"

She kept on going down the hall.

"Enjoy."

I sighed and went out to the front steps to wait for my visitors to arrive, glancing over at the sprawling puddle of goop that was Zeke in his relaxed state. I wouldn't exactly call that blending with the scenery, but it was nice to know that no one would be murdered or mauled.

As the rumble grew louder, it was clear that this was more than a patrol. The bug riders approached in waves. It was like watching one of those World War Two newsreels with waves of B-17 bombers coming over the English Channel to bomb Germany.

Most of the insects converging on my little valley were robber and scorpion flies. Dragonflies and mantids might be in short supply but the bug breeders had sure made up for the shortfall with these guys. I tallied well over a hundred before I lost count, and while the first few waves just kept right on going over the hollow, a trio of giant wasps peeled off and came circling in, landing hard but nimbly on the flats.

Olivier was here! Ubaldo and Reznak as well. I was thrilled to see all these familiar faces climb off their mounts and I wish Gaia could be here to meet them.

I stood pat, knowing better than to approach a wasp uninvited. They could be skittish and quick swing their abdomens and sting.

Beaming broadly, Olivier came over first and gave me a heartfelt hug. Reznak hung back, gazing at his foot gear. He had always been kind of cold, a real hard ass like his buddy Yaqob. At least Ubaldo was not at all shy about coming over and giving me a squeeze.

"Didn't expect to see you still here," said Olivier. "What's going on? I thought you'd be at the coast by now."

"Got something in the works I need to get done first. Have you guys ... uh ... ever heard of Loom?"

Ubaldo perked up. "Loom, did you say?"

"Well, yeah. This girl from there, she's helping me. And she thinks we might be able to bust out Urszula."

"What Mikal said is true?" said Ubaldo. "She is in prison?"

"Apparently so. When her soul is on this side, at least."

"Sheesh," said Olivier. "You're hanging with Erelim now?"

"I don't know what that means."

"Loomites. The Pennies call them Erelim. They're just a step below the Makers. They're the stewards and watchers of this place. They do intel for the Argents who do the enforcing."

"How do you know all this stuff?"

"I get around," said Olivier. "Nothing happens in this realm that I don't hear about."

"Oliver is our intelligence chief," said Ubaldo. "Reznak handles logistics."

"You can command an assault group," said Olivier. "We need competent field leadership."

"Yeah, well. Like I said, I'll be ready to help out once I handle this other thing. Think of it as kind of a special ops joint."

"Special ops, huh? And it involves a girl. She pretty?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't want you getting distracted."

"Be careful," said Reznak. "The Erelim have relationships with Penult."

"That too," said Olivier.

"No worries. She's gonna help me go after Urszula and any other prisoners we find. But we can't bust anybody out until they're actually here in realm."

"Where she at?" said Olivier.

"Faded. She's a Hemisoul, and apparently having a pretty good time over there because she doesn't seem in much of a hurry to come back here. Which is a good thing, since the Pennies are getting ready to execute her."

"So come and fight with us in the meantime," said Ubaldo. "We will be crossing en masse once the barges are in place. Halfway across the channel we are bringing landing platforms for the mantids to rest and feed. They will go first, most likely a few days from now. The rest of the force will follow soon after. When we reach them they will join us and launch the assault. We are targeting three of their largest cities, including the capital where our prisoners are being held."

"For sure. If nothing happens with Urszula in the next few days, I'll come find you at the shore. No way, I'm missing out on this. Looks like a huge operation you got going."

"How does she plan to free the prisoners?" said Ubaldo, wrinkling is brow. "Their Judicial Temple is very well guarded. We're not even entirely certain we will be able penetrate with the force we are bringing."

"Um, well I don't know. That's Gaia's thing. She says she knows the place."

"Did I hear you right?" said Olivier. "Just you and some girl attacking Penult? On your own?"

"Oh, I don't know if it's gonna be an actual attack. She says she has a plan. She acts like she knows what she's doing."

"She must be awful damned pretty," said Olivier.

His question startled me.

"She's not so ugly, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Hey, what's this gunk doing draped all over your mudflat?" He jabbed his scepter at it.

"Um. That's Zeke. Don't poke him."

"A chariot of the Erelim," said Reznak. "Be careful. They can be vicious."

Olivier took a quick step back.

"Vicious? Really? Looks like a pile of muck to me. Alright then. We'll leave it up to you as to if and when you come. You know where to find us?"

"On the beach, right?"

"Several kilometers inland. Due south from here. If you come we will put you in the vanguard. And I do hope you join us and soon. This other plan of yours sounds ... suspect."

"Yeah, I'm not that confident in it myself, but I promised Gaia I'd give it a shot."

"So this not so ugly girl, she here? Where is she?" said Olivier.

"Um ... Gaia's a bit of a lurker. Shy. Doesn't like to show herself in public."

Olivier scrunched his eyes. "She only shows herself to you? Why is that?"

"Well, I guess she's not supposed to, actually."

"Something smells fishy here. Victoria had the attention of some Erelim too, at one point. Even Luther, but that never went anywhere."

"And Penult," said Reznak. "Erelim have been observed in Penult."

"You hear they don't like to meddle and then they go and pull shit like this."

"I think Gaia's okay. She's cool. I'm not worried about her."

"I'm not worried about her, either. I'm worried about you."

"I'll be fine. I can handle her."

"She might be a spy, you know," said Reznak.

"No way. She's no spy."

Reznak stared out over the plains as the last wave in the vast squadron of bugs passed over us and made their way south.

"We should go."

"You guys want some gumbo? I just made a big pot."

"Thanks," said Olivier. "But we need to get going. Some of our new guys are, let's say, navigationally challenged."

"When you come, James," said Ubaldo. "You will find us staging five kilometers back from the shore, inland from the place we launched the raid. Stay away from the beaches. They are swarming with avatars."

"Alrighty then," said Olivier, clapping his meaty hand on my shoulder. "You got two days to meet up with us, kid. Come early and we can go over assault plans."

"You betcha," I said. "I'll give it one more day. If nothing happens, I'll grab Tigger and catch up with y'all."

"Cool," said Olivier as he clambered onto the saddle his impressive wasp—a black-faced hornet with a gleaming shell with chestnut markings over a background of ivory."

"Pretty wasp."

"Thanks. She's a looker, but I kinda miss that old scorpion fly of Yaqob's. She was a gentle ride. These damn wasps are like Lamborghinis. Gotta hang on or they leave you grabbin' air. Anyhow, later gator."

Ubaldo tossed me a quick salute. Reznak ignored me. The three wasp riders burst into the air and hurtled after the rest of their formation.

***

I went back onto the porch and swung one of my rockers around so I could watch my friends zoom away until they got swallowed up by the horizon. Those horizons were nearer here in the Lim than they were on Earth. That would imply that the place was smaller, though the gravity didn't feel much different. Maybe I was a little lighter on my toes here, but it really wasn't all that noticeable.

I heard something clank in the kitchen.

"Are they all gone?" Gaia whispered from the shadows.

"Yup."

"Would you like some gruel? I think you'll like this batch better. It's milder."

"What's you do with my gumbo?"

"I dumped it."

"What?"

"It was inedible.

"Aw Jeez."

"Here. Try a bowl of this. I made it beefy, just for you."

"Do you have to call it gruel? That's just not appetizing at all."

"Well ... it is slimy. I suppose we could call it ... ooze."

"That's not any better."

"Try it first, then tell you me. I am pretty sure you will like this one better."

She padded barefoot out onto the porch and handed me a small bowl with what looked like a single chopstick. The idea was to wind some of the slime around it until a small ball of it clung to the end of the stick that you could pull off with your lips.

I took a deep breath and twirled the stick. I had to close my eyes as I brought it up to my mouth because the stuff looked disgusting. When a glob of it entered my mouth, my tongue exploded with something yeasty and salty and sweet with overtones of cayenne and beef bouillon—kind of like marmite and barbecue sauce.

She was right. It was better. Not by much over her last batch, but at least I could keep it down.

"Not bad," I said. "Now if you could only do something about the texture."

Gaia took a seat beside me with a bowl of her own. "What for? This way there is no chewing, easier to swallow, to digest."

"But chewing's half the fun of eating."

She wrinkled her nose at me. "Chewing is not fun."

"You Loomies are weird. Anyone ever tell you that?"

I looked over and noticed her tablet was still on the porch rail and she had her bag of skeins dangling off her shoulder.

"Have you checked?"

"What? Again? We just looked."

"Go on, check again, see how she's doing," I said. "Just in case. I mean things happen fast in the living world."

Gaia sighed and reached into her bag.
Chapter 22: Henri

Urszula and Jan shared a private room at the hostel, each with their own twin bed, like some elderly couple on holiday. Half a bottle of cheap wine knocked Jan out as surely as a bullet to the head, but Urszula spent a fitful, restless night. Every murmur and footstep in the hall evoked visions of enemies coming to take her down.

She cursed her feeble, living psyche. She never would have reacted like this in the Deeps or the Lim. It was as if every bit of the mental armor she had worked for years to erect had been ripped away.

Her mind could not help but dwell on the incident outside the ladies' washroom. She wondered what the Friends would have done with her had their attempted kidnapping succeeded. The snake-like restraint the man had brought implied they had intended to take her alive. Why would they have needed to restrain a corpse?

Most likely, they would have sequestered her away in some dingy closet or car trunk without food or water. That would have extinguished any hope of freedom and accelerated her return to Penult for the judicial proceedings.

If the unsuccessful attack had merely been intended to disturb her enough to bring on the roots, then it had nearly succeeded. As she lay awake most of the night, she could sense the roots scratching away at the borders of her consciousness.

But she refused to be daunted. She had the promise of leaving Bern for the open road to buoy her as soon as the sun rose. Jan had promised that tomorrow he would find them a secure way to cross into France.

Jan slept like an old dog. He went through cycle after cycle of snoring himself half-awake and then tossing and twisting under his comforter. And although walls made her feel cornered, Urszula was glad they had shared a room. His presence relaxed her. She drifted off now and then. Each time she roused, she expected to find herself in her cell in Penult, but Jan's snores drove those nightmares away, like a foghorn keeping ships away from the shoals.

She doubted she would have made it through the night, had she been alone. Each time she woke, she peeked up at the window, yearning for the first signs of dawn.

***

Jan had a knack for quickly making friends and it served them well that morning. In a coffee shop near the hostel, over boiled eggs and oatmeal, he chatted up Henri, a young man barely out of his teens, who had a job delivering artisanal cheeses to small towns in the north.

"Oh? Does your route take you anywhere near the French border?"

"I have stops in Porrentruy and Boncourt."

"How close are they?"

"Right next door. Half the people who work in Porrentruy are French."

"Any chance we can ride with you?"

"Sure!" said Henri. "Be nice to have someone to talk to for a change."

While Henri went off to get his truck loaded up for the day, Jan and Urszula browsed a second hand store near the hostel.

"Can we get some of these?" said Urszula, lingering near a bin of polyester fleece blankets. She thought of the many times she had slept under old newspapers.

"Blankets? What for?"

"Sometimes we may need to sleep outside."

"No need for camping. We have plenty of money to stay in hostels, maybe splurge on a nice hotel now and then."

"I would rather not."

"What?"

"I don't sleep well indoors. I don't feel safe."

"I would have thought four strong walls would make you feel more secure."

"No. I feel trapped."

Jan shrugged. "Fine. You want to camp, we camp. As long as we can get a day room once in a while so I can have a hot shower."

The store carried no tents or sleeping bags, but they had coated nylon tarps that would serve both as ground cloths or rain shelters. Jan bought a pair of them to go with the fleece blankets as well as several polypropylene water bottles.

They carried their gear out to the corner and waited for Henri. Urszula sat on the curb with a cigarette lighter and burned every stray bit of paper among her belongings—maps, receipts, ticket stubs—anything that had potential to be an enemy avatar. A chill jolted her when she extracted an unfamiliar candy striped sock from the depths of her pack. She set it ablaze immediately.

Jan kept his eyes down the street for Henri, occasionally looking askance at her activities.

"Most people wash their dirty socks," he said.

"That was not my sock."

"Go ahead. Burn them. I'm not complaining. We'll buy you new ones."

His eyes whipped down the block.

"Here he comes!"

He stepped off the curb, waving with both arms.

***

Henri's truck was an old, white Renault with a squat cab and a refrigerated cargo bay. He drove it like a church lady. Every car on the road passed him. Even some bicycles kept up with him. But Urszula was in no hurry. She was just glad to be moving again.

At every stop along his route Jan helped him carry Styrofoam coolers loaded with cheese into the shops. Urszula felt bad for not helping out but sore ribs still prevented her from lifting heavy things.

Jan kept the conversation going with the insatiably loquacious Henri while Urszula fixed her gaze out the side window at the passing countryside. They moved quickly beyond the city limits of Bern and into a place with goats or cows in every pasture. The greenness of the Swiss spring help calm her and keep her mind from venturing into the darker avenues of existence. But negative thoughts were never too far away and always striving to creep up on her.

She envied the people they passed on the roadside. All of them, whether they worked on farms, walked their dogs or rode bicycles, lived normal lives, un-cursed by any foreknowledge of the after lands. To them, the universe must seem benign. Many probably had faith in a God who loved them, and even those who did not believe in life after death were probably deluded by the idea that death ended all suffering.

Meanwhile, Jan and Henri discussed Premier League football, the merits of Polish cheese and electric guitars. On and on they prattled. They could not stop talking even to catch their breath.

Somehow the conversation drifted over to the meaning of life. The topic made Urszula nervous. She reached over and pinched Jan when he began sharing a little too much truth about the afterlife. It was better for the living not to know. She already regretted telling Jan as much as she already had done.

Two hours into the delivery route, they passed a sign for the border town of Boncourt where Henri would loop back towards Bern. Urszula had visions of stopping for a nice roast chicken for lunch, but Jan asked Henri to stop near a sign for the nature reserve on the outskirts.

She said nothing.

"Thank you so much for this ride," said Jan, clasping Henri's hand.

"My pleasure. You two take care out there. And please tell the cat to give back your girlfriend's tongue."

He winked and Urszula tried her best not to glare and actually succeeded to share a semblance of a smile. They stood together in the weeds and waved as Henri motored off.

"This is what you wanted, yes?" said Jan. "To be dropped off here and avoid the town?"

"It would have been nice to have a hot meal."

Jan gave her a bit of side-eye.

"Now you tell me?"

"I just assumed we would get off in the village."

"Aren't you the one who insisted that we do more camping?"

"Yes, but ... I don't mind eating at restaurants. A hot meal is nice to have now and them."

"I will buy us dinner in France. Our priority now should be getting across the border."

"Through the woods?"

"Exactly."

Urszula was fine with deferring her craving. It gave her something to look forward to—French chicken. In the meantime, Henri had given them some cheese samples to go along with the snacks stashed away in their packs.

Jan cinched all their rolled-up tarps and blankets and hefted his pack onto his shoulders.

"In case anyone asks, we are here for a picnic. These are picnic blankets."

"Who is going to ask?" said Urszula.

"Who knows?" said Jan, tightened his straps. "Schengen or not, this reserve sits on the border. Someone may patrol it." He reached up and knotted a bandanna around his forehead.

"Ready?"

Urszula shrugged. "Sure."

"Then off we go."

***

Wisps of cloud sailed through the sky like boats. Jan strode off up a well-worn path that parted a meadow waving with tall grass. Some pain lingered, but her injured knee was fully mobile now. She felt ready to fight again if need be, though, next time she would save a little wear and tear and go straight to the gun they now possessed.

They soon passed into a patch of pine forest that covered the hilltop like a toupee. They passed through and continued down the other side into a narrow ravine with a rocky stream crossed by a small footbridge. A strip of willows and alders separated them from another expanse of rolling meadow backed by yet another set of partially forested hills.

This was good tactical country. Long sight lines, yet plenty of cover if it became necessary. It seemed a shame that she had to look upon every landscape as a battlefield, but that was the price of being a warrior. Not that she felt much like one these days, but the instincts remained.

Jan checked a map on his phone and decided they should leave the nature reserve and strike westward across a fenced pasture thick with sheep. The hiked due west for a good hour, making a wide berth around the few farm houses they came across.

When they reached another larger patch of pine forest, its floor dense with needles and duff from the interspersed alders and beech, they peeled off their packs and dropped to the ground, backs sweaty. The sun remained high but had begun a long, slow dive into the hills.

Jan took out his phone and consulted a map. He beamed.

"We did it! We crossed over. We are in France!"

***

After snacking on some biscuits, Urszula fell asleep, awaking find a bundle of clothes under her head and a fleece blanket tucked around her shoulders.

Jan sat with his back against a tree, whittling a human-shaped figurine from a hunk of pine. He smiled when she sat up.

"You weren't kidding when you say you sleep better out of doors."

She sighed.

"I had a bad night last night."

She scrambled to her feet and tried to shake out the cobwebs from her brain.

"Did you want to keep walking?"

"No. It will be dark soon. We might as well camp. Tomorrow we can plan to walk a long ways."

"Camp here?"

"Sure. Why not? The ground is nice and soft, as you discovered."

Urszula gathered up an armload of dry branches and some fine twigs for tinder.

"What are you doing?" said Jan, looking up.

"Fetching wood for our fire. Maybe we make some tea?"

"No fire. Not here. Not this close to the border. Not unless we want visitors."

"Okay."

She tossed the wood back into the underbrush.

Jan unrolled the other tarps and blanket and arranged them side by side in the soft pine needles. He tilted back his head and squinted through the tree limbs. The twilight was fading fast.

"Doesn't look like it will rain tonight. We will sleep under stars."

"So what do we have to eat besides cheese and biscuits?" she said, kneeling next to him.

"Well, I have some tins of smoked trout," he said. "Hard rolls. Pretzels. Chocolate. Soppressata. Let me take them out. He rummaged around in his pack. "Tomorrow, I will take you to a nice French restaurant. You can have your chicken dinner."

A cool breeze rustled the trees. Urszula unrolled her fleece blanket and wrapped it around herself. She leaned back, resting her head against a tree trunk.

"How is your leg feeling these days?"

"It is fine. You don't need to baby me anymore."

"Just making sure."

"Worry about your own leg."

Jan smirked.

"What is so different about you? I can't put my finger on it."

"I'm a mean little bitch?"

"You're not mean. You're pragmatic."

"I am old. My body may not look it, but I am old lady inside."

"That's not it. I think ... you don't seem female to me."

"That's bullshit. Your definition is too narrow. You think every woman should be like your mother?"

"Maybe that is it. My life was too sheltered."

"I've seen worse."

"You say this is your second time around. What do you want to do different?"

"Different?"

"Yes. What is your goal ... in this life."

"Be ... happy? That would be different."

"And how do we accomplish this?"

"Maybe happy is too strong a word. Staying hopeful would be enough. To believe that some day still to come will be better than today."

"Okay. So how do we accomplish this for you?"

"Let me worry about that."

"No. I want to help!"

"Help me keep moving, then. That's how I stay hopeful."

"Like a gypsy."

"Not like the gypsies I know."

He pulled a tin of trout from his pack and opened the lid with its key, before presenting it to her with a flourish.

"For you, madam."

***

Darkness had fallen and cloaked their campsite by the time they had finished eating. The night was cool for the season. They crawled under blankets only inches apart, heads propped on their packs.

Urszula just wanted to stare in silence at the many stars but Jan peppered her with questions about her childhood in Romania. He seemed far more interested in a life she could barely remember than the death that dominated and defined her existence. He didn't want to hear her talk about the Lim or the Deeps. She supposed he had heard enough.

She continued to puzzle over her ever evolving feelings towards Jan. For instance, why did she tolerate behavior that normally would have annoyed her? Instead of blowing him off, she patiently and thoroughly answered his questions.

For that matter, why did she remain in his presence? Why did she long to close that few inch gap between them?

It wasn't exactly a physical attraction. Not that he was an ugly man. Looks simply did not have much to do with why she felt drawn to him. The satisfying resonance she felt around him seemed to have more to do with the properties of his soul.

Lots of little things appealed to her. The way the world so easily amused him. Everything. You name it. Ugliness. Beauty. Good luck, bad luck. Nice people, mean people. All made him laugh. All were precious and essential to his existence.

He was so easy to be around. He accepted her however she was, no matter how grumpy and disagreeable and dirty she got. He never lost his stride. Never took anything she did or said as a personal affront.

This was not love. Not quite. Not yet. Though, she was not sure she could recognize the real thing if it bit her in the ass.

Had she ever known real love? There had been times when she had thought so, though her memories of school day liaisons were as faint as the epitaphs on weathered tombstones. She could not be sure those recollections were real.

Perhaps that aspect of her soul was stunted. Maybe that was why she had been condemned to the lesser realms. Only souls capable of true love could aspire to Heaven.

Her liaisons in the Deeps had been many and varied, some with men, some with women, some platonic some overtly sexual. Almost all her relationships had been interrupted by forces beyond her control. She knew the pangs of loss as one by one, all her lovers fell to Seraphim and Hashmallim who relentlessly hunted them.

She had become adept at moving on. By the time she had entered the Lim she became as solitary and self-reliant as a skerry. She understood why the Old Ones spread themselves thin and wide, connecting to all souls and to none. She strove to model her social interactions after them.

James was a notable and interesting exception. Whatever she felt for him did not qualify as romantic. Certainly, she was fond of him. His relationship with Karla had irritated her more from distaste than jealousy. She saw how Karla had manipulated and exploited him. It bothered her how he had continued to fawn over her like she was someone worthy of his adoration.

But she never pictured herself in Karla's place. She had only hinted at stealing him away in order to bug the smug little bitch.

Jan coughed and cleared his throat, yanking her out of her reverie.

"Are you still awake?"

"Of course."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Which one?"

"These friends of yours in England, do you have their address? Or a telephone number?"

"That's easy. No."

"Then how do you expect us to find them?"

"I think James stays in Wales. Or Scotland. I forget."

Jan smirked. "That narrows it down. Very helpful."

"I'm not worried. There is also Bern. And Lille."

"And where are they?"

"Bern is in a prison. And Lille ... she's in a hospital, I think. She's in a coma."

"What? One friend is locked away. The other can't talk. They'll make wonderful hosts."

"So we stay with James, or your cousins."

"Do you even know his full name?"

"Um. I used to."

"Wonderful. We are going to the UK to look for a man named James. How many James' do you think there are in Wales and Scotland?"

"It's Moody. James Moody."

"Oh. Okay. Now we're getting somewhere. There can't be more than a thousand James Moodys in Britain."

"But it doesn't matter if we don't find anyone we know. It would be nice, but not ... essential. Not now. I used to think so. But not anymore."

Jan smiled.

"I know I can find my cousins. I have their address. Mobile phone numbers. Pictures of their house. I even know their full names."

"Good for you. Do they know we are coming?"

"Not yet. I thought we would surprise them."

"And where do they live, your cousins?"

"Cheltenham," said Jan. "Close to Wales and the Cotswolds."

A murmur sifted over to them from the trail, growing louder as its source approached.

"Shit! Someone's coming!"

"Someone must have seen us!"

"Quiet!"

***

A pair of voices rose and fell with the wind, muffled by the rustle of leaves and the sluggish calls of night insects.

"There is one man and one woman," whispered Jan.

"Those Pennies we saw!"

"How could it be? How could they have followed us?"

"Spies! Anything can be an avatar. A little bird. A leaf. A butterfly. Maybe they use the Singularity too."

"The what?"

"Shush! They are coming closer."

A pair of electric torch beams came bouncing along the edge of the pine forest. A couple came into view, silhouetted by each other's lights, moving briskly, laughing and joking in French. Their torch beams remained pointed squarely ahead of them, never into the grove.

"They are lost," said Jan. "Hikers, not Pennies. Looking for the road."

"How do you know? You speak French?"

"Un peu. They are excited. They saw some headlights from the hilltop. Should we help them?"

"No!" said Urszula, emphatically. "We don't know for sure they are who they seem to be. They could be pretending."

"Okay. We let them find their own way. At least they are heading in the right direction." He sighed deeply. "You know ... the whole universe isn't out to get you."

"That's what you think."

A wave of dread broke over her as she recalled what was waiting for her in Penult. The moment she formed that thought, a flurry of roots came scratching at the edges of her consciousness.

"Oh shit!"

"What? What's wrong?"

***

One. One moment of dread. That was all it required for the roots waiting in ambush to seize her. A brief blip of a thought combined with the anxiety of wondering if their little haven in the woods was being invaded. That brought just enough despair for the roots to find purchase on her soul. They swept in and dragged her away, all tangled in their coils.

To Jan, it might look like she had simply fainted. A living, breathing body remained, cruising on autopilot, but her soul was absent, sucked back to the Liminality borne by roots, back into a newly conjured shell in the cold stone pit with the drain hole at its concave bottom. The moment she became aware of her surroundings, the serpentine restraints came leaping after her, cinching tight like hungry pythons around her ankles and wrists.

Extra tiers of seating had been prepared around the top of the pit for those who wished to watch her execution. The tribunal was still deliberating, but it was more a ritual to be completed than a judicial process. She had overheard many similar proceedings occur in adjoining pits, all with the same outcome. Execution.

How they intended to kill her remained a mystery. The screams of prior victims and the easy to rinse curves of her cell and the handy drain hole in its bottom provided clues. It would be bloody.

Tribunals did seem to argue, but that was merely part of the ritual. Always, one member was assigned to play the role of a naysayer, some more convincing than others. But the core membership always came into the proceedings that one vote short of consensus. The ritual was there to reassure them of their righteousness before they informed their prisoners of their crimes and verdicts. No prisoner was allowed a defense. Hope was an illusion.

The ring of lights lining the brink of her pit pulsed a silent alarm. Footsteps clapped across the walkway. A round, chubby face peered over the edge.

"Oh! Oh! The nasty one's back. Get the others in here. Quick!"

"Do we have a quorum?" returned an unseen voice, deeper and raspy around the edges.

"I believe we do! Round them up. Get them in here. We've been trying to free up this blasted cell for weeks!"

Urszula sat quietly at the bottom of the curve, hiding her nakedness by hugging her knees up tight. She knew better than to struggle. Even without the coils binding her limbs, the walls were too tall, too steep, too slick.

It was cold down in the pit. That would not matter for long if the tribunal managed to wrap up their little show. She could handle a little coldness. Nothing could be ever as cold as the Deeps, but there, bodies were too numb to feel it. It was what came after the coldness that troubled her.

Shouts echoed across the arena-sized chamber harboring the holding cells. There came a clattering of metal on stone. A scream burst forth from the far side but was quickly muffled.

A door slid open from the sealed walkway that passed along the seating area, part of an elaborate network of walkways suspended above and between the cells. A bevy of chortling voices came through, their loud and boisterous conversation echoing through the chamber.

Men and women, variously but neatly dressed, some holding cocktail drinks, arranged themselves in two tiers of seats surrounding her. She counted thirteen this time. Last time there had been seven. Some, perhaps, were spectators.

"Order!"

They fell silent, but remained smiling. They all looked like they had just filed out of a party.

A man cleared his throat and opened a thin book with thick pages.

"Miss Urszula Antonescu, we the members of the August 24th duty tribunal and acting under the auspices of Penult's Ruling Council and the Powers-That-Be, hereby inform you, as is your right, the outcome of our deliberations over your provenance and fate."

"Save it. I already know you plan to kill me. So go ahead, kill me."

"Please. If you would allow me to finish...."

"No one's stopping you."

The man frowned. His gaze returned to his notes. "Your crimes against Penult having already been noted, you are charged with the additional and more serious violation of extreme disorder. Having already once been deceased and committed to the undersectors below this Liminality, your existence in the living realm is a violation of the natural order and necessitates the actions we now take. You are sentenced to be shed of your current shell so that your soul may be funneled to its rightful place."

"My rightful place?" She smirked. "You mean the Deeps?"

"No," said another man. "Not the Deeps."

"She wishes!" giggled a woman in a black dress, swishing a glass of lavender liquid.

"Monica. Decorum please."

"Then ... where?"

Ignoring her, a woman with hair so pale it glowed began to recite a ritualistic litany in an unfamiliar language that provoked responses in unison from the other members of the tribunal.

Two large men appeared carrying very long and hooked lances. Was this how they intended to take her out? A frisson of panic seized her. Her mind raced to devise some means of escape. Might it be possible to evade their hooked blades and shimmy up the poles? If only she could rid herself of the coils.

But then another man appeared with yet a weapon resembling a shotgun, but with a barrel wide enough to an apple. Her spirits sagged further. Just before her capture, she had seen a near miss by such a weapon render a tree to splinters. The shock waves that weapons could produce would pulverize her bones and turn her organs into mush. The hooked lances were only there to retrieve her remains once she was gone.

She felt terrible for Jan. She knew how this worked. He would awaken in the morning to find a cold, stiff corpse under that blanket. Not a mark would be on her body, but her soul would be long gone, never to return.

But she could not let herself be defeated. Her heart surged with defiance. Wherever she ended up, she would remember their brief time together with pleasure, and that warm memory would sustain her through whatever deprivations lay ahead.

Would Jan remember her for long? For a lifetime? Long enough to wish to reunite someday? Somehow, she hoped and believed that he would. The way he looked at her suggested that she had affected his souls the same way he had affected hers. But there might be other souls in his life after her, competing for his attention. How could there not be?

A series of electric jolts ripped down her limbs, startling her. At first she thought it was something the captors were doing, but quickly realized that it was coming from within herself.

The tribunal proceeding continued to alternate between rapid fire call and response statements sounding like prayers and further recitations of her crimes both real and imagined. She tuned them all out. The tingle in her fingertips told her that something quite delicious was about to happen.

She held up her hand and smiled at the translucent speckles dotting her skin. Life trumped afterlife when one had compelling things to live for on the other side. Again, this was fated to be a very brief visitation. As the tribunal droned on, they were drowned out by a chorus of tree crickets in a French forest.
Chapter 23: False Alarm

I was all cozy in my bed, drifting in and out of that delicious aura of gentle fatigue that promised a good night's sleep was on its way. This nether time I found to be the best for casting about for an invite into the Singularity. Nice deal when it worked out. My body got rest and my soul got to control my dreams.

Just when I was getting myself nestled into that sweet spot, the most God awful ululating caterwaul ripped through the house. It came from the back lot and it sounded like someone skinning a chimpanzee alive.

I could only speculate that Zeke might be tangling with one of the stray Reapers that come topside from time to time. The root quakes had left breaches in the tunnels that had yet to heal and the night often brought unwelcome visitors.

If one creature was murdering the other, I couldn't tell who was winning. It was the kind of sound that just reached in, grabbed your innards and twisted.

My legs tangled in the sheets and I tumbled out of bed trying to scramble to my feet. Gaia was already out in the hall, dressed in blue again like she was ready for that ball. She just stood there calmly with her bag of skeins, watching me struggle in my boxers, hopping on one leg to pull on my tangled jeans.

"Please, hurry," she said. "We need to go."

"What's going on? What the fuck is that noise?"

"No worries. That's just Ezekiel. I'm having him monitor the skeins and notify us when your friend returned. She must be there, in Penult."

"That's supposed to be a fucking notification? Could you have him tone it down a notch or three? Talk about waking the dead!"

"I don't think bird chirps would have sufficed. You seem to be a deep sleeper, especially when you've been drinking. Hurry now. Get your clothes on. Your friend's visitations of late have tended to be brief."

I finally got my clothes more or less on and followed Gaia out the door. My fly was down, my belt unbuckled and my shirt tails flapped in the breeze but I didn't care. I stumbled across the uneven ground, dazed.

Zeke was still out back, same place he had been hanging out for days. But when we turned the corner we found not a flattened blob but something more like the unholy spawn of a rocket and a squid, or if you prefer, a giant hollow penis with tentacles. Rows of beady little turquoise lights along his basal flanges lit the way into his faintly luminescent interior space.

"Shit! Forgot my fighting sticks." I turned and started running back to the house.

"No weapons! I told you. We go in unarmed."

I skidded to a stop in the dust.

"You sure about that now? How about I bring one just in case?"

"Absolutely not. My plan will only work if we pose no perceived threat to our hosts."

"Our ... hosts? I sure hope you know what you're doing."

I approached Zeke with caution. Gaia stood beside one of his thick support flanges, one of six flattened legs protruding from his base. She waved her hand toward the central cavity in Zeke's core, accessed through a vertical slit. Multicolored phosphorescent lights lined every surface.

"All aboard?"

She stepped up onto a flange. I stood my ground, leery and gaping.

"Go on, don't be shy. I promise he won't eat you."

"What exactly is he supposed to be, anyhow?"

"What do you mean? Ezekiel is my chariot. My bodyguard. He is a construct. A vessel of my will. You should know about those. You've made a few of your own."

"Why does he look like a squid?"

"His shape is streamlined and efficient. If he resembles something from life, is that a bad thing? Evolution is no dummy."

"Did you have to make him so wiggly?"

"Why should a vehicle be inanimate? Why not ride something that can fight back? Honestly, I don't know how a man who rides giant insects can be so squeamish."

"Tigger's not a squid."

"Ezekiel pleases me. If you had an Ezekiel, I'm sure he might look might be different. He would resemble an automobile, maybe? Am I right? A young American boy like you. You like cars, yes?"

"I'm thinking maybe a tank."

"Well come, hop on. Time is wasting."

So I climbed aboard. Zeke's flesh was way firmer than I expected. It gave a little with each step but was solid beneath the initial inch of cushioning, kind of like those anti-fatigue mats they use in factories and kitchens.

Zeke's interior had this buttery, lanolin scent that was odd but not unpleasant. I don't know what I expected him to smell. Like a fish market maybe?

Gaia fiddled with the stigma-like central stalk that rose up the center of the booth-like space. It was about the height of a podium and covered on all sides and across its flared table-like top with cavities, bumps and grooves.

She peeled three strands from a skein and pressed each one into a different slot to make a loose triangle. Each began to glow more intensely as soon as it came into firm contact with the stalk.

"Come, move in closer. Get cozy. Ezekiel needs room to seal his walls. We don't want you falling out."

I took a step towards the stalk, elbow to elbow with Gaia. Our knuckles brushed. The interior wasn't much larger than one of those tiny elevators they retrofit into old buildings.

She smirked at me and winked.

"Don't worry. I don't bite."

The edges of Ezekiel's aperture came together like a tent flap being zipped from two directions. He began to hum, and as he did, his walls lost opacity. We could see in out every direction, including the ground beneath us.

And then just when it seemed like Zeke might entirely disappear, he began to rise. There were no g forces to contend with, no sense of thrust, just a gentle floating upward, as if Ezekiel was able to make himself lighter than air.

Despite his transparency, his flesh remained solid under foot. But that could not prevent the wave of vertigo that overtook me. It was far more intense than anything I had felt on the back of a dragonfly. I dug my fingers into the stalk and clung.

Once I composed myself, I managed to enjoy the ride. I almost never got to take Tigger up at night so this was the first time I had ever seen all the splashes of light that marked the presence of settlements all over the foothills and plains. It surprised me that so many souls remained on the surface after the war. I had heard of many being driven back underground but they were apparently a small minority of the population.

We were poking into the lower bank of clouds when the glowing strands stuck in those slots suddenly changed color, going from a fiery orange-red to a subdued bluish-green. He stopped rising and just hovered there among the clouds.

"Oh gosh," said Gaia. "This is upsetting. It seems we did not respond quickly enough."

"What does that mean? Is she gone?"

"If by gone you mean dead, well, let me have a closer look."

Gaia leaned over the strand and stroked it at either end, which prompted further shifts in the coloration before returning to its bluish state.

"No."

"No what? No, she's not alive?"

"She is fine. She has returned to the living. Again."

"Dang. So soon? What's up with that girl?"

Gaia looked at me and smiled. "Love. What else could it be?"

"Man, I don't know. But that's a good thing. Right?"

"Yes. Of course it is good. For now. For the short term, anyhow. As long as the Penultians don't find out. If they become aware of this development, they might find a way to use it against her."

"How?"

Gaia had turned her attention to piloting Ezekiel back to the hollow. She purred in a language that didn't quite seem to use words as I knew them. Certain guttural vocalizations made her sound like she was in pain or straining to lift something heavy.

Ezekiel stopped hovering and began to drop below the clouds, descending a bit faster than he had climbed. Between my vertigo and the sudden change in direction, my stomach couldn't handle it. I doubled over, nauseous. I was never good at amusement parks.

Gaia put her hand on my back and rubbed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just not used to flying like this."

"Understood. Vomit if you need to. Ezekiel will clean it."

"I'll pass, thanks. I think I can hold it in."

"Close your eyes. Rest your head on the pillar. We'll be on the ground shortly."

"But ... why don't we just go to Penult? Hang out there. Find a hideout. That way we'll already be there next time Urszula comes."

"That's a thought."

"Let's do it."

"She's not even there. Let me keep a closer eye on her strands. Perhaps I can detect some signs that a visitation is imminent."

"Let's just go now."

"No. There's no point."

"So what do we do? Just wait?"

"For now. Let me see if I can find anticipate her next visitation."

When we reached a height where it almost seemed I could survive a fall, the tension left me and the knot in my stomach eased. Ezekiel wafted down as gently as a fluff of goose down.

"One more day, and then I'm joining that raid."

"No."

"Yes. I'm tired of just hanging around."

"I can't stop you. But it would not be wise."

"Well, your plan's not working. We never get there in time."

"It would help if you did not consume so much alcohol. It makes you sluggish. If you were sober, maybe you would have heard the alarm sooner and gotten your pants on quicker."

"I wasn't that drunk. I just had a couple pints of near beer. How are you blaming this on me?"

"I am just saying, you might wish to imbibe a little less even if it is only 'near' to beer. As vile and insipid as that stuff is, it clearly has an effect on you."

"Fine. I'll quit drinking then. Cold turkey. And ... and I'll sleep with my clothes on. How's that?"

Gaia shrugged. "She's your friend, not mine."

***

Back on the ground, as soon as we disembarked, Zeke went all flat and floppy like someone had pulled the plug on a bouncy house. I wondered if the poor creature thing ever got to eat.

I suppose Billy was my Ezekiel. Much of his lifespan he hadn't been much more than a moth or a sparrow but in his initial creation and his final monstrous iteration he was every bit as powerful as Zeke. Funny, it never occurred to me to use him for transportation.

I missed Billy. My attempts to recreate him here in the Lim had all fallen flat, sometimes literally. Maybe Gaia could give me some tips on monster creation.

I loped straight up the porch steps to my rocker and plopped down. I had a hankering for a tall, cool drink, but it would have been ridiculous to go back on my vow two minutes after making it.

Gaia stopped by her heaving, grunting beast of a bedroom before strolling onto the porch. She had changed out of the satiny blue dress that was apparently her go-to outfit for Penult into a set of loose and cottony pajamas.

"Go in and get some rest," she said. "Morning is hours away."

"Yeah, well now I'm too riled up. I think I'm gonna sit up a while."

"I'll keep you company, if you don't mind. I don't sleep that much, myself. A few cat naps per day. Twenty minutes and I'm refreshed."

"Must be nice. Don't know how you can nap in that nasty room of yours."

"I find it comfy and cozy. But you'll never know if you never go inside."

"No fucking way. That thing's alive."

"You have something against life?"

"I just don't like bedrooms that growl at me when I walk by. Not that I dare walk by that place anymore."

"It's how we do things in Loom. The room attends to my needs. It makes me feel comfortable. You should be open to other cultures."

"Just promise you'll take it with you when you go. Or at least turn it back the way it was."

"You want me to leave?"

"No. no rush. I just assumed you wouldn't be staying here for good. I mean, right?"

"I'll leave right now if you want me to." She started to rise from the chair.

"Don't be like that. Stay as long as you want. You're welcome here. I'm sorry. I'm just ... frazzled."

She sat back in the rocker and put her feet up on the porch rail.

"You're overtired. You really should go and try to get some rest."

"Let me wind down first. A beer would be good right about now."

"Sex might help."

"Huh?"

"It's a good way to get relaxed."

"I don't just crawl into bed with strangers."

"We're not exactly strangers."

"Is this part of your guys' culture too? You just screw people at random?"

She sighed.

"It's not a big deal. We're human. It's what humans do. I was just trying to be helpful. I'm not the one who needs to relax."

I assumed her offer was off the table, but the idea had been planted and my body was already responding. Not that I ever listened to my body. I had principles.

It made for an awkward silence. We just sat there and rocked in our rockers, listening to the gurgle of the creek and more distant splash of the waterfall.

Glow pots spread a faint light across her face. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She had this fiendish smile. I don't know what cause she had to be so damned pleased with herself all the time.
Chapter 24: Morning

It took forever for Urszula's nerves to calm after her soul's unexpected and disconcerting detour to Penult. She had never seen the roots so aggressive and opportunistic. She worried that the Pennies might have found some way to manipulate them against her.

But such fears did not aid her cause. She needed to shunt them aside as soon as possible or else the roots might return to drag her back. Each time she returned to that cell, the Pennies came one step closer to putting an end to her existence both in the Lim and here.

But no root, rigged or not, could take down a contented and optimistic soul with spirits riding high. She forced her mind into a more positive state by reliving the memory of her latest escape and savoring with glee how frustrated the Pennies must be to lose her yet again. To mess with the conceits of the righteous was indeed a glorious thing.

The afterglow of victory served well to settle her down until a wind kicked up and sent the trees all creaking and knocking together. The sound it made conjured visions of things far more sinister and threatening than the mere twisting and colliding of wood. She had never cared much for forests.

It was all made worse by the clouds having closed in overhead, purging the wood of any hint of light. The sounds colluded with the darkness to awaken every irrational yet primal fear within her. There was probably no wild beast within a hundred kilometers any larger than a fox. Nevertheless, her heart leaped every time a bush rustled or an acorn fell.

All of this anxiety was not helping one bit, so she slid closer to Jan, taking care not to wake him, but making just enough contact with his arm to benefit from his warmth and the reassurance of his mere presence. Concentrating on the slow and steady rhythm of his breathing helped her relax. His soft snoring reminded her of the ocean. It was like gentle waves splashing up against a beach.

Sleep crept up and took her, far more gently than the roots. She snoozed deeply, dreaming of eating fried chicken and that incredible Romanian Dabuleni watermelon. It was still pretty dark, but a nearby bird for whatever reason began to chirp loudly and prematurely. She awoke with a start, again feeling unsettled and fearful.

Again, she was disgusted with herself. This human version of herself was so much frailer in mind and body than the tough little Duster she had been in the Lim. Feeling so weak after being so strong for so long was infuriating.

There was just the faintest sign of dawn in the East. At least the clouds had opened up again and she could gaze through the swaying branches overhead at the multitudinous stars. She tried to zero in on Jan's breathing again, but he had gone silent. She could hear no signs of life.

A surge of panic sent her arm flinging out from under the fleece, reaching for where he had been. Her hand smacked him in the face.

He muttered something in Polish that sounded like a curse.

"You are awake?"

"Well, yeah! Because you woke me up."

"I thought you were gone!"

"Where would I go? I was sleeping."

"I don't know. I just didn't hear you. I thought you had left ... or you were dead, or—"

"What are you talking about, dead? I am here. Okay? I am fine. Now go back to sleep."

"Janusz. They took me earlier in the night. The roots, they came and took me. Without warning."

"Maybe it was just a dream?"

"No. No dream. I was back in their prison. For real. They were preparing my execution."

"Tsk-tsk. You must have been thinking the bad thoughts again. Isn't that how it works? Negative thinking draws the ... the ... roots? Isn't that what you told me?"

"Yes, but...."

"Then the solution is simple. Don't worry. Be happy. Now, can we go back to sleep?"

He nuzzled her shoulder and tossed his arm loosely over her. Urszula's eyes were pegged wide and twitchy. She would not be sleeping again anytime soon.

She pondered this human object resting on her side, its weight pressing into her flesh, sharing its warmth. His gesture struck her as quaint and strange. What made him think that his touch would bring her comfort? He could do nothing to protect her from the forces arrayed against them. But even more oddly, why was it working? Why was she indeed feeling comforted?

Preposterous, how close she found herself aligning with this child of a man. He was becoming her primary ally in this universe and it confused her. They could not be more different. He had never experienced the worlds she knew.

Or had he? Could he really be this much of a naif?

"Janusz?"

He did not respond until she poked him in the ribs.

"Hey!"

He retrieved his arm and rolled over, letting slip something between a sigh and a groan.

"What do you want?"

"Are you sure you have never been to an after realm? Never?"

He sighed. "No. I told you. I have never been dead. And from what you say, dying is over-rated. So I have no plans to do so. Ever. Okay? Now can we go back to sleep?"

"But you don't have to be dead to visit Root, just ... suicidal. Seriously ... suicidal. I told you that."

"Yes, you told me. I must not be a serious person. So shoot me."

"But you said you were depressed for a long time, yes? Why were you so sad?"

Again he sighed. "Shit happens. Things were not going so great with me. But you already know this."

"But what made you sad? Was it your music?"

"Why are you interrogating me?"

"I am just trying to understand you. I want to know ... who you are ... really. Why the roots don't bother you."

"Maybe I'm just too dumb ... or too numb for these roots to be interested. Why should they care about me? Nobody else does."

"But you see, that kind of attitude is just perfect for Root. Minimizing yourself. Feeling sorry. That's what we do. I'm not sure I can believe you."

"Oh? You think I'm lying? I'm really a happy person inside? That I am just pretending?"

"Well ... okay so what makes you sad?"

"Nothing ... anymore. Though, it used to be everything. Music. Relationships. Work. School. Family. Whatever. You name it. I failed at everything. But I came to realize, this is the way of the world. Most people fail at their dreams. It doesn't matter how hard you work. It doesn't matter how good you are at something. You have to be lucky, too. Fate has to help you, too. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't. That's reality. I accept it now. And it's okay. I can deal with it. I don't get sad anymore. I just get numb."

"You have ... a girlfriend?"

He took a deep breath and now abandoned all pretense of trying to extend his rest. He sat up and propped his back against the nearest tree. A subtle light was now filtering down from a brightening sky, though the sun had not yet poked above the horizon.

"Had. Sure. Several. All very short. I don't mean height, I mean in time together. For some reason people ... I mean girls ... well, girls are people, I suppose ... people tire of me very quickly. It must be that I am so incredibly shallow and boring ... or annoying ... or depressing ... or something. Ugly? An ugliness that gets worse over time? When it happens to you, you will see for yourself. Then you can tell me what is my problem."

"What was her name?"

"Whose name?"

"Your girlfriend."

"Their names were ... are ... Mona, Marta ... and Magda."

"You have a thing for M's."

"Apparently. Apart from you. I mean—"

"Which one did you like best?"

Jan sighed with exasperation. "None of them. They were all horrible. All of them ditched me in the most humiliating fashion."

"Which one hurt you the most?"

"What is it with this inquisition?"

"I want to understand why the roots ignore you, but not me or my friends. What is it about people like you?"

"I don't know. What can I say? I'm boring. I don't do drama. Shit rolls off me. That doesn't mean I don't feel bad when bad things happen. But I just plug along. I am a plugger."

"But which one hurt you the most?"

He rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

"Well ... it was the first one, of course."

"Who was?"

"Mona. We were together one year. And everything seemed fine. She went off to Krakow to visit her grandparents. One week. I go to pick her up at the station. She steps off a train and tells me we are done. No explanation. Just like that. Finished. Marta, it was the same. Three months. One morning we are having breakfast and she tells me she does not want to be with me anymore. No explanation. And then there was Magda. I did not even want a relationship with her. I told her so. But she had this sneaky way about her. She was persistent. She was persuasive. And she made me fall in love with her. And once she broke my will and made me commit, two weeks in, she breaks my heart. Two weeks, we lasted! And so after that I don't want to be with women. Can you blame me?"

Urszula narrowed her eyes and smirked.

"I hate to break it to you, but you are with me and I am a woman."

He looked confused for a second.

"With? We are with? No, this is different. We are not lovers. Females don't scare me. I can be a friend just fine."

"So you are my friend?"

Jan's eyes darted between her and the trees.

"Of course!"

***

The sun poked above the hills and turned the dew drops on their fleece blankets into a million sparkles. Urszula gathered dew from the bushes to wet and wash her face, licking at the moist leaves to relieve her parched lips.

She caught Jan staring at her quizzically.

"What are you, a mouse? Here. Drink like a human."

He handed her his aluminum water bottle and she took a long swig.

"Thank you," she said, with a gasp.

After they packed up their blankets and ground cloths, they shared a breakfast of dried apricots and stale pumpernickel while sitting on the pine needles. A magpie watched them from a tree branch on the edge of the meadow.

"I am thinking," said Jan. "We should walk to the nearest town and find a bus, or another Uber. No more trains, I understand. Take us a little farther from the border before we take a room in a guest house maybe. Wash up. Have a hot meal. What do you think?"

"How far is it to Amsterdam?"

"Quite far," said Jan. "It will take time. There will be another border or two to cross. Belgium. And then the Netherlands."

"Have you done this before?"

"No." He looked at her funny.

"It just seems like you have experience."

"Nah. I just Googled it. And it's from talking to people. Some Syrians I met at the station in Wrocław."

"How long have you been going to that station?"

Jan sighed, the way he did whenever she asked him an uncomfortable question.

"Two years. More or less."

"You said you did this to feel connected. To what?"

"I don't know." He knelt and rolled up the blankets, tucking both under the straps of his pack. "Watching people makes me feel like I belong to the human race."

"How silly. Of course you belong."

"It doesn't ... didn't ... feel that way sometimes." He raised his head. "I hear a stream somewhere close. Maybe we can wash up a bit. Make ourselves a bit more presentable. Straighten our hair a bit, yes."

"You're worried about my hair again?"

He looked at her and smirked. "This morning you look like one of those fancy chickens with the ruffled feathers."

"Don't worry about my hair. I am not entering any beauty pageants."

He hoisted his pack. "Come. We should get moving."

***

They hiked down the back side of the hill and found the small brook they had heard from the heights. Jan removed his shirt and splashed water on himself, though neither of them had thought to pack any soap. Urszula took a drink directly from the stream. Jan looked askance at her for doing so, but the water was cool and sweet. She humored him by dampening her fingers and taming some of her wilder wisps and locks.

When they were done, Jan put on a clean shirt and they continued on up a gravel road that hugged the bank. They walked for an hour without seeing anything but fields and forest before they came upon a man coming the other way on a tractor pulling an empty wagon.

They both stepped off the narrow road to let him pass. The man tipped his head to them as he went by.

"At this rate, it may be weeks before we get to England."

Urszula wondered if or when she should let Jan know that she truly didn't care now how soon they got to England or even if they never did. She was just as content aimlessly roaming the back roads of France with him.

"We get there when we get there."

"Easy for you to say. There are limits to my finances."

"Bah! We don't even need your money. I can show you how to get along."

"Oh? And how would you do that? Steal from farmers?"

"That is not stealing. I call it sharing."

Jan sighed. "Oh my. You are going to get us both into trouble, aren't you?"
Chapter 25: Retreat

The afternoon had started out quiet enough. Gaia had us working out front, transplanting shrubs in neat rows to either side of our new front walk. I wasn't too keen on the idea at first, but as we went about the task, I discovered how much I enjoyed being out there working with her. She was in the most amazing mood that day, chattering away, bubbly with life ... or death ... or whatever.

At sunup, she had burst out of her room, eyes ablaze with intent. We spent the whole morning selecting, dragging and setting flagstones for the new walk. I thought we deserved a break and was fully intending to take one but she was determined to sustain our momentum and not let progress give way to our usual inertia. The set of her chin made it clear that she wanted us to get more things done today.

She wasn't bitchy about it in the least. She just had this vision that drove her for whatever reason and she needed my help to make it happen. Her ferocious cheer was so compelling it was spooky. She was like Joan of Arc in the flesh. I would have followed her off to war and sacrificed my soul that day if only she had asked. Good thing all we were doing was planting shrubs.

Maybe it had a lot to do with her attitude, but I thought she was looking amazing. She had her hair tied back in a large flowery wrap and she wore this marvelous pale yellow dress—long in the sleeves, calf length, loosely cut and pleated. It rippled in the wind like a flag.

A hilt holding a half-sized machete dangled from her waist. Heavy-soled clodhoppers contrasted adorably with the dress. The way she wore all this stuff combined with the confident smile and glint in her eye made something way more impressive than the sum of its parts. She was a walking synergy.

These shrubs we planted had begun the day as wild mesquite bushes gathered from the banks of the creek. Tigger didn't seem too thrilled to be used like a pack animal, carrying the both of us while being weighed down with over a dozen bushes strapped to his saddle, their root balls tied up in a loose mesh. He went soaring into the hills the instant we relieved him of his burden.

Once we got the shrubs back to the yard, she reshaped them into these absolutely uniform globular topiaries with glossy evergreen leaves that looked like plastic. I thought they looked kind of prissy. Worse, she planted them too close together so they blocked off the sides of the walk and prevented me from using the many diverging side paths I had worn in to the weeds fanning out from the base of the porch steps.

I put up a bit of a fuss before we started to dig but she was so forceful and righteous about making the place look more 'civilized', I relented in the name of peace. I wasn't going to be the one to spoil her buzz. Not when she was in this good a mood.

I had to wonder to myself, whose replica boyhood home was this? Why was I letting her call the shots? But I figured the bushes would die off soon enough, and sooner if I was less than vigilant about keeping them watered.

At least the new walk would come in handy during mud season. I would have preferred to leave the flagstones rough and natural for a rustic look. But Gaia had insisted on smoothing out all the seams and evening out the color. So it became this homogenous strip that didn't even pass for stone anymore, but some kind of rusty brown asphalt. I was thinking that Loom might not be my kind of place after all if her landscaping preferences were any indication. All of this over-the-top manicuring reminded me too much of Penult and Disney World. I preferred Mother Nature to have a larger say in how things looked.

And that's when things got interesting. Just before our bluish sun hit high noon, Zeke started to bellow, letting loose a low-pitched but very loud oscillating rumble.

"Well, that's a new one," I said, pausing to lean on my shovel.

I had been getting kind of used to Zeke making odd noises at all hours of the day, so this time, for the first time I didn't freak out. Gaia had explained to me that many of his noises were just notifications. He was like a giant iPhone, indicating the arrival of news and messages from Loom, the content and sources of which she never shared with me, by the way.

I looked over to find her staring through the gap in the bluffs.

"Is everything okay?"

She tossed aside her spade. "We are under attack!"

She leapt over our newly planted bushes and took off down one of the side paths we had just blocked off.

I studied the waves of dark objects coming in low and fast over the plains. They were still pretty far out but they sure looked like bugs to me. The Pennies' flying machines didn't move nearly as smoothly through the air. They tended to rise and fall between wing beats.

"Wait! Gaia! It's cool. I think it's probably just Ubaldo's crew."

Heels skidding in the dirt, Gaia whirled around to face me.

"Are you certain?"

I shielded my eyes and squinted at the approaching objects. I could clearly make out their dangling legs.

"Oh yeah. These are definitely bugs. Looks to be mostly robber flies. Couple mantids here and there. Dragonflies and wasps doing high escort."

Gaia stood there, palms up, looking puzzled.

"But weren't they planning to go off to war? Why are they coming back this way?"

"I don't know."

When they were closer, I could tell that something was terribly wrong. Many of the bugs had missing legs and shredded wingtips. Others were weighted down by human cargo—bodies strapped to the sides of their saddles, their arms and legs dangling.

Ahead of the others by a good mile, a white-faced hornet passed high over the hollow and kept on going, followed closely by a pair of dragonflies. I watched as they disappeared into the foothills, heading in the direction of New Axum. Most of the ragtag flock behind them followed suit, but a few came peeling off and spiraling down into the hollow.

I wandered out back, where Gaia had gone to calm Zeke. He was fully inflated and itching to fight, his coiled tentacles gone all spiky and sharp. She clung to his side, stroking the pebbled armor that had sprouted on his normally sleek hide. She cooed to him in that that oddly liquid language she only with him. He was way more riled up than he had been the first time these fighters had stopped by the hollow.

"Is he gonna be okay having visitors?"

"He will be fine. It just takes him a while to cool down once he is activated. He knows there was fighting. He is sensitive to the mental states of nearby souls. These people have just gone through something very traumatic. And now ... now he can smell the blood."

A robber fly careened around the house and came slanting down straight at us landing hard and off-kilter in the dirt, almost tossing its rider. The dust settled to reveal Olivier slouched in the saddle, his face blackened with soot, his pale over-cloak and baggy breeches soaked and dripping with blood. His fly was just as battered, with wings all warped and his legs cracked and bent.

Olivier's proximity got Zeke all agitated again. He puffed out his core and tensed his coils. Gaia clung to his side, patting and chittering away with renewed urgency, attempting to restore his calm.

"Whoa! You look like shit."

Olivier was unfazed by my remark. "Got all my limbs in the right place and still connected. That's all that matters." Zeke let out a loud snort that made him jump. "That thing ain't gonna eat me, is it?"

"You landed a mite too close for his comfort," said Gaia. "It would behoove you to be more cautious next time. Ezekiel needs his space."

"Sorry ma'am," said Olivier, giving a weary shrug. "I'll keep that in mind next time I crash land."

"So what the fuck? Did you guys already hit Penult? And you're back already?"

"Nope," said Olivier. "We never got off the damned beach."

"What the hell?"

Olivier winced as he struggled to lift his injured leg out of the saddle. "Fuckers ambushed us right before sunup, just as we were fixing to send off the mantids. Sank all our barges, too. They got these new pressure weapons, blew holes right their hulls."

"Holy crap!"

Olivier kept glancing nervously over at Zeke, but Gaia had succeeded in quieting his heaving and pulsing bulk and he was already beginning to deflate and re-absorb his appendages.

"Has your lady friend been here the whole time?" he whispered. "With her beast?"

"Um. Yeah. We're ... uh ... still waiting."

Olivier groaned as he reached down into his saddlebag and pulled out a tangled wad of dark brown fiber, which James recognized as the dried insect spittle that Duster warriors employed to inhibit bleeding. He stuffed a large handful of it into the split seam of his pant leg.

"I hope you don't you mind if some of us rest here a bit? Some of our wounded need a little more patching." He studied the sky over the plains. "I don't think they'll be bothering us this far inland. We left a rear guard behind in the flats to make sure the Pennies don't get too adventurous. We got routed pretty badly. I'm sure they're feeling their oats right now."

"Dang! They're not invading again, are they?"

"Nah. I don't think so. We saw no boats. Just air power. The condors dropped a bunch of souped-up Cherub commandoes, but there was no real landing force. The rear guard will keep an eye on things, let us know if anything big goes down."

I stood there feeling awkward and useless.

"Want a beer?"

The words sounded strange the moment they left my lips. It was something you say to a neighbor who just mowed your lawn, not someone back from tangling with the forces of evil. Because in my eyes, the Pennies were evil. No doubt about it.

"Um. No thanks. But I'll take some bandages if you got 'em. And maybe a nice tall glass of water."

***

A bunch of the least injured fighters volunteered to help me carry the worst of the casualties onto the porch where Gaia had set up shop. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, but she attended to them with more skill and artistry than most flesh weavers. If only Mikal and I had run into her earlier.

She was nonchalant about it all, but it seemed she could knit together just about anything. She could reanneal compound fractures, splice shredded veins, tuck everything back the way it was and cover it over with new skin, with nothing more to show than a bit of residual swelling and only the faintest of scars. Oliver's wounded fighters were but modeling clay in her hands.

There were several shattered bodies a little too far gone for her to mend—grotesque bloodless heaps of disassembled body parts whose souls had somehow managed to hang on. She tried her best, nevertheless, but as soon she started to rearrange things their souls inevitably slipped away.

I had a hard time watching all of this but I had no choice. She made me be her orderly, helping immobile patients onto the porch, fetching fresh wads of root for bandages and implants, swabbing the mess of blood and snippings that collected around the chaise that she used for her operations.

I stood wincing and grimacing beside her with a bowl of writhing root fibrils. She used no anesthesia other than the utterly enchanting melody she hummed under her breath as she worked. It seemed to mesmerize the injured, redirecting their thoughts from whatever pain she was inflicting. Even I fell under its spell as I got to feeling a little light-headed and loopy. If this wasn't magic, I don't know what is.

After the most seriously wounded had been taken care of, Olivier took his place in line and let her attend to his damaged hip. It looked like a pack of mastiffs had used him as a chew toy.

"Pressure weapon got me," he said. "Little balls of turbulence that rip apart everything they touch. Go right through any kind of armor."

She pulled down his tattered and bloodied pants and probed his side with her fingertips, causing him to wince.

"Your pelvis seems intact, though you may have a bone bruise. These weapons mainly disrupt soft tissue."

"Oh? You're familiar with their weapons?"

"I have seen their results."

As she tended his wounds, Olivier pressed her on how well she knew the Pennies, the nature of her dealings with them, how she had spent her time in the days leading up to the ambush.

If Gaia suspected any ill intent, she didn't show it. She answered every query frankly and without hesitation.

But his line of questioning had me seething. Everything she told him about her whereabouts and actions I could vouch for, because I was with her the whole time. And yet his skepticism was unrelenting.

When Gaia was done with him, his side looked lumpy and discolored but his skin was intact and there was not a stitch or a scab to mar him. Without so much as a thank you, Olivier pulled up his pants, buckled his belt and waddled off the porch, into the kitchen.

I put down the bowl and went after him. He had no right to doubt and disrespect Gaia like that after all she had done for him and his injured fighters. I caught him poking around my cupboards looking for something edible or incriminating. I grabbed his arm and yanked him around, looking him straight in the eye.

"What's with you and those questions, Olivier? You really think she's with the Pennies?"

"No. Just don't know for sure that she's not."

"Fuck that! You've got no reason to—"

"Easy guy. I'm just doing my due diligence. Doesn't hurt to ask. You rather I talked about the weather?"

"I heard you. You were like the fucking inquisition with her. Listen, I know what she's all about. She's a neutral party. She hates all the fighting. But she doesn't take sides."

He arched one of his eyebrows.

"How long have you known this girl?"

"I've been with her every minute of the last three days. Why?"

"You kept tabs on her soul? Or just her body."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"There are ways to communicate that aren't so obvious. Singularity. Avatars. God knows what else."

"You saw her busting her butt getting everybody mended. Does that look like someone who wants to help the other side? She fixed your own ass for God's Sake. How do you even have the gall to ... to—?"

Olivier smirked. "Jesus. You really are sweet on her, aren't you?"

I screwed up my eyes at him. "Not particularly. I just know it wasn't her who spilled the beans."

"You doing this chick?"

"What? Doing?"

"Yeah, you know."

"No, I don't know. I mean, no! I'm not. Jeez, Olivier. She's not even the same species as us. She's from Loom."

"Species? She looks pretty human to me."

"She's not one of us. She's different."

"Could have fooled me. So what is she to you, if she ain't your ... mistress?"

"She's a friend, who's helping me out. We're breaking Urszula out of prison. We already tried a couple times, but...."

"You went to Penult?"

"Stop it with the insinuation."

"I'm not insinuating anything. Just wondering. Did you go to Penult?"

"We tried. Didn't make it there in time. Urszula faded."

"You know this, how?"

"Gaia's has a way of monitoring souls through these ... strands."

"See? That's what I mean."

"What are you thinking?"

"Kid. I don't know what to think. You just be careful with this one. The timing of that ambush was pretty damn fishy. We were hours from pushing off. Someone had to have tipped them off."

"And I'm telling you it wasn't Gaia. Loomies, they don't ... they're not even supposed to ... intervene."

"Says who? From what I hear, the Pennies are in contact with these Loom types. Erelim, they call them. I'm not saying they're in cahoots, just ... that they have a relationship. I don't pretend to know how it all works, I'm just saying, you need to keep an eye on that girl."

"She's not helping the freaking enemy!"

"Fine. So it wasn't her. But it was someone ... or something. They knew where to find us they knew when to hit to maximize the damage. They took out our barges. Our mantids."

I didn't know what to say. I had never seen Olivier so agitated and bitter, not even in the Deeps when he had been a mangled quadriplegic determined to take down the Horus. His eyes got shifty.

"And ... you know... uh ... I should probably mention as well ... it's kind of been noticed at the upper levels ... your lack of participation has been kind of conspicuous."

"What the fuck? Now you're saying I'm the spy?"

"I said nothing of the sort, just—"

"But they're talking, you say. Someone's talking about me. Who? Ubaldo?"

"Nah. Ubaldo's cool with you. I mean, so am I. There're just these ... perceptions ... floating around."

"What the hell?"

Olivier looked pained for the first time.

"Look kid. I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt our cause. You invested more skin in the game than most. Just keep your eyes open. That's all I'm asking. Think with your brain, not your dick."

"Olivier. That's enough."

"I'm done. I said my piece and that's that."

"Hey. Sorry I wasn't there. To help out."

"The ambush? You didn't miss much. Not much you could have done."

He looked at me kind of awkwardly and then leaned in and gave me a hug, a tight one, and he didn't let go for the longest time.

"Take care of yourself, kid."

He released and waddled off back onto the porch towards the battered insects tethered to the scrubby trees across the weedy mudflat I called a lawn.

Gaia came back to the porch, her face and hands smeared with other people's blood. She pulled up beside me and we watched Olivier get his troops rounded up and loaded back onto their bugs.

"Did you put a hitch in his giddy-up?"

"A what in his what?"

"He's limping."

"He's been in pain. He doesn't trust his leg. It should go away in time."

"Thanks," I said.

"For what?"

"For being here. Showing yourself. Doing what you did."

She sighed. "I was needed."

"You're not getting in trouble for this, are you?"

She shrugged.

"I might."

***

I let Gaia make dinner that night, only because she insisted. And she made something decent for a change. Little beads with a texture somewhere between quinoa and caviar. It came out kind of salty and smoky, way better tasting than the gruel she normally liked to make. Not as satisfying as a steak and baked potato, but good enough that I went back for seconds.

After dinner, we went and sat on the porch, which was quickly becoming a routine. Olivier's words were still bothering me and I needed some reassurance that Gaia was who she said she was. I mean, I was pretty damn confident in her, but there was just a smidgeon of doubt still nagging at me.

"You know my friend Olivier, the one with the mangled hip?"

"The suspicious one?"

"Yeah. Do you know why he's suspicious?"

"He thinks I'm with the Erelim."

"How do you know all this?"

"He asked me."

"Well, he thinks you tipped off the Pennies that they were assembling for a raid."

"Ridiculous."

"Can't blame him for wondering why they got ambushed."

"What happened on the beach should not have been a surprise. You do not threaten to poke a bear or sometimes the bear will poke you first."

"You might recall that this bear poked us pretty good when we weren't even looking its way."

"But you made them leave. Why isn't that enough? You want revenge? You can't expect them to submit to your provocations."

"But how did they know about the assault?"

"Why are you looking at me like that? You think they need someone like me to tell them? You don't think they're capable of finding things out on their own?"

"Do you have contacts in Penult?"

"I guess."

"Who?"

"I don't remember their names. I was part of a delegation that visited from Loom."

"Erelim?"

"Well, that's what they call us. But it's just a name."

"Are you still in touch with anyone in Penult?"

"No! And I did not tell anyone about your stupid raid. Okay?"

She got up from the rocker and shoved it aside.

"I'm going to bed."

"I thought you didn't sleep."

"Good night."
Chapter 26: Badeval

Jan was so buoyant that morning it was annoying. After a night of frequently interrupted catnaps bookending an excursion to Penult, it didn't take much to annoy Urszula. He didn't even have to say anything. His bubbly attitude alone grated on her. Of course, the whistling didn't help.

The graveled path brought them through hay fields to a paved road lined with small, brown stucco houses. They followed the sidewalks and hedgerows to a denser collection of similar brown and beige houses that made up the village of Badeval.

The place seemed deserted but Jan managed to locate a small grocery shop. A sour-faced young man was behind the counter, but he proved friendlier than he looked, and his English was excellent.

"Is there a place we can maybe catch a bus?"

The young man smirked.

"Here? No buses come through here. You need to find yourselves a real town."

"What about Beaucourt? Isn't that just up the road?"

"Beaucourt is a little larger than this shit hole, but not by much. It has a guest house, but honestly, if you need transport or a place to stay the night, I recommend you go to Montebeliard. That is more like a real city than anything else in this area."

"Will this road get us there?" asked Jan, motioning down the street they had been following towards the mounds of forested hills that rose slightly above the flat hayfields.

"Yes, but you need to take another road from Beaucourt. It is just a few kilometers over to Beaucourt, another ten or so over the hills to Montebeliard. I could give you a ride if I had someone to mind the shop."

"That is very kind of you," said Jan. "But we are in no hurry, are we Ursa?"

Ursa? Since when did he call her that? Was he calling her a bear? Making fun of her hairy legs? Or just trying to be cute? She scowled back at him, her displeasure not entirely feigned.

They bought two baguettes and a small bag of dried apricots and started off down the road to Beaucourt.

"This is so great!" said Jan, still bubbly. "I always wanted to see France. My uncles used to tell me about Paris. Not that we will get to see it. But this is France! Look at those signs. All in French. People speaking French."

"What did you expect them to speak? Turkish?"

"I am just saying. This all around us is proof that we are actually in France."

"I thought your cousins were in England."

"Different side of the family. My mother's brothers ran a small textile mill together. They used to come here on business."

"That's nice."

"Hey. Since we camped last night. How about tonight we find a hotel? Maybe in Montebeliard?"

"You're already tired of camping?"

"What can I say? I am a lightweight compared to you. I need my hot water."

"Fine. Just don't make it a habit."

"Habit. Listen to you. As if people living in houses is some strange new fad."

"Shut up. I already said it's okay with me."

"Awesome! If we check in early we will have time to explore a little. I want to eat some garlic snails. My uncles used to tell me all of the time about the snails. And the truffles. I want to try something with truffles."

Why not indulge the boy and keep him happy? His ebullience had a way of rubbing off on her no matter how much she resisted. Maybe just being around him was enough to repel the roots.

They munched one baguette down with the apricots as they strolled along, stuffing the extra in Jan's pack for later. They hadn't gone far before they reached another slightly larger village called Dampierre-les-Bois, which the shopkeeper hadn't even seen fit to mention. There were more of the same stucco houses of slightly more diverse hue, a few more shops than Badeval.

The road beyond the village rose into a set of forested hills. Urszula assumed that was the way to Montebeliard.

On the last stretch of road through the village, near another junction, a man in a long overcoat stood beside an indigo Mercedes with severely tinted windows. Silent alarms pealed through Urszula's nervous system.

"That man. He doesn't belong here."

"Weird," said Jan. "Who comes to a place like this in a fancy chauffeured car? A politician? Or maybe there's a wedding?"

"No."

The man almost seemed to make a point of never looking directly at them. That only made Urszula more nervous.

"Let's not go that way."

She doubled back the way they had come. Jan hesitated.

"Why not?"

"Trust me. We don't want to go near this person."

"You think he's—?"

"I don't know. But I don't want to find out the hard way."

They turned down a driveway and cut through a vegetable garden busting with chard and leeks. English peas twined up a trellis, showing white and pink blooms.

They slipped through a gate and began climbing a path up a fenced meadow on the hillside. Sheep grazed among tangles of vetch.

There was another gate at the top of the meadow. The went through, passing into a grove of gnarled old plum trees, their bark oozing an amber-like gum. The branches were already heavy with tiny green plums.

Behind the grove was a paths of hardwoods that they pushed through until they came to a path on the edge of an overgrown field.

Relief washed over her with each step deeper into less trammeled nature. Open spaces made her feel more in control. There were fewer variables out here, less chance of being surprised. The Friends of Penult did not strike her as being particularly woodsy.

Despite her fatigue, she was feeling remarkably strong and whole again. She took inventory as they walked. The ache in her injured knee was barely noticeable now. The swelling and bruising in her face and ribs was nearly all gone. She had finally returned to fighting shape.

As they walked side by side, Urszula suppressed the urge to take Jan's hand in hers. The intensity of this silly, school girl desire puzzled her. She let her hand sway, out of synch with his, almost touching, hoping that Jan would do what she could not, but he did not seem to notice or care.

How different her soul could feel in a living body. When she had first returned the sensation of being flooded with all those unregulated emotions had been jarring. But now she was coming to appreciate them.

To feel. This was what being alive was all about. No other realm allowed a soul to feel so much, the good and the bad.

Jan, for his part, betrayed few hints of how he felt about being with her. She caught him watching her sometimes, when he thought she wasn't looking. But left to his own devices he tended towards sustaining a brooding silence. Unless she pried, he rarely volunteered stories of his life or betrayed his sense of humor. When he spoke, it was only to comment only on the natural world, pointing out toads and unusual wildflowers.

Across a field a flurry of birds exploded out of a patch of shrubs.

"Sparrows," said Jan, as they trudged past a hayfield long overdue for mowing.

"Something scared them."

"Perhaps. But all it takes is one bird to be spooked. The rest react."

"We're paralleling the road to Montebeliard."

"Yes. I believe so."

"I don't think we should stay in that town."

"You still worried about that man?"

She nodded. "We should camp out one more night. We may need a different destination. Maybe even change direction."

Jan took a long, deep breath.

"I need to wash some clothes and soon."

"Yes, we can. Tomorrow. Whatever town we find."

"And I owe you a French dinner."

"Hot food would be nice. Some meat for a change."

"We wash first. The way we both look and smell, who will give us a table?"

"I don't know about you, but I smell fine. I smell like a person who is alive."

"That is debatable, sweetheart."

She glanced at Jan and glanced again. What had he just called her? Why did that simple word tickle her so? It was the tiniest and most casual of endearments, something a stranger might say to a stranger. But maybe it was a hint of how he really felt about her. She had no choice but to extrapolate. He did not give her much to go on.

Feeling emboldened, she took his hand. He did not resist, returning her grip firmly. His fingers were soft, not the calloused and horny appendages of a worker or warrior. They were only holding hands but her heart raced with the sense that this was the start of something bigger.

"Your girlfriends, were they pretty?"

He expelled his breath with exasperation.

"Oh no, here we go with my girlfriends again. Why do you always feel the need to torture me?"

"I was just wondering."

"Why would they not be? Do you think because I am ugly, I like ugly girls?"

"You're not ugly, but ... you like me, don't you?"

"Whoa!" Jan paused a little too long before speaking again. "Where did that come from?"

"I know that you are attracted to me. I see how you look at me, when you think I'm not looking."

"Yes, but ... I told you I am not having relationships anymore. I am having ... what do you call it? A moratorium?"

"What are you afraid of? Are you worried I bite?"

He chuckled and squeezed her hand.

"I know that you bite. Your teeth, I can handle. It's my heart I'm worried about. It's been in the fire one too many times. I'm tired of being burned."

"Oh? So why don't you give it all up? Become a priest?"

"Don't you have to believe in something to be a priest?"

"You must believe in something? No?"

"I believe in this moment. And I believe you ... what you say about your after realms. I can see in your eyes, they are more than just your imagination. They are real to you, so they are real to me. That is something, no?"

Urszula seized his gaze like a hypnotist.

"I won't burn you. I promise I am not that hot."

"My, you are persistent, aren't you? What's the rush? We will be spending a lot of time together, especially if we are now walking the long way to Amsterdam. Let's get to know each other a little better before we start planting flags and such."

"You want to go slow. That's okay. I understand." She shrugged.

"I don't want to go anywhere, I just want to be. Why can't we just be?"

"Alright. We can be. Just be. Whatever that means."

It did not escape Urszula's attention that he was still holding her hand.

"Oh! See that mushroom?" He pulled away and skipped off the sandy path into the edge of the pine forest, scooping up a bolete with a dark brown cap. "I know for sure this one is edible. It is the best kind. And look, there are more! If we can find a guest house with a kitchen we can fry them up."

"I like mushrooms. Can we get some meat to go along with them?"

"I will catch you a chicken." He stooped to gather another fistful of fungi, tucking them into his pack. "And maybe we steal some potatoes. The little ones. Boiled with butter. Leave it to me. I will cook you dinner. We just need a stove."

"Someone must be hungry. Here, have some more bread." She reached into her pack and tore off a chunk of the second baguette they had purchased in Badeval and handed it to him.

He tossed her a wink as he gnawed on the crust. Something had changed in his eyes, it seemed to her. Maybe this talk of relationships had awakened something in him. Her hopes were bolstered.

He held out his hand for her to take again and Urszula took it eagerly. Her spirit soared as his warm fingers wrapped around hers. They had crossed a threshold today. Holding hands had become routine. That was something. That was progress.

Something flashed and went 'pop' across the field, near the tree line. Jan stopped. A red spot blossomed just in front of his ear and he slumped to the ground still holding her hand before it went limp.

***

Urszula crouched over Jan, stunned. She screamed in rage and rose to face whoever had done this from across the field. She spread her arms and stood still, daring them to shoot her too, giving them the widest and most stable target she could provide.

She stared across the field, but no shots came. The man in a dark overcoat was walking away, back towards the road, rifle propped on his shoulder. He had no interest in harming her, at least on this side of the interface.

Her insides heaved in turmoil, stomach churning, heart skipping beats, her face awash in tears. It was an unfamiliar but recognizable sensation. She knelt beside Jan and cradled his head. Whatever hit him made a clean entrance wound but did not exit. And he was already gone. His eyes were open but vacant. The bullet had snatched away his spirit in a flash.

It made no sense. Why hadn't the man tried to shoot her too? She would have welcomed it. This was suddenly not a world she had any interest in dwelling. Why take pains to put her through an elaborate sham of a trial only to snuff the life of an innocent without a second thought?

Life was cheap to those already committed to the after realms. More important to them was depriving her of every last bit of any hope or joy. She was surprised the roots had not already come to drag her away.
Chapter 27: Moods

I had been lounging in bed, whittling with my brain, shaping a hunk of woody root stock into a pistol that I hoped to turn into a new will projection device. I figured that with all those years of watching cop shows ingrained in me, a Glock-shaped object would be far more effective at stimulating my imagination than some pointy stick.

The benefits were so obvious, I don't know why I hadn't thought of this before. There was nothing special about the sticks and scepters that the Dusters and Old Ones preferred. They were just concentrators of will. All you needed to get one to work as a weapon was to believe in its ability to channel your power.

I would have a far easier time believing in something that looked like an automatic pistol than some knotty and gnarly oak branch. Don't get me wrong, I treasured my better sticks, but if I could get this hunk of wood to look a little more like a real Glock, I was going to have no trouble pulling the trigger and conjuring a spell. I ran my finger across the grip, carving it lightly with my mind, trying to get the texture just right.

Of course, Gaia would appear just when I was buckling down on my weaving and putting the final touches on my replica. These finer details would go a long way towards convincing my psyche that my gun was real.

Gaia stood there in my doorway, all dressed up in that danged blue dress of hers, dangling her bag of skeins and another bag stuffed with provisions.

"We going somewhere? I don't hear Zeke screeching."

"Yes. We need to go."

"No shit? She's already back?" I scrambled out of bed. "How come there was no alarm? Zeke sleeping on the job?"

"She is not quite there yet. But she will be soon. It seems inevitable now. I thought we'd get a jump on it. Save some time."

I reached down and grabbed a pair of jeans off the floor. They were stiff and caked with dried mud. Time to weave a new pair. Weaving was easier and quicker than trying to wash the damned things.

"What happened? She about to have a sad?"

Gaia's own sad eyes betrayed her disappointment in me.

***

We stood together in the backyard staring at the lump that was Zeke. The weather gets volatile here near the change in of seasons and a chill breeze was coming off the foothills so I had my hoodie zipped and both hands stuffed deep into my pockets.

When Gaia wasn't looking, I had tucked my unfinished handgun replica under my waistband in back. Since she wouldn't let me fetch any of my sticks, it gave a huge boost to my morale to have something to defend myself with other than a pointed finger.

I stood there feeling all sneaky pleased with myself when Gaia leaned back and spotted the bulge in the small of my back. Maybe I shouldn't have zipped my hoodie so tight.

"What do you have in your pants?"

"Maybe I'm just happy to see you."

Before I could back away, she reached over, yanked it out and turned it into a heap of curly roots with just a flick of her wrist.

"I told you no weapons."

"Shit. It was just a toy pistol."

"No more funny business."

"I can still cast spells with my fingers. Does that mean I should I cut off my hands?"

"Don't be absurd. We simply do not want to antagonize our hosts with so obvious a weapon."

"They're not any hosts of mine."

She had a weird look on her face and definitely not a smile.

"Good. Keep that attitude. It might come in handy."

She turned back to Zeke, who was showing no signs of activation whatsoever. He remained in his usual off-duty beached jellyfish mode—a low heap of slack goo flowing like molasses on a cold day. Good thing I didn't care about the condition of my lawn. The bastard was smothering my grass and weeds.

I took a deep breath and tried to stay positive. I was not looking forward to dealing with the Pennies, with or without a chaperone. War had a way of demonizing enemies and in my eyes the Pennies were full-fledged minions of Satan. I imagine they probably felt the same way about us 'trespassers.'

***

We hung out next to Zeke waiting for the balloon to go up, so to speak. But nothing seemed to be happening, so we took a break for some refreshments of our own choosing and devising. No sharing. We had resigned ourselves to the fact that our tastes were very different. Even our definitions of 'edible' and 'disgusting' were opposed. This way, both of us stayed happy.

We re-convened with the sun nearing high point. The sky was totally free of clouds today after a week of hinting it wanted to rain. Rainy season had been put on hold for the time being.

In the bright sun, Gaia practically glowed in her sleek blue dress and platinum accessories. She had the overstuffed sack propped before her on the ground. I spotted some stuff in it that she had explicitly packed for me. Crackers and jerky and other shit she knew I liked. But it was mostly filled with strange greenish nuggets and sacks of ooze her room had secreted and packed for her in stretchy, translucent membranes.

"Why are we still out here? Zeke will tell us when it's time. Right?"

"Something could happen any moment. Her skeins are highly stressed. I expect a transition soon."

"What's taking her so long?"

"The usual stages of grief. Shock. Denial. Anger."

"Grief?"

"Her friend. They killed him."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was worried it might cheer you?"

"What the fuck? Why would it—"

"You fancied him a rival."

"No I didn't."

"You were not pleased to hear she had feelings for him."

"Apparently not enough to—"

She jabbed me with eyes like fangs.

"She cares plenty! Different people handle things differently."

"So what makes you think the roots are gonna get her?"

"He was the love of her life."

"Says who?"

"My skeins can tell a lot about a couple of souls."

"So why she's still with the living?"

"You said she was tough. Maybe this proves it."

"So what are we doing out here?"

"She loves him. More than she has ever loved anybody in a very long time. And now he is gone. It may take time, but how do you think she will react? And how do you think the roots will respond?"

"Okay. She's more than tough. Urszula, she's a different kind of bird."

"She's human."

"That she is. I'm pretty sure."

I shoved my hands in my pockets and stared down at the ground noticing that my sneaker laces were untied. I dropped to one knee and started to make a bow but instead swiped my thumb over the laces and fused them together. Tying is for losers.

I got up and stood shoulder to shoulder with Gaia, waiting for Zeke to tell us when we needed to go. Apparently, he didn't see eye to eye with his mistress about the urgency of the situation. Watching him grow was like watching a mushroom sprout after a rainstorm. Not much happened while you were looking.

***

The Friend did not linger. Through a screen of trees, she watched the dark car drive away and leave her standing over Jan's remains, feeling sickened and empty. It had been a grave mistake to allow Jan to get so close to her. Her instinct to run had been correct. She should have kept on running, for the sake of both of their souls.

It bothered her how they hadn't even attempted a pot shot at her. They were so confident that eliminating Jan would suffice. That only steeled her determination to prove them wrong.

The Pennies wanted her soul and they wanted to access it in their own particular and peculiar way and they wouldn't stand for anything or anyone interfering with that way, no matter how many innocent souls had to be sacrificed to achieve it. She saw that now, and wished she had understood it earlier, even though it made no sense. But what difference was it to them which realm they ran their kangaroo courts and imposed their punishments?

If she had to feel something to fill the sudden emptiness in her core, let it be hate. Anger would be her salvation. Vengeance and fury were far healthier emotions than grief when it came to resisting the depredations of roots. Anger trumped despair. Emotional violence flustered and confused roots. It swamped all traces of existential doubt and cloaked hopelessness in garb that almost passed for optimism.

So she let those feelings bloom and overtake her, fanning the flames of her rage. They would pay for this. All involved would pay. The Pennies, their so-called Friends and all who aided or sympathized with their cause. They were all to blame for Jan's senseless death.

What were the options? There was no room for sentiment. It was either anger or nothing—utter, benumbed, mechanical and inhuman blankness. The latter would be much harder to pull off, but she knew from experience that it could be just as effective. In time, perhaps it would provide a useful fallback she became too fatigued to hang onto the bitterness.

***

Urszula scraped out a shallow grave beneath the pines, using only her hands and a pointed stick. Before she lay Jan in, she prepared a bed cushioned with fistfuls of rust-colored pine needles and beech leaves. It looked awful plain for such a nice fellow so she decorated it with a fringe of various nameless to her, but pretty, wildflowers plucked from a nearby meadow.

He was far too heavy to lift so she dragged him in with as much grace and dignity as she could muster, which wasn't much. Once in, she carefully arranged his arms over his chest. They had yet to stiffen and his body still retained some warmth.

His face was so pale, but so calm, his hair only slightly matted with blood. She brushed an unruly lock from his eyes and was tempted to cut it off as a keepsake, but she let it be. Better to remember him without a bad haircut.

She knew she needed to bury him and leave as soon as possible, not because of any human threat but because the longer she delayed breaking away, the more she allowed risky feelings to creep into her. But she was not quite ready to abandon him. She would never be ready, but she just needed a few more moments to process his significance.

His lips had retracted slightly to make a wry smile, as if he were on the verge of cracking a joke or commenting sarcastically on the situation. She wondered where a soul like his might have gone and if a soul like hers had any chance of ever reaching such a place.

She was sorely tempted to climb into the grave with him and pull the dirt over them both. But such sentiments were dangerous. She pushed her mind into the harder places where regret had no purchase, re-flooding her despair with anger, smothering any trace of sadness, banishing speculations on what might have been.

She tried convincing herself that the whole idea of Jan ever have being of any importance to her was in itself a folly, a symptom of the weak new vessel she found her soul now encapsulated. She tried to think tough, like a Duster, accepting how things were no matter how bad they got, never enjoying anything, simply persisting.

But the hurt could not be entirely suppressed. It was too raw and too fresh and too overwhelming. Each time she lapsed, she expected the roots to come storming after her, but they kept their distance for now. The white hot glow of her anger percolating under everything and on the verge of exploding must have intimidated them.

She pushed and kicked the heap of diggings over Jan, trying not to notice the dirt landing on his face. A lumpy and irregular mound remained when she had finished, but she had no patience to smooth it out.

She said no words, erected no marker, not even a stone or a cross made of sticks. She just wiped her hands on her pants and veered out of the grove back to the dirt road that ran beside the overgrown field.

She dared not look back. Every meter she put between herself and Jan tore at her soul. She resisted the urge to run back to the site where she had last seen him alive. She took pride in her ability to suppress the tears that wanted to flow, making no effort to wipe the few that managed to sneak out.

This was a good sign. It told her that inside, she remained a tough old Duster. Only if she could keep the shroud of despair from descending would she keep control of her soul. She was obviously no stranger to death, but the uncertainty over its many manifestations could still invoke fear.

The Pennies knew this, of course. Killing Jan was their way of turning up the pressure on her. But they didn't know who they were dealing with. They could not know the depths of her determination, the ferocity of her hate.

England. That was to be her focus again, just like it had been before she had met Jan. It gave her a goal to strive for, something to be hopeful about. She would have friends there. Friends like James and Bern and Lille. And friends of friends. People who knew her or at least knew of her and some who maybe even loved her.

She knew that the white hot and righteous fury would eventually cool. She needed to prepare to transition to the state of utter emptiness that had managed to foil them before. It would require a huge leap between the way she felt now and the way she needed to feel, but it was her only hope. She knew she would never be happy again.
Chapter 28: Chantal

Urszula kept her head down and tried to think of nothing but how exactly she would murder the next Penny-sympathizer she got her hands on. Whether it involved a garrote or an ice pick, she guaranteed herself that it would not be nearly as swift or as painless as Jan's demise.

She left the dirt road behind for macadam and paint as she trudged through the outskirts of the larger town whose name she had already forgotten. Jan had originally wanted them to spend the night here. Now he lay in that grave wearing the sweaty clothes he had so wanted to wash. Forever. She would never share the hot meal he promised her. Never.

She kept an eye out for threats, but paid no mind to anything else. She had no interest in anything the town had to offer. All that mattered now was finding some kind of transportation out as soon as possible.

Tears slipped out from time to time and she occasionally broke down despite her best efforts. Each time she lapsed, she regathered herself before the roots could stir.

Her belly felt all cramped up and tight. She wasn't sure how much of it was due to her distress or if her period was coming on. Decades without menses had almost made her forget how to be a woman. She had nothing to stanch the flow when it came, not tampons or napkins or anything. She didn't care. She was ready to bleed.

She wouldn't be eating anytime soon, that was for sure. Her appetite had abandoned her. She had drunk her fill of a spring she found on the edge of a farm just outside of town. She wished she knew how to summon an Uber car like the one Jan had found for them in Basel. She had kept his iPhone but didn't know how to use it beyond turning it on and noting the low battery warning. It was about as useful to her as a cow chip.

Never mind Uber. There had to be some old-fashioned taxis around somewhere. It would be a splurge, but she had a thick wad of Jan's cash and it was far more than any money she had ever held before. What were a few notes towards whisking her away from a place she needed to get away from fast?

She kept her eyes on the seams and cracks in the sidewalk, looking up only when she had to, ignoring every person she passed, treating them like they were part of the scenery and no more, looking up only when she heard a vehicle and only then to see if it might be a cab or a bus. When an old man walking a small dog caught her off-guard and gave her a smile, Urszula returned a pained smile that evaporated like alcohol on a hot stove the instant it formed.

Her feet were cold and wet, her shoes and socks still squishy from walking across some swampy patches as she descended the hill into town. Would new shoes make her feel better?

Why not? She decided right then that it made sense to indulge her whims. Why be stingy if a purchase might improve or sustain her mood? Holding onto Jan's wad of cash would not keep her happy.

She strolled down three busy blocks before she came across a seedy second-hand clothing shop just outside the city center that seemed just her speed. The interior smelled of mothballs and perspiration. The young woman behind the counter looked up from her magazine, startled, as if having a customer was an infrequent and curious occurrence

The shop was poorly organized, its racks jumbled with items of disparate sizes and type. The women's shoes were heaped in a corner in various states, from well-worn to never unwrapped. She rummaged through the pile, finding a pair of calf-high boots a little too large for her feet, but nothing that couldn't be remedied by a crumpled sock or two stuffed into the toes.

There was no price tag on them. Urszula went to the counter to ask how much they were, but then she realized she didn't speak a lick of French.

"Fuck. I don't speak."

"I know some English," said the girl behind the counter. She had metal studs in her lips and tattoos crawling up her neck

"What is the price of these boots?"

"Twenty euro."

"Is that good?"

The girl looked up from the counter.

"Fuck yeah! Very cheap. Cuz they in crap shape. But these are Maddens!"

The name meant nothing to her. She only knew that she liked them.

"Okay, I pay with this," she said, slapping a hundred euro note on the counter.

The money just sat there. Urszula glanced up to find the girl staring at her, face frozen as if caught in a trance. She struggled to speak, but could not articulate anything that qualified as a word.

Something felt very wrong here. Was she having a stroke? A seizure? Was she on drugs? Urszula was about to take the money back and leave without the boots, when the girl shuddered and some normalcy returned to her eyes.

"Sorry! I don't know what got into me."

She took the hundred euros and hand wrote an invoice before ringing up the purchase.

"Where you from?" the girl asked, her eyes tracking Urszula with an almost creepy fascination, as if she had just met a movie star.

"Why do you care?"

"Oh come on. I am just curious."

"Romania."

"Oh? You tourist? Or immigrant?"

"Both. Or neither. I don't know."

"What is your name? I am Chantal." She offered her hand. Urszula stared at it, before taking it and giving a light squeeze.

"Urszula." The girl was still staring at her, her eyes pressing in. Discomfited, Urszula averted her gaze.

"Where do you stay ... in town?"

"Nowhere. I am not staying here."

"Oh. Passing through? Where do you go, then?"

Urszula took a deep breath. "To Hell, I am sure."

Chantal laughed. "Aren't we all? Do you need a place to stay?"

"What? No. I am not staying anywhere. I am leaving this place as soon as possible. Do you have buses here?"

"Well, yes. Local routes. Where do you want to go?"

"West."

"Just ... west?"

"England, eventually."

"You must go to Paris and take a Chunnel train."

"No trains. I am not taking any more trains."

"There is EasyJet from or Ryanair from Orly."

"No airplanes."

Chantal chuckled.

"You only like buses? Sure, this can be done, but I should tell you that even the Eurostar Chunnel buses ride on trains."

"Let me worry about how I get there. May I please have my change?"

"Oh! Of course," said Chantal, completing the transaction, passing her some small bills and a handful of coins.

"Listen. If you want a ride to Paris. I can take you after work. I have a car."

A chill slithered through Urszula. It was happening again. A stranger was being too nice to her. Too helpful. Real people did not act this way. She was being influenced from afar.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want your help."

"But it's okay. I don't work tomorrow."

"But ... why would you?"

"Oh, I often go. I have friends there. Really, it's no problem. It will be nice for me."

Urszula studied her would-be benefactor for the tell-tale signs of puppetry, the tics and twitches of a body responding to the demands of two minds.

"Something or someone is making you do this."

"Oh yes. Some little birdie came and told me to take you to Paris. Get real." She chuckled.

But the way Chantal said that seemed stilted, as if she were not a full and willing participant in her actions. And even if she were being actively controlled there was no way this girl could be a Frelsian agent. They were never too shy about identifying themselves. And how they could have known she would be entering this shop?

"Two more hours and I get out of work. My flat is only a block away. You look like you can use a shower. Why don't I bring you there to rest and then after work we go? How about it?"

The path of least resistance beckoned to Urszula. It would be immensely convenient to be whisked halfway across France in one fell swoop.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing to have guardian angels pop up every time she started feeling desperate. If some anonymous forces in this universe had aligned to help her, who was she to turn them down? She just needed to try to not get so attached to her human benefactors.

"Okay," she said. "Show me your place."

***

Chantal closed the shop by flipping a handwritten sign on the door that read: 'Reviens en quinze minutes.' Urszula still felt weird about the whole thing, but she had resigned to go with the flow for now.

As advertised, the flat was not far, just down a long block and around a corner. Chantal led her up a set of stairs to the second floor.

"Help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen. I will take my keys with me, but no worries if you want to go out, just leave the door unlocked. This is a safe neighborhood. Sometimes I don't even bother to set the bolt. Salut! I'll be back a little after six."

Chantal kissed her on both cheeks and wheeled about, back down the steps to the sidewalk, leaving Urszula feeling flustered and disoriented. Had this been the right course of action?

She took a deep breath. What was done was done. With Chantal gone back to the shop, Urszula went into the kitchen and peeked into the refrigerator. It was well-stocked with fresh vegetables and fruit and cheese. But she still had no desire to eat.

She thought about taking a nap but thought it would be better to wash up first. She sat down on a kitchen chair and peeled off her sodden and muddy sneakers. They went straight into a trash bin. From now on she would be wearing her new boots.

She went through her other belongings. The pistol with its few bullets she would keep for now. She hoped to put it to good use someday soon. Jan's mobile phone might have been useful in Jan's hands, but it had been unresponsive for days and she had no idea how to revive it. It followed her sneakers into the trash.

She sighed and stripped down for her shower.

***

There was to be no napping or eating that afternoon. Once she was clean, she tried to snack but could not arouse enough appetite to down the small plate of cheese and figs she had scrounged. A couple of nibbles was all she could manage.

Her nap was even a bigger failure, her senses bedeviled by a hundred anxieties and puzzlement over how she had managed to wind up in a stranger's house again. Someone had arranged for Chantal to find her, or for her to find Chantal. But which was it? Someone was either trying to raise her spirits or set her up for a fall.

She just wanted to close her eyes and not think, but whenever she did, she could not help but replay her and Jan's last few minutes together. That calm, sunny smile of his would haunt her till the end of her days. Bittersweet, these remembrances, more bitter than sweet, but sweet enough to keep the roots at bay.

Six o-clock arrived. With Chantal's arrival imminent, Urszula found herself still half naked in her torn skivvies. She had washed some of her clothes in the kitchen sink and hung them on the balcony to dry in the steady breeze of a humid, half-clouded day. She couldn't bring herself to wash anything stained with Jan's blood. Those items she discarded.

Her jeans were still far too damp to wear so she helped herself to some of Chantal's clothes, which proved a bit too roomy for her scrawny frame. She hoped her host wouldn't mind, but suspected she could get away with requesting almost any favor while Chantal remained in her brainwashed state.

And so she dressed and went to sit and wait at the kitchen table, pecking away at the cheese and fruit she had left out. Six thirty came, and then six forty five. Perhaps Chantal's boss had come or she was dealing with some late customers. Maybe a friend had come by to chat.

She went to the little chaise in the sitting room and pressed her nose against the window. A thunderstorm was closing in on the city and thick cloud cover had prematurely darkened the evening. Street lamps were coming on all down the avenue. The sidewalks were unusually devoid of people. The intensity of the thunder promised a potent storm.

Once it reached seven, she gave up waiting and decided to go find Chantal at the shop. Her heart started to thump a little harder as a curtain of dread descended over her. Something wasn't right.

She didn't even bother with a raincoat or umbrella. The shop was not far and she was sure she could outrun the coming downpour. She pulled on her new boots, ripped the door open and flicked on the light in the stairwell. She nearly took a tumble at the sight of the horror show waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. There, a body lie slumped.

Chantal.

***

The roots almost got to her right then and there. She could feel them break through the interface and wrap around her thighs. But once again fury was her savior. The scream she let out evoked not despair but rage and indignation. It blew the roots back to whence they had come.

She pounded down the steps and crouched beside Chantal whose body lay limp and sprawled just below the first landing, one arm flung onto the landing, the side of her face resting against the topmost riser.

There was no blood, nothing broken, no sign of how she had been killed, but she was certainly dead enough, with no trace of breath or a pulse. A plastic sack with a bundle of leeks and a bunch of fingerling potatoes was still clutched in one hand. Her hip crushed a small bouquet of daisies.

Urszula was getting lots of practice getting her tears to flow these days. She had cried more in the last twenty-four hours than she had over all the decades she had spent in the after realms. She was getting to be a pro at it. This time they came freely and silently, streaming down her face like a cascade down a cliff.

Some of the other apartment doors had plenty of signs of life behind them—cook pots clanging, conversations both agitated and humorous, children crying, televisions blaring news. But Urszula sought no help as she alternately dragged and carried Chantal's body up the stairs and into the flat.

She laid Chantal gently onto the chaise by the window and proceeded to rummage through the flat for things that would be useful on the road. She stuffed her pack with candles, matches, some sliced ham and some miscellaneous clothing snatched without any care or discrimination from Chantal's dresser.

She went back to stand over Chantal's still body. Tears still dripping, she dropped to her knees and gave her would-be friend a quick kiss on her cool cheek. At least she had not had nearly enough time to become attached and dependent as she had with Jan. At least the forgetting this time would be quick.

She stormed out the door, leaving it wide open, snatching up the leeks and potatoes as she thundered down the stairs. She left the bouquet behind.
Chapter 29: Riders

If he was as plugged into Urszula's situation as Gaia said he was, I could tell from looking at Zeke that nothing was going to happen anytime soon. But Gaia was stubborn and refused to relent. She stayed by Zeke for another hour after I went back inside.

She was just so sure of herself, so certain of Urszula's impending fall, but turned out so wrong. Despite all her fancy skein-reading skills, she had no clue how resilient souls galvanized by the Deeps could be. Urszula was a tough old bird. It would take way more than a dead boyfriend to bring her down.

I made some soup and crackers for lunch and brought a bowl out for Gaia. I have to say, it wasn't at all bad compared to some of my concoctions. The thick ramen noodles were a little crunchy but I had the broth down good. It had this miso/Szechuan thing happening with it. I was pretty proud and happy to see Gaia wolf it down without making her usual faces.

"Why don't you come inside and chill? I'm sure Zeke'll let us know if anything happens."

She shook her head.

"No. I need to stay. And you need to stay ready. I suspect it will happen very soon. My strands suggest that things are not at all well with her. She is on the verge. Things may transition very quickly. I trust you will be ready to respond? Quickly?"

I shrugged. "Sure. I'm dressed, aren't I? It's not like I have to pack or anything."

I went back inside spent the afternoon fiddling with my will projectors. My back room was slowly transforming into a workshop and armory.

Originally it had been a replica of the guest room where mom kept a treadmill and a broken vacuum cleaner when my cousins weren't visiting. I bumped out the walls to make a little more space. Why not? With all of Gaia's recent transformations renovations, the house was becoming less and less a copy of my boyhood home.

I put the final touches on my handgun, refining the grip and blackening the exterior. It came out looking pretty nice but it wasn't the exactly police-issue Glock I had in mind when I started. It came out looking looked more like the war trophy Nazi Luger I once found in a box in my grandfather's basement when I was ten; the one I smuggled out and hid under my mattress deep into my teens before mom uncovered it and grounded me for a month. Those childhood memories seem to have overpowered my intended design.

That done, I fetched some new sticks and roots and started on a new project for something bigger. I wanted to create something like an automatic rifle, either an AR-15 or a Kalashnikov, something that would inspire more potent projections of my will.

I had big plans for my arsenal. I wanted bazookas and RPGs and AT4s, maybe even some kind of long-range artillery device. The nice thing about will projection was that I never had to worry about the gauge or quantity of ammo. My will would provide an endless font of projectiles. Theoretically. If I could get it to cooperate consistently.

Gaia finally came back in at sundown looking defeated. She had her bag of skeins slung over her shoulder. She clutched another fistful of strands like rosary beads threaded between her fingers.

"Why so glum?" I said. "This is good news. Right? She's keeping herself positive somehow."

"I just don't understand it. The skeins tell me she should be quite hopeless right now. Particularly since both of my interventions failed miserably."

"Interventions?"

Gaia looked down at the floor. "This would-be boyfriend of hers? That was my doing, in part. My fault. I played Cupid. I didn't have to do much. I just provided a little spark of interest and their relationship took off naturally. Really, it probably would have happened anyway given a chance and some time. As it turned out, they had far more chemistry that I expected, which of course made her more vulnerable to his loss. And then ... like a damned fool ... I tried to capture lightning in a bottle again. The poor random girl I tried to manipulate ... and she was easy to sway ... well, from all appearances, she was murdered."

"What the fuck? You tried to make Urszula fall in love again ... the same day she lost her boyfriend ... with a girl? That's just sick."

"No. Not a lover. It never got that far. But I thought she needed a friend and quickly. Someone to give her comfort."

She sighed

"And so ... apparently I don't learn. I waited for a proximal strand to light up a bit ... goosed it a little, and made this new acquaintance a little friendlier and accepting than she would normally be. I didn't realize that Urszula was being watched so closely. Those Penultians are toying with her like a cat with an injured bird, trying to drive her back to Penult for their silly brand of justice. The Makers always tell us not to meddle. Now I know why.

"So you killed two people? Two innocent people? In one day?"

"I didn't mean for them to die! I had no idea these Penultians could be so obsessive."

"I think you'd better lay off those strands and let Urszula work this shit out on her own."

"Yes. I agree. Don't think I don't regret my actions. But I don't understand how she can still be persisting. Her resilience is ... inhuman."

"You don't know Dusters very well. The lower realms change people. Their souls come out different. I mean fundamentally different. Like alchemy. You ever spent much time in one of these places?"

"Of course. I know all of the lower realms," she said, dismissively.

"Know? Visited maybe. But did you ever spent much time in these places? I mean, quality time, like you're doing here?"

"Alright. Perhaps you have a point."

***

So we went back to our regular routines—Gaia to her gardening and beautification projects and me to my usual slacking and gun making and learning to play a badly tuned mandolin.

Zeke would tell us when it was time to go. I trusted him more than I did Gaia. At least his alarms didn't go off without a reason.

I was in the kitchen trying to figure out why my smoothie refused to smoothen when I heard a large crack up in the rafters. I ran out into the hall just as a splintered beam crashed onto the floor, weighed down by a huge blob of the thick, rubbery substance that lined Gaia's bedroom. She stood there at the portal to her room looking sheepish.

"Sorry! I should have reinforced it first. I guess it couldn't bear the weight."

"What the fuck are you doing in the attic?"

I looked up through the break to see that her room had grown several monstrous appendages that had extended through the ceiling and out onto the rooftop.

"Jesus Christ! The damned thing is taking over."

"No, not at all. It's just an extension for taking moisture and oxygen from the air, for use in my room. Just a minor modification."

"Minor?"

An object floated through the opening—a paper airplane of sorts with diaphanous wings that seemed to flap subtly whenever it sound itself needing a little lift.

"Is this something of yours?" I asked.

"No," said Gaia, her posture stiffening. She raised her arms defensively. "Stand back. I'll burn it!"

"Wait. I think it's harmless. I see writing on it. Might be a note."

The object landed at my feet and lackadaisically unfolded itself revealing several lines of sloppy script. I leaned over to pick it up.

"Don't touch it!"

"Relax. It's just an avatar. It just wants to be read."

I snatched it up and was happy to discover that it was written in English. In places the script was a little indistinct but the context made it all clear. Even before I saw the author's name, I had an idea who wrote it.

Dear James,

I happen to be in the area with some friends and want to come down and say hello. Can you get the Loomie chick to rein in that beast of hers? Three of us are aiming to ride in on some mini Reapers and would prefer not to get decapitated. Send up some smoke or something when the coast is clear.

Sincerely,

Wendell

Gaia read over my shoulder.

"He's the bad one. The one who tried to hurt you."

"He also tried to hire me."

"Then threatened you when you refused to work for him."

"How do you know all this? How long have you been watching me?"

"Since you woke the Old Ones, half the universe has had their eyes on you."

I took in a breath long and slow.

"If Wendell wanted me hurt I think he would have done it by now. Let's hear what he has to say."

"Fine. Let me go and put Ezekiel to sleep."

I fetched my new Luger and went out to the porch. I studied the ridgeline, trying to figure out where Wendell was hiding out and watching us, because I knew he was out there somewhere.

There came a whistle but it was so much like a bird call that it almost didn't register, until I remembered that his place had no birds. It came again, this time as some Mozart melody.

I aimed the Luger at one of Gaia's plantings that didn't seem to be doing too well. I thought: 'napalm.' My spell flew out as easy as a sneeze and incinerated that bush, sending up a boiling cloud of soot and ash. Maybe I didn't need to be making bazookas after all.

Gaia appeared from around the house, looking miffed. "Did you just destroy my bush?"

"Don't worry, I'll make you a new one."

Her eyes darted up to the hillside. "They're coming."

Three men angled down this hillside riding the tallest, lankiest Reapers I had ever seen. If it wasn't for the extra pair of legs and the arrays of fleshy appendages dangling off their snouts I might have mistaken them for camels. These had been bred or woven for speed, as close to cameline as a giant, six-legged, flesh-eating mole rats could be.

"They are like cowboys," said Gaia.

"Wrong hats. And those are some weird-ass horses."

When they reached the bottom of the hollow and started across the flats, Zeke let out a deep growl and began to rustle.

I looked at Gaia.

"Is he gonna be a problem?"

"He senses a threat. But no worries. He is fully incapacitated."

I tucked my Luger into my waistband and arranged the front of my shirt to conceal it.

"I shall retire to my room."

"Mind sticking around? I might need you."

"I would rather not show myself."

"Please? Wendell's given me trouble. I think I can handle him, but...."

Gaia bit her lip. She gazed down at the dust.

"Alright."

We stood there at the end of the walk and watched them approach, taking their sweet time. Zeke couldn't stop grumbling despite Gaia's repeated attempts to soothe him.

Wendell rode the lead reaper, all decked up in desert cammies and a boonie hat. Two Frelsians accompanied him: some ridiculously buff and pony-tailed blonde guy bursting out of his shirt, and a withered looking chap in frilled leather jacket and rumpled fedora, pinched face buried behind a shaggy beard.

As sleek and camel-like as the reapers seemed from afar, they looked and smelled disgusting up close. Despite the myriad improvements Frelsian breeders had been able to coax out of their gene pool, none had figured out how to breed out their stink, ugliness or propensity for human flesh

"Now you're sure you got that creature back there restrained properly?" said Wendell, as nervous and diffident as I had ever seen him. "I can hear it snarling."

"Zeke can't budge. That right Gaia?"

"Correct."

"Chariots," said Wendell. "You can't be too careful with them."

He dismounted and lashed his reaper to one of the barely rooted saplings Gaia and I had just transplanted from the grove across the pond. Gaia looked a bit annoyed but she held her tongue. The other riders remained on their mounts.

Wendell strode straight up to me and thrust out his hand. I took it and he reeled me in and squeezed my shoulder.

"Good to see you, kid!"

I was startled but relieved to find no shiv stuck between my ribs. I freed myself and took a step back.

"So this is my friend, Gaia."

His eyes gave her a thorough going over before he seized her hand and kissed it. "Enchanté. Not every day one gets to dwell among the enlightened."

He expected a hug, but Gaia managed to dodge. A look of disgust warped her face.

"So strange seeing you on this side," I said. "This is the first time, I think."

"Yeah, I don't get over here much. Life is too good. But I can cross when I need to. There are ways of tricking the roots into coming to get you."

"So what brings you? Did you miss me?"

"This is not about you. It's about that Duster girl you resurrected."

"Urszula?"

"Friend of yours. Lily ring a bell? Apparently she knows people who know people. We got commissioned to look after the frizzy one. But she's not making it easy."

"You guys are helping her?"

"That's the intent. But we haven't had much contact yet. She's a slippery one."

"How are you helping?"

"Whatever. We're facilitators. We facilitate. Whatever it takes."

"Gaia here's been trying to help out a little, too."

She shot me a withering glare and mouthed a silent 'no.'

"Yeah. I know." He chuckled. "I've seen the results of her tampering."

"How would you possibly know?" said Gaia.

"We got ways sister. We got ways. And hey, I know your intentions are good, but you've already gone and wasted two innocent souls. You might want to dial it back a notch."

"Two?"

"Breaking news."

I looked to Gaia, who refused to acknowledge my glance.

"Listen. I'm not here to needle you guys. Hell no. I want to team up. Let us be your spotters. We identify the threats. You go and do your thing. We follow up and provide the ground truth."

"No."

"Why not? I think it makes sense. We'd be great together."

"I don't need any assistance."

"But we can give you boots on the ground. One of our agents already made contact a few weeks back. We haven't had any luck getting close to her since. She tends to ramble. And the Friends keep intercepting our avatars. But I understand you Loomies got ways to track folks in real time. Am I right?"

"No."

"Sure you do."

"We don't need you. Thank you very much, but no."

"Listen. Our network ain't what it used to be, but we got real live people positioned in France. We can protect her. We just gotta find her."

"No."

"A little different from your usual line of work, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? That gal Lily. She's got pull with the big boss. Turns out this op has been useful to us. The Pennies are after the frizz like flies on shit. It's been quite the intelligence windfall. We've already outed four deep cover operatives since we got involved in her case. That's a big deal, considering how we're outmanned and outgunned on the continent."

"So you murder them?" said Gaia.

"Well yeah. It's dog eat dog out there."

"I don't approve."

"They're killing us off. Why can't we even the score?"

"Someone needs to de-escalate first."

"I take it you're not interested in any joint ops."

"That is correct."

"We could help that girl way better than either of us can do alone."

"Technically, I am not allowed to intervene," said Gaia.

Wendell smirked.

"Not being allowed doesn't seem to stop you."

Zeke let out a growl that shook the ground beneath our feet.

"Go! Before I unleash my beast."

"Sorry. That wasn't nice of me."

"Go!"

"Listen. Those souls you wasted. No big deal. Collateral damage for the greater good. We can help you target more specifically. Get her out of France and into the Low Countries and we can even provide an escort."

"You need to go right now if you value your soul."

"Gaia, let's talk about this," I said.

"No. We are done."

"Fine. Suit yourself. It was worth a shot. We'll keep trying regardless. If at some point you reconsider, send me a note ... or whatever."

The ground quaked. Zeke strained at the limits of his boundaries.

"I think you'd better go," I said.

"No worries. We're out of here. Nice to see you, James. Shame things didn't work out on the other side. You would have made a great Facilitator."

"I'll be back. Someday." I'm not sure what made me say that. It wasn't like I actually believed it.

Wendell smiled, his eyes wistful. "Yeah, well I wouldn't put it past you. You seem to have a knack for resurrections. It's a little bit harder to engineer your own I would imagine. Though, with the company you're keeping these days, who knows?"

He clambered onto his reaper and snapped the reins. He and his two eerily silent amigos set off down the creek, heading for the open plains.

Gaia glared after them, hands were balled into tight fists.

"I don't like him."

"Yeah. He has that effect on people."

"I need to find his strand. I bet it reeks."

I shrugged.

"I don't know. He's not all bad."

Zeke let out a moan that might have passed for the whine of a very large and very frustrated dog. It certainly caught the attention of Wendell's reapers and got them moving along a little quicker.

"My poor beastie. So well behaved! Let me go and unleash him."
Chapter 30: Emmeline

Urszula did not risk public transportation that night. She did not even dare to hitch a ride. She didn't want to be near any people whatsoever, fearing more the harm she would bring to them than the harm they might inflict on her. Not only that, she would be a suspect in Chantal's death. The fewer people who saw her the better.

And so she walked hour after hour, passing through fields and wood lots and sleepy villages. She had the moon, a slice away from full, to keep her company. When voices or headlights approached she sought cover in ditches or behind walls and hedgerows.

Laying low in the weeds, sleep tempted her, but she did not dare slumber. Whenever she lingered too long, her mind filled with thoughts she could not control. Roots patrolled the edges of her soul, sniffing for traces of despair. When things began to slip she bit herself. Hard. Bite marks and blood stains marred her wrist.

Something about being outdoors and on the move gave her mastery over her moods. Walking hardened and purified her thoughts. Being in nature eroded her boundaries. She became less an island and more a cloud of consciousness. She became one with the night, an agent of moonlight and shadow.

And she had other tricks to help her heart rise above the sea of grief and regret that threatened to swamp her. All relied on hopes and dreams.

First, she let her mind fill with visions of what it would be like to be in Wales on that goat farm.

Green. She imagined it green. So green it glowed. Meadows with tall grass, swaying, parting in the wind. Lakes and ponds glinting in the distance.

She even allowed herself to imagine being with James, with him beside her, holding her hand. Alone with James. Just she and him. That other one—Karla—nowhere to be seen in her visions. And why not? They had parted, had they not? Was it so far-fetched to imagine herself with James?

Having had a taste of falling in love made her hunger for more. It was heroin, really. Something a body never needed suddenly becomes essential. She never imagined herself prone to something so ridiculous, something so useless.

She had come to suspect that she was being manipulated from afar. Jan had been a lovely man, but they had only known each other a week. How could she possibly have become so attached so quickly to a virtual stranger? She barely knew him. Those feelings could not have been real. It made no sense.

What made things even more suspicious was how swiftly and deeply he had fallen and the fact that he had fallen for her at all. Who could possibly find her attractive or likable? She, a filthy, underfed, poorly groomed creature from the alleys? Acidic disposition. Devoid of humor. Wit nonexistent. It was all very fishy. Who could love her besides someone whose mind had been tweaked by a meddling angel or demon?

And then there was the instant friendship with Chantal, another complete stranger. The moment she entered that shop it was like a bumbling puppet master had scrambled to grab the strings of the nearest available puppet and put on a show. She had allowed it all to happen because she needed a friend.

How hard it was to manage a brain in the living world. How easy it was to become engulfed by emotion and let feelings cloud reality. Deeper desires held greater sway than evidence and logic.

During the siege, she had met a woman in New Axum—a Frelsian—who had been a neurologist and had tried to tutor her in human anatomy and on the brain, in particular. Having died too soon to experience higher schooling, Urszula loved encountering learned people in the afterworlds, especially the Halfsouls and Freesouls of the Lim who had not yet suffered the forgetfulness of the Deeps.

If only she could tear out her amygdala and survive, she surely would. Such a useless and vestigial organ, if what she had been told about it was correct. The pain it wreaked conferred no benefit that she could see. What good was it to feel so ripped apart by Jan's death?

In the Deeps, she had spent years in close contact with some of the kindest and bravest men and women she had ever known. When their souls had been brutally snuffed by Hashmallim ambushers, she had walked away feeling no more sentimental than a slug.

The Hashmallim had used the threat of physical violence to make souls seek the Horus. But their efforts were futile. Those who had chosen to be independent could never be forced to follow the Horus, because some had glimpsed and escaped the wasteland that lay beyond. Choosing the Horus would only assure the obliteration of her soul, and no amount of pain and suffering could sway the enlightened towards taking that course.

A wave of queasiness swept over her. She sensed restless activity in the interface. She had let her thoughts roam a little too wide and free and was straying a little too close to the border. It was time again to focus on the positive.

And so she concentrated on the crunch of her footsteps in the gravelly dirt beside the pavement. She marveled in her fine, new boots, so worthy of pride and gloating, blocking out the human cost of one dead shopkeeper.

Again, she diverted her thoughts to James. How nice would it be to see him again? What a curious thing they shared, not really love, but a mutual respect and appreciation.

She had not been impressed by him at the start. She mistook his kindness for weakness. He had lacked the forged-in-the-Deeps charisma of the Duster men she knew so well. But he had grown on her. She admired the stability of his soul. His sheer dependability. The way he never wavered from his word.

Maybe there would never be anything significant between them. But her soul needed an ember to keep aglow, no matter how feeble.

***

Hours later, fatigue finally overwhelmed her desire to wander and she could walk no more. She found a decrepit farm with severely overgrown fields that seemed to have been kept fallow for years and crawled under a canvas tarp covering a rusted wood chipper in the back lot. She fell asleep before her mind had a chance to conceive any dark ideations.

She woke with the sun striking her face and flung off the canvas without a pause, rising to shake off the morning chill. She had no idea where she was, but put the sun to her back and started off north and west, the direction most likely to bring her closer to the English Channel.

She crossed other more viable farms with tractors in the fields, taking care not to trample the grid of strange little sprouts, whatever they were. Onions? Garlic? She swooped down and plucked one of the shoots to solve the mystery. Onion. She munched her way all the way across the field, grateful to have something edible in her stomach.

The blisters blooming on her heels from her oversized boots began to alter her gait. Her knee was fine, its pain well within the range of tolerable. The bone bruise in her elbow and her ribs remained a bit sore, but beyond itchy eyes, a dry mouth and a hungry tummy, all was otherwise well. A spigot or a freshet and some stolen biscuits would go a long way towards easing her discomforts.

Her mental state was similarly battered but serviceable. Her heart still bled for Jan. She kept it staunched and swaddled with a thick wrap of apathy. Only time could bring the scabs and scars.

Numbness and forgetting were her friends. They had served her well in the Deeps and to be able to summon those skills boosted her chances to make it to England ahead of the roots.

But there was no way she would be making it much farther down this road with these boots on her feet. She sat down in a patch of trampled weeds and pulled them off, one by one. She found both blisters torn and weeping. As she got up and tucked her boots under the top flap of her pack, a small car pulled up on the road. An older woman called to her in French.

She couldn't understand more than a word or two.

"Non parlez Francais," was all she could manage to say in return.

But the woman, undaunted, made her intentions clear with hand gestures. Urszula hated herself for it, but could not stop from doing what came next. Despite her vow to go solo henceforth, and torn to shreds by a clash of reluctance, trepidation and relief, she swung open the door and hopped into the front seat of the _Citroën, t_ he back seat piled deep with bolts of heavy upholstery cloth.

As they drove along, the woman experimented with communicating with Urszula in Italian and Spanish. Even when it was clear they had no common tongue, she prattled on undaunted, laughing at her own jokes, regaling Urszula with a soliloquy she was sure she would have found quite enthralling had she understood a whit.

But being in the presence of someone so loquacious proved an effective distraction. Being around such people eased the burden of keeping up her guard. Solitude required herculean discipline to stay on top of her moods. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to travel alone, no matter how much she preferred it.

And it was wonderful to see so many kilometers peel away. The woman, Emmeline, was a fast driver. But she couldn't help but worry that she had made yet another mistake. How could so many strangers be so eager to help her whenever she was feeling needy? How could this not be another instance of puppetry?

Urszula kept vigilant for signs that the woman was being controlled by another, but spotted no strange tics or trances. Either this person was a simple Good Samaritan or the puppet masters' art was becoming more subtle?

As they entered a town called Nancy, the _Citroën_ exited the highway down a ramp and turned onto a commercial street lined with apartment buildings with retail shops on their ground floors. The car pulled abruptly into an alley leading to a parking lot behind an ancient-looking building with a pale brick façade.

Ms. Emmeline bustled out of the car and pressed a buzzer on a rusted metal door. A young man with an impressive mop of wavy, dark hair stepped out, propping the door open with a cinderblock. As he opened the back door of the car, Ursula's presence startled him. He paused and stared for a moment before gathering himself and grabbing a stack of fabric bolts from back seat.

Emmeline's voice seemed to drop an octave as she peppered the young man with a barrage of instructions that were all but unintelligible to Urszula. She gathered that the old lady was talking about her, and food was somehow involved.

"Let me help," said Urszula, reaching into the back seat for the remaining bolts as the young man strode back towards the shop.

"English?" he said. "You are English?"

"No. I am not English."

"But you speak."

"I do. A little bit."

"Mama wants to feed you."

"Oh? Okay. I won't object. Thank you."

As suspicious as she was about the intentions of all of these too nice people, Urszula's stomach would not let her to say no to charity.

"What you like? What kind eat?"

"Anything. I am not fussy."

"Come inside. We have a lunch table in back of the shop. I will get you some things."

The woman and her son sat Urszula down in a small room on the edge of the workshop. They set out a basket with the remnants of some baguettes, a plate of hard cheese, sliced tomatoes and a bowl of _pâté_. The young man uncorked a bottle of wine and filled a glass for her.

They left her on her own and retreated into their workshop where a small staff of employees was busy tacking new upholstery and padding on stripped wooden frames.

As she munched, she mused over the likely identity of her puppet master, guiding all of these much too easy-going and charitable people she was meeting. It couldn't be the Pennies. It was in their best interest to get her as miserable as possible and get her soul back to the after lands.

Could it be some Supreme Being looking out for her? She had done nothing during her existence to deserve such favorable attention. Certainly, she had never worshipped or prayed to such a being, not since her first death anyway. She was not even sure she believed in the existence of such an entity.

Perhaps she was giving short shrift to human nature. Maybe some of her benefactors and admirers were genuine. Though, it was clearly preposterous to believe that all of the good things that had happened to her could be natural and unguided expressions of kindness.

Whatever the case, she knew couldn't linger here. The Pennies were watching and whatever their motivations, her helpers, by helping, had unwittingly put their lives at risk. She couldn't afford to get to know them, to care about them. She had made that mistake twice already with Jan and Chantal. She wouldn't let it happen again.

When she had her fill, she got up and washed her face in a small sink in the corner, making full use of a sliver of soap and some hot water. She raked her fingers through her tangled curls in an attempt to restore some order.

The door to the workshop flew open and the young man bustled in. He grabbed a denim jacket with a leather collar off a hook and slipped it on over his T-shirt.

"Come. Mama says I should take you."

"Take me where?"

"Wherever you want to go."

"England?"

He gave her a stare.

"You want go to England?"

"Yes, but ... you don't have to take me here. Obviously. But ... maybe you can take me a little closer. Some place where I can find a bus ... or something. To the ocean."

"To the ocean? You want go to Calais? There are ferries."

"Yes, please."

"Calais is kind of far. I am not sure I can bring you today. But ... let me talk to mama."

"Oh no. You and your mother have already done more than enough for me. I can find my own way from here. Thank you very much."

Urszula grabbed her belongings. The briefer she kept her contacts with benefactors, the safer it would be for them.

"No. Please. You can't leave without me."

"Why not?"

"Please. Let me take you. Mama insists. She will not be happy with me if she sees you walk."

"How about you take me partway? What is the next large town on the way to Calais?"

"Metz. I can bring you there. It is not too far."

"Yes, please. That would be good. Take me to Metz."
Chapter 31: Sanef

The son drove the _Citroën_ even more aggressively than his mother, constantly weaving and passing left and right, risking all to get around whoever or whatever was in front of him. Urszula was not usually one to be afraid, but she was getting a bit concerned about his ability to deliver her to Metz in one piece.

"Could you please slow down? I am not in any hurry."

"Not you, maybe, but I would like to get back in time for Champions League. Real Madrid is playing."

"Football? Oh, for Christ's sake, stop and let me out here. I don't wish to trouble you."

"No. I told mama I would take you to Metz, and so you are going to Metz!

"Okay. Fine. Take me. Just try to stay on the road."

"Are you afraid of my driving?"

"No. I am not scared of you."

Traffic eased once they left the outskirts of the city for the emptier agricultural zones beyond, and once it did the son tempered his recklessness. Urszula relaxed and slumped in the seat with her knees pressed against the dashboard.

The son kept glancing in her direction trying to catch her eye, but she kept her gaze straight ahead and pretended not to notice.

"You are homeless?"

"Homeless? No. I have a home."

"Where?"

"Not here."

"England? But I do not think you are English."

"Why you care about my home?"

"Just curious."

"You ask too many questions."

"It's not every day my mother brings home a beautiful girl."

His words chilled Urszula.

"You stop that right now. Bad things happen to those who flirt with me."

"I'm not flirting. Just making conversation."

"Good. Keep it that way. It is dangerous to know me."

He laughed.

"Oh? Are you a spy? A terrorist? Daesh perhaps?"

"Worse."

"What is more dangerous than Daesh?"

"Being wanted in the after realms."

"After ... what?"

"I have said too much."

He chuckled.

"You are a little bit crazy ...no?"

A smokestack and some buildings in the distance heralded their approach to a modest city.

"Is that ... Metz?"

"Yes it is."

Urszula sighed, relieved to be minutes away from being on her own again.

***

She thanked Jerome, learning his name only as they said their goodbyes. He handed her a business card to their family re-upholstery shop and she pocketed it. She was pretty sure she would not be replacing the fabric on any sofas anytime soon.

She watched with trepidation as he made a three point turn and sped off. She expected the worse for him: a sniper bullet cracking through his window or an IED exploding beneath his gas tank, engulfing him in flames. But the Citröen simply stopped at a traffic light, executed a right hand turn and then forever left her sight.

The Friends had no reason to kill him now that they could not put on a show for her and force her to witness their actions. Unseen deeds had no power over her moods. Their sole motivation for murdering puppets was to soften her up for the roots. What good was it for them if she never learned what evils they invoked?

And so she had discovered a new trick to foil the Friends. She could let people help her as long as she kept their relationships brief and superficial. What could they do beyond slaughtering every person who might render her assistance? Not even the Pennies would stoop to such depravity.

The only leverage she could see them exerting on her soul now would be capturing her live and confining her in such a way that she would have no possibility of escape. She had no intention of letting that happen. Suicide and a return to the Deeps would be far preferable to the uncertainty over whatever fate they had in mind for her.

And so it was with a renewed confidence that she approached the next stage of her travels. Jerome had wanted to drop her off at the train station, but she had insisted that he bring her someplace less obvious to the Friends, but which offered some possibility of transportation to Calais. That turned out to be a depot with many large trucks.

Urszula walked into a small, café/restaurant where a number of rough looking men sat eating prix fixe meals of pork chops or chicken angevine. She went up to a woman in the midst of disassembling and cleaning an espresso machine.

"Excuse me. What kind of place is this?"

Urszula realized too late that she had asked an odd question, but the woman took it in stride.

"Sanef? It is a rest stop for lorries."

"Are there ... busses here?"

The woman scrunched her face. "No. This is not a bus station."

"Why did my ride leave me here?"

The woman could only smile and shrug.

Urszula turned around to face the dining area. These were commercial truck drivers. She considered going from table to table asking for rides, but she didn't like the look of these men, the way they ogled her like she was a piece of perfectly cooked steak. Someone was going to get hurt if they continued and it was not going to be her.

She went outside to where there were a number of large trucks idling. She walked by several cabs, ignoring any driver who seemed the slightest bit interested in her presence. Finally she found one man who gave no sign of noticing her even though he had looked right at her. He glanced away lost in thought, before lifting a pencil to scribble something on a clipboard.

Urszula went up to his cab and slapped her palm on the door.

The window rolled down, and he queried her in French.

"Do you know English?"

"A bit," said the man. He was middle-aged, with a receding hairline and a huge mustache that made his weak chin look even smaller. "What are you? A lot lizard?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you a prostitute?"

"I can be," said Urszula, not quite believing her own words. "Is that what you want?"

"Fuck no! Go away."

He had passed the test.

"Please sir. I just want a ride to Calais. That is by the sea, yes?"

"Yes. Calais is by the sea. Of course."

"Are you going there?"

"Well, not really. I pass nearby. My warehouse is to the north."

"Please. May I ride with you? You can drop me on your way?"

"You are just ... hitchhiker?"

"Yes."

The man looked flustered. "I can't. My company ... the policy ... I am not supposed to take riders.'

"I have money."

"I don't want your money. I just told you, I can't—"

"Please?" said Urszula. "My feet are hurting. I cannot walk."

"Walk? You would walk to Calais?"

"If I had to. Yes. If that was the only way to get there."

The man rolled his eyes and took in a deep breathe.

"Get in."

***

His name was Bernard and his trade was fresh seafood, trucking mussels and oysters to small towns along the highway. The cab had a salty smell to it with a faint taint of seaweed, but not a hint of decay.

The well-worn seat was cozy. She tucked her legs up under and pulled a cotton throw around herself, keeping her right temple pressed against the door, watching the weeds and fences whiz by.

Bernard had a thing for moody accordion music accompanying a wistful, droning singer. Bernard was a big fan of the anonymous performer whose name he kept mentioning the man's name, to which Urszula's memory remained impervious. Things like that didn't matter to her. She had no patience for celebrities and rock stars. To her they were all just more unvetted souls. Who knew where they would end up, until they were dead?

"What do you have waiting for you in England?"

"Friends."

"No job?"

"I don't want a job."

"You will need a job if you are to live there, no? Or are you just visiting?"

"I don't know. I never had a job before. Maybe I get one. Maybe not."

"Are you planning to take the ferry from Calais?"

"I suppose. If that's how people go."

"You don't even know? You haven't thought this out very well."

"I think as I go."

"I assume you have a passport? A visa?"

"No."

"But you will need for the UK. Otherwise you will not get past immigration."

"You are not the first to tell me."

"So what will you do?"

"Once I am across I will work something out."

"It does not work that way. They will check your papers when you buy your ticket. And then again at the immigration station on the pier when you get there. Without papers, they will send you back to France."

"Oh well. So it goes."

Urszula felt sleepy. She didn't want to fuss her mind with such details.

"I know a man," said Bernard. "A fisherman. He has been taking refugees over. A few at a time. For a fee."

"How much?"

"For one person? Something like five hundred Euros."

"That's cheap."

"If you want ... I will introduce you."

"Yes. I want."

Bernard shuddered "I can't believe I am doing this. I usually have nothing to do with this person. He is a drunk. And a terrible fisherman."

"I guess you can't resist a pretty girl," Urszula drawled sleepily.

"Maybe you're right. I can't. I ... I like you. I want to help you."

Yet another puppet, she thought.

"Yes. Everyone wants to help poor Urszula. Your friend will give me a discount, I am sure. Because I am simply irresistible."

"Well, you do have an odd charm about you. You remind me a little of my niece. She is much younger than you. Only thirteen. But her spirit is similar to yours, I think."

"Funny. I died when I was thirteen."

Bernard smirked. "Excuse me?"

"Oh. Did I not tell you? I am dead. Or at least I used to be."

"I see. And how did you die?"

"That doesn't matter now. I am alive again."

Bernard smirked. "You have a long way to go, child, before you need to worry about such things."

Urszula straightened up in her seat and smirked at him in mock indignation.

"Who are you calling a child?"

"Compared to me."

"I am old enough to be your grandmother, I am sure."

"Hah! Now I know you are insane. Before, I only suspected it."

"You know nothing about this world, Mr. Bernard. And even less about the next one."
Chapter 32: Nap

Naps are dangerous when jousting with roots, but Urszula found herself helpless against the waves of fatigue washing over her in the cab of that truck. In the half-dreamy state between falling asleep or waking, a mind can cling to false impressions of reality. When a lost love is involved, a brain can replace the world that is with the world that was.

Urszula was convinced that she was again traveling with Jan through Germany. He was right back beside her, and she was eager to share the odd little dreams she had been having, and how ludicrous it was for her to have imagined him dead.

Reality flooded in like a flash of light. She remembered that Jan was gone. And that pang of despair was enough to allow the roots to pounce and drag her off to Penult. Bells began clanging the instant she appeared in her cell.

A door opened and panel members rushed to their seats from the breezy, sunlit lounge where they waited for condemned hemisouls to return. It was an entirely different group this time. She supposed they must be working in shifts, swapping duties in an on-call room, like firemen waiting for alarms.

Urszula laughed. She could feel the tenuousness of her presence, the flimsiness of the roots hold on her. Her soul was not even entirely here yet. She reveled in watching the panel members scurry to their places, in a rush to proclaim their judgment. Only their absurd and silly rules prevented the guards from slaying her right then and there.

A man stepped forward to the brink of the pit and prattled off a rapid-fire set of charges, the same list she had heard before, only this time he actually made it to the end without her fading.

"Now you have heard the charges. You may present your defense to us."

"Your rules mean nothing to me. I spit on them and on you." She spat for real on the slick waxy surface that lined the walls of her pit. The blob ran down the hydrophobic surface like quicksilver, straight into the drain hole at the bottom.

The man glanced nervously back at the annoyed and impatient panel members. A quartet of executioners bearing long lances edged forward.

"Contempt!" said a man with wiry tufts.

"Does not apply to adversaries taken as prisoners of war," said the first man.

"I interpret her statement as a guilty plea," said a square-headed man with an angular nose and ears. His blocky haircut only accentuated his grotesque appearance. "Do we all concur?"

"On the contrary, I would take her words as a plea of nolo contendere," said a woman with long, silvery blonde bangs that fell just beneath her eyes.

"The same sentencing guidelines apply," said an exceedingly slender man whose body frame was lost beneath yards of billowy fabric. "She simply won't be mounting a defense."

Urszula craned her head upward.

"All of this is a sham. You have no authority over me. Everything you do is pointless. A game to inflate your importance to yourselves."

"She is making little sense," said a man with a bulging torso. "She may be mentally impaired. I suggest we proceed as we might with someone brain damaged or comatose."

"She means every word she says," said the square-headed man. "I see no cause for leniency."

A small, fidgety man with carefully coiffed curls cleared his throat. "I disagree. She does not appear to be contesting our judgment. We should grant her—"

"Not contesting?" said the square-headed man. "She is dripping with contempt."

"Clearly she does not accept the validity of our panel," said the woman with the bangs. "And frankly, neither do I. We should let her go. Look at her! She is nothing but a waif. She is harmless."

"Frankly Maia, I don't know why you choose to continue to serve on these panels when you clearly don't respect the—"

"Someone needs to point out their travesty!"

The silent members of the panel shared fretful glances and discrete head shakes.

"Look at her! She's smiling. She thinks this is all a joke," said the square-headed man.

"You down there," said the stout man. "Why are you smiling? You do realize we are about to rule on your execution, and I dare say, our vote will not be closely contested."

"Because," said Urszula. "I smell the sea."
Chapter 33: Interface

I was half-asleep when Zeke went off. The screeching almost didn't register with me this time. Maybe it was a case of the beast who cried wolf. Zeke had sounded too many false alarms. Whatever the reason, I just lay there, drowsing in my new hammock, unresponsive and honestly a little befuddled regarding the source and implications of this noise. It took Gaia stomping across the yard and dumping me out of the hammock to break me out of the spell.

Hitting the ground helped jolt me awake a bit more, but I was still pretty groggy. She stood over me, already dressed up in that blue thing she seemed to save only for the Pennies, glaring impatiently. My gaze lingered down low. My, she had hairy legs for such an ethereal being.

"It is time! She is there now. We must go!"

I got up and started running towards the porch.

"Where are you going?" she said. "Ezekiel is calling us."

"I need to get some things from the house."

"I told you. No weapons!"

"There's other stuff I want to bring. Food and a change of clothes, maybe."

"There is no time. Whatever you need I will provide you."

"Let me wash up a bit. I look like shit."

She eyed me up and down.

"No. Disheveled is good. We want you unkempt."

For some reason, I obeyed and went back to her and we made our way to the back of the house. I was in no condition to argue. My head was still super foggy. I would have thought that Zeke's shrieking would have been enough cut through the haze and snap me out of it, but it no longer had the same effect on me. I was actually beginning to appreciate its musical qualities. Zeke would have made a great heavy metal singer.

There was no need to wait around for him to shape up this time around. When we reached him, he was already fully inflated and rearing to go. We stepped onto the one huge petal that he had laid out for us. The rest were already folded and sealed. As always I expected my foot to go right through it. It looked as insubstantial as mist, but was as solid as the ground supporting us.

The chamber behind his petals was as narrow as one of those elevators they retro-fit into old buildings. He stopped screaming the instant Gaia touched his central stalk—that fleshy and bulbous protrusion that looked like something you would find in the center of a tulip.

Gaia grabbed my arm and yanked me a little closer to the middle. The open petal rose, sealing against the others with a zipping sound. He transitioned into his stealthy chariot mode, his membranes turning mostly transparent, retaining only the slightest milky translucence. Once he had cleared, he began to rise.

Gaia's eyes were closed but I kept mine open, only inches from her face. I had never had a chance to study her features so directly and so close before. She was always glaring at me. That stare of hers always made me blink or look away.

And she was pretty. Even stunning, you might say. She never wore a trace of makeup, but she didn't need it. She had died way older than me, but her face was unlined apart from a few laugh lines. Her brow was remarkably smooth.

I had noticed before how changeable her visage could be depending on mood, lighting and angles. She had one of those unusually expressive faces that could make her look like three different people from moment to moment.

There were times she looked tomboyish, or even homely. But at this moment, from this close and without those haughty eyes burning holes in me, she could have passed for a minor goddess.

In a flash, her eyes opened. She caught me staring and smiled. I almost fell over. Her radiance struck me like a tactical nuke. I had to look away, shivering. And I didn't even like this woman.

"Don't look down. Remember what happened last time."

"What?"

Of course, my gaze immediately swooped down to my feet and I swooned. While I had been counting the pores on Gaia's nose, Zeke had soared a good mile above the plains above the plains and was still accelerating upward. And yet I felt nothing tugging me beyond the normal pull of gravity. It was so disorienting. I dropped to my knees, dizzy.

She reached down and ran her fingers through my hair consolingly. It made me feel like a toddler, so I gathered my wits and forced myself to stand.

"They take some getting used to, these chariots."

I looked up at her, and the lighting had changed and she looked kind of normal again. Just a girl now. No goddess.

When we were several miles up the view outside suddenly twisted and stretched and we began to descend. The terrain outside had changed. Greener. Less rocky. Two shorelines were now visible on either side of a long and narrow island. Somehow we had jumped hundreds of miles in a flash and were now drifting down over Penult.

"I do hope Ezekiel's transparency holds up. I had a master look at him last I was in Loom. Though, fear not, the Penultians would not harm us if we were discovered. They know of Loom and respect us and our chariots. Still, I would prefer to control the circumstances of our meetings."

"How the fuck did we get here so fast?"

"Realms are constructs. Think of them as a series of stages. The interface we just left is like a gap between two curtains."

"So all of this is for show? Who's the audience?"

"Maybe I used a poor metaphor. Organizing into realms instills order. Imagine how things would be if the vetted were not kept separate from the unvetted? Do you realize how many unique souls have perished since the dawn of mankind? Along how wide a gradient a soul's maturity can be measured? Age has nothing to do with it. Some ninety year olds perish while still in their spiritual infancy."

"So nobody's watching?"

"I wouldn't say nobody."

Zeke touched down in a swath of slanting meadow with hardly a bump. His petals all peeled back and left us exposed in a glade surrounded by nothing but tall grass and wildflowers.

"What are we doing out in the boonies? Wasn't there supposed to be some prison?"

"Yes, well I prefer not to bring Ezekiel into heavily populated areas. He tends to be rather skittish among crowds. Don't worry. It's not far to walk. I'm sure we'll be greeted by—"

"Wait. He's not coming with us?"

"If we are here to abscond with their prisoner, it might be good to conceal our means of escape. No?"

"Abscond? I thought this was a negotiation."

"If all goes well. Yes. But we must be prepared for other less than optimal outcomes."

"Jesus! Okay. So where do we go from here?"

Gaia reached into her bag and skeins and pulled out the topmost set. A flash of incredulity obliterated her smugness.

"Incredible."

"What's wrong?"

She looked at me and held up the lengths of knotted together strands gripped in her fingers.

"Okay. I have no idea what I'm looking at. I can't read those things the way you can."

"She's not here. Again."

***

I just kind of stood there and gaped at Gaia.

"So why did we come?"

"She was here. But while we were en route she faded. Again. Quite remarkable. I don't know how she does it. This is not an ordinary soul."

"I keep telling you that. You never believe me. So what do we do now? Go back?"

Gaia's eyes flitted about the meadows and rills.

"Perhaps not. Her skein looks extremely unstable. She should return soon. Perhaps we can even anticipate her next plunge and make our move before she arrives."

"I think it's time you clued me in on what 'moves' you intend to make. How is this all going to happen?"

"Let me worry about the specifics. You just be your natural self and everything will work out fine. Just remember, no weapons. I don't even want you lifting your finger against anyone."

"That's not exactly being myself."

"I would strongly suggest that you engage in no acts that might be construed as hostile. The protection Ezekiel and I can provide you has limits."

"Then tell me to mind my manners. Don't tell me to be myself."

Gaia took a deep breath.

"Emotions are fine. You can be angry. Just keep it contained."

"Fine. Let's do it. I'm ready. I've been ready."

A flying machine rose from behind a rise of meadow, skimming silently only about a hundred feet above the fields. Zeke went flat and thrust up a wave of fake meadow that blended perfectly with the real one.

"Get down!"

Gaia grabbed my wrist and hauled me down to the ground.

"But I thought we wanted to meet up with them."

"Not yet. When the time is right."

"We're just gonna sit around and wait. Again?"

"That's correct."

"Fuck."

"There is a large road just over that rise that is regularly patrolled and leads into the city. But we need Miss Urszula to be present. Until then, we cannot allow ourselves to be seen."

***

Gaia had us excavate a little hidey hole beneath Zeke's best impression of a grassy knoll. She showed me how to compress the dense mass of roots that lay close beneath the surface in this landscape, shrinking inch thick tendrils to the width of cobwebs so that they could be parted with a swipe of the hand.

Bilbo Baggins would have been proud of her interior decorating. In a major concession to me, she avoided the kind of fleshy, living architecture that she seemed to prefer in favor of conventional walls and ceilings and floors. We had simulated Persian carpets on the floor, sleeping mats resembling futons and a low table where we could sit on the rug and have our fake tea and coffee.

Zeke arched over us, providing us a one way translucent ceiling which allowed us to watch the clouds drift by and freak out whenever one of the Pennies' flying contraptions strayed too close.

Along one wall Gaia had emptied half her bag of glowing skeins, arranging them like some kind of modern art installation, little tangled islands of strands crisscrossing and connecting with other little islands.

She stood and studied her work with consternation.

"I wish I had a real loom at my disposal. This one has so many gaps, it's difficult to interpret what is happening."

I just shrugged.

"Don't look at me. All I see is a bunch of pretty colored glow-in-the-dark yarn."

"I've already shown you the basics. These are relationships. Connections between souls, both perceived and not."

"Yeah. That's about as far as I get."

"Well, all you need to know is that your friend's strand remains very dark, but it doesn't seem to ever go black, or at least not for very long. That is very unusual, considering her circumstances."

"So how long we gonna be here?"

"It's very hard to say. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"I wish you'd tell me exactly what you plan to do."

"Trust me. It is better that you not know. Everything will work out better with you in the dark, reacting to circumstances as you normally would."

"That doesn't exactly make me feel comfortable."

"I don't want you to be comfortable."

Just then her makeshift loom started to vibrate and hum. The strands mimicked the sound of a voice, strummed and bowed.

"Gaia," it said, with the stentorian rumble of a hundred bass fiddles.

***

"Scheisse! He has found me."

"Who?" I said.

"Gaia. Why are you there?"

Gaia scurried to the wall and began ripping down skeins. Those that remained continued to vibrate and speak.

"Gaia. Come home. You should not be—"

But Gaia had swept her arm across the remaining skeins and raked them off the wall into a heap on the floor, muting the voice completely. She stuffed the strands back in their sack, her eyes frantic, her breathing agitated.

I just sat there, kind of stunned, my heart beating fast.

"Who was that?"

"Nobody."

"That didn't sound like nobody. Was that... the big guy?"

Gaia's eyes looked at me, her eyes wide, trying to suppress her laughter and failing.

"Big guy? You mean God? No, that was no God. That was Friedrich. He is nobody."

"So who is he? Your dad? Your boss?"

"Friedrich is Friedrich. Nothing but a busy body, always sticking his nose in other people's affairs. Since he himself has never ventured from Loom, he somehow decides that nobody else should, as well."

"Are you not supposed to be here?"

"The Powers-That-Be can be rather arbitrary with regard to what should or should not be done, what is in and out of bounds for one like me. You don't need to worry about it. I certainly don't."

"You seemed pretty frantic a minute ago for someone who doesn't care."

"Friedrich is annoying. The last thing I want is to sit here and listen to him scold me. Those strands weren't readable anyhow. We will rely on Ezekiel. He will tell us when your friend returns. And the instant she does, we shall pounce. We should have time to work out an arrangement once she is here. With the brevity of her visits, I can't imagine the Penultians had much chance to get very far with their legal proceedings."

"I sure hope you know what you're doing."

Gaia sat down on the rug, brought her knees up close to her chin and looked square into my eyes.

"Remember this, James. Even if things don't go perfectly. We have the means to fix them. No outcome, no matter how poor, is permanent.

"Sheesh! Somehow, that doesn't inspire a whole lot of confidence."
Chapter 34: Wissant

Urszula faded back to life with unprecedented ferocity, once more tearing free of the roots' grip before her would-be executioners could finish their deliberations and resolve her fate. Her soul came crashing out of the after lands back into her earthly manifestation in the cab of Bernard's lorry.

She gasped and lurched, smacking Bernard's shoulder with a randomly flung arm. When her eyes popped open and she spied tall grass and pavement out the side window, she cried out in joy, exultant in beating the Pennies at their game once again. The outburst startled Bernard and caused him to swerve into the breakdown lane.

"Are you okay?"

"Never better," she said, beaming. "Well ... that's a lie. But yes, I am good."

"I am bringing you to a hospital."

"No! What for? I am fine."

"You are not fine. I thought you were napping but then I looked over and saw you twitching in your seat. I thought you might be having a seizure. I pulled over and tried to rouse you, but you did not respond. Your pulse. It was strong, but so slow."

Urszula shrugged. "Yes. It happens."

"Do you suffer from ... epilepsy?"

"No. Not at all. What you saw was ... well, it is hard to explain. You see, I am a Hemisoul."

But Urszula had known from the moment she first peered into his eyes that he had never experienced the after lands. She knew the look when she saw it—the backdrop of snug complacency and smug naiveté that can only be eradicated by a visit to the bowels of Root. This man had the eyes of a virgin soul.

"Hemisoul?"

That was a slip up. She hated having to explain these things to the uninitiated. Regardless, she took the plunge, putting it much the way she had explained it to Jan.

"I am with one foot in the grave. What you see sitting here beside you is the other foot. Just be thankful that your soul is all in one place. Half here and half there is not a good way to be. Your soul feels like a ping-pong ball."

"You are a ping-pong ball with two feet, one in the grave?"

"Yes. Something like that."

Bernard shook his head. "You are one strange little woman. But I like you. There is something about you. You have this ... glow ... about you ... an aura."

Urszula smirked. "I see the angels have already invaded your brain. Filled it with mush."

She looked at him and could see the young man he used to be, hidden behind the beard and the loose flesh around his eyes and jowls. He had a good heart, this one. For someone like her who had been around so many who were stunted or withered or broken, it did not take long to spot the good souls.

"I know another man named Bern."

His eyes flared.

"Oh, but no one calls me Bern. And don't you dare call me Bernie. The name is Bernard."

"I am just saying. He is a friend of the friend I hope I will be seeing in England. Though, Bern doesn't seem to like me very much. He once called me a demon."

"That was not very nice of him. You don't seem very demonic to me. I have no worries at all that you might try to possess me or steal my soul. I mean, who would want it?"

"You would be surprised. A soul like yours would be in high demand in some of the places I have been. Don't sell yourself short, Bernard. Me, I am far less valuable. Lower quality. Damaged goods."

"I have to say, you are certainly one of the most interesting young ladies I have ever taken to Calais."

Her eyebrows rise.

"I thought you said you never took hitchhikers. Company policy."

He grinned.

"I make rare exceptions from time to time."

"For very special ... what do they call them? Lot lizards?"

"Absolutely not!" said Bernard, emphatically. "I never."

"I am only teasing you."

They rounded a point of land and the ocean became visible beyond a rim of cliffs. The sight of all that glistening water made Urszula shiver.

"We are almost at my friend's place," said Bernard. "I am not sure if he will be around. I am not aware of his schedule these days. He has become a little ... erratic."

"The fisherman?"

"Yes. The fisherman. If you want to call him that."

"Does this mean I could be in England in another day or so?"

"Perhaps. If he's around and still involved in the smuggling business."

Urszula's heart soared. No root had a chance to get close to her now. Only this narrow ribbon of water lay between her and the land where, as far as she knew, her good friend James called home.

***

Bernard pulled into a sandy, scrubby lot with wooden steps leading down a steep bank to the beach. The slope was studded with chunks of concrete rubble—the remains of Nazi bunkers and gun emplacements. Nestled among the dunes below was a cluster of shacks and sheds, separated from the breaking surf by a good hundred meters of sand. A rusty, old tractor was parked beside a row of small fishing boats high and dry, askew on their hulls.

Bernard hopped out of the cab, leaving his truck running and went over to the platform atop the stairs, waving down to a heavy-set man seated on some weathered, grey decking between the sheds. The man glanced up and squinted but made no effort to acknowledge them.

"Ah! You're in luck. That lard-ass sitting down there, he is Gregor. He can take care you where you need to go. Trafficking is how he makes his living these days. Not from fishing, that is for sure."

"Why aren't those boats in the water? Where are the docks?"

Bernard smirked. "No worries. It's how they do things in Calais because the bay is so shallow. They call those boats flobarts. They use tractors to haul them in and out of the water."

"They look so small."

"Yes. Not really built for channel crossings. But that doesn't stop Gregor. In good weather they're fine."

"Can you come down and introduce me?"

"Sorry, but I can't. I need to reach Dunkirque before the warehouse closes. But no worries. Gregor can be a bit of a grouch, but he's all bark, no bite. You are more than a match for him. And he knows English. He used to live in Jersey."

"Okay. Well ... um...."

She stood there, looking at him. Parting was always awkward for Urszula. Good manners did not come naturally to someone who had died so young and spent so much time in the Deeps with a mob of psychopaths and sociopaths. But Bernard at least deserved the basics. He had been nice to her and so she was fearful for his welfare. Any second now she half expected a bullet to come slamming into his brain. The sooner he went on his way, the better.

"Thank you ... for the ride."

"My pleasure. I do wish you the best of luck. I hope you find whoever and whatever you are seeking."

He climbed back into his lorry and slammed the door. The big diesel engine drummed as he pulled back onto the road. She held her breath until he was out of sight and out of earshot of any potential explosion or gunshot. She exhaled with great relief when it was clear that he too had escaped harm.

***

Urszula picked her way down a series of ledges to the strange collection of boats, sheds and shacks. She found Gregor sitting on a barnacled beach chair shaded by a tattered umbrella lashed to a stove pipe. He tracked her approach with frequent glances, even as he held a book open in his lap pretending to read.

An intermittent pounding could be heard over the wind. Some work was being done on the roofing of one of the sheds. Occasionally, a head would bob up over the roof line and bits of old shingle would go flying off.

When her angle of approach made it clear that she was no mere beachcomber or trespasser and would not bypass his shack, he put the book down and scowled, his eyes latching onto hers. She knew in that instant that this was a man who had flirted with roots.

Tufts of grizzled hair flew in the wind. His face was deeply creased and very tan, accentuating the thick white stubble frosting his cheeks and chin. He looked to be in his late sixties if she had to guess. He watched her with a mixture of bemusement and irritation.

Garish cover art suggested that the book in his lap was a mass market thriller. Urszula knew the genre well. She had used the same sort of books to practice her English and get up to speed with the ways of the living world. She related better to the world of spies and assassins than to the land of romance.

A younger man, bearded and with a mop of tousled blonde hair straddled the peak of the nearest shed whacking away with a hammer. A heap of splintered cedar shakes littered the sand below him. He gave no indication that he had even noticed her.

Gregor's leering gaze suggested that he had already diminished, dehumanized and dismissed her and she was nothing more to him than a hank of female flesh. If a fellow Duster had ever dared look at her like that she would have him on the ground with a knee to his throat to teach him some respect. But things were different here. Again, she summoned her best manners.

"You are Mr. Gregor?"

"What's it to you?"

"Your friend, Bernard, referred me."

"Friend? I barely know the cunt."

"He said you could take me. Across."

"Oh? Across where? The Atlantic? Where would you like to go? Martinique, perhaps? Like Columbus? Panama? Brazil?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you looking for the cruise port my dear? Do you wish to book a cabin for a luxury cruise?"

"Bernard said you could take me. You take people ... to England."

"Bah. I am a fisherman. You want a boat ride, go to Calais and find yourself a ferry."

Urszula looked around. There was a heap of old nets linked to a chain of Styrofoam buoys, but no evidence that this was an active fishing operation.

"Bernard said you could take me across for five hundred Euros."

"He did, did he? Well maybe he should take you in his truck. I'm not taking people across anymore. Especially not just one person. And definitely not for five hundred Euros."

"Then how much do you want?"

"Nothing. Because I am not taking you."

"I can give you seven hundred."

"No."

"Seven fifty."

"I told you, I am not doing this anymore. Not for just one person. A group maybe. And these days, with Syria, with Isis ... Daesh ... there is too much attention. Too much risk. So no. I can't help you."

Urszula fought to stay positive. She could not afford another slip up. The next minute she spent in that holding cell in Penult might be her last.

"You think about it. Take me at your convenience. Okay?"

"I am not changing my mind. I am done with you. Now go away."

Urszula bit her lip and studied his face, trying to ascertain whether he really meant what he said or if he was simply a hard bargainer.

"I will be back. I will give you time to think about the eight hundred Euros I am offering."

***

Urszula strolled along the beach until she found another set of rickety wooden steps leading up through a breach in a scarp of consolidated sand and clay. When she reached the road, she turned north towards the outskirts of a settlement.

She had already decided to up the ante with Mr. Gregor. She retained almost two thousand Euros of Jan's cash. She would offer it all to the man. How could he refuse?

After all, getting across the Channel was her top priority. Once she crossed, she could scrounge and scavenge the way she had all the way across Eastern Europe.

But first, she would have herself a good last meal. A full stomach would make it much easier to surrender all that money. She didn't need anything fancy. She was after quantity not quality.

One modest but filling meal should not impact her holdings enough to affect the sweetness of her offer to Mr. Gregor. Maybe she could find a grocer and buy some dark bread and hard cheese to take along as well.

She walked the few kilometers into the village of Wissant—a place where weekend tourists seemed to greatly outnumber working people. That was not a great sign for frugality, but even the most touristic of towns had places in the back streets for locals to buy things more cheaply.

She wandered back away from the shore, but the entire settlement was only a few streets wide. Though dense with hotel restaurants, these eateries all looked a bit too fancy for her budget. She came across an outdoor café that seemed a bit more austere than the other, but she needed something more substantial than the coffee and pastry it offered.

A sandy-haired woman glanced from her cappuccino and smiled a little too broadly. Urszula glared back. She reached up and smoothed her tangled hair. She could only imagine what a spectacle her unkempt appearance made, though wasn't sure why she cared.

She continued on, but it quickly became clear that she had chosen the wrong direction, heading deeper into a rather vacant residential area. This was no real community but a place where people retreated on weekends and holidays.

She doubled back towards the shore to find that the sandy-haired woman from the café had been tailing her. The fuzz on the back of her neck prickled.

The woman wore the same disconcerting smile she had assaulted Urszula with at the café. A gaudy diamond bracelet dangled from her wrist. She wore slinky pale slacks and a striped blouse that looked a bit too chic and expensive for this town. Even her hair seemed a little too perfect.

This was no coincidental encounter. She kept her gaze fixed on Urszula, smiling calmly as she approached.

Urszula picked up a loose cobble about the size of an apple widened her stance and waited. The woman's stride did not falter.

"Easy," said the woman. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Stay back!"

The woman's smile turned quizzical. She slowed her pace, but continued to close the gap between them.

"Keep your distance!" she said, her voice shrill.

The woman beamed, exposing a set of perfectly whitened teeth.

"Do you even know who I am?"

"I have a pretty good idea."

"Come. Let me buy you something to eat. You must be famished. Please, put down that rock."

"How do I know you haven't come to kill me?"

"Don't be silly. No one wants you dead here. What good would that do?"

"But Janusz and Chantal. You have no problem killing them? Why is that?"

She wrinkled her brow. "Who?

"My ... friends."

The women smirked.

"The Polish slacker? And that shopkeeper? Did you actually think of them as friends?"

"Janusz. He was."

"Tampered souls, both of them. We had special warrants. Any soul touched by our adversaries is fair game. But no worries, I expect they placed well. I doubt either will see the Deeps."

"So why not kill me, too? Right now?"

"Your case demands a resolution in the proper venue. We are a civilized society. Execution isn't my thing anyway."

"And what is your ... thing?"

"I am a messenger and facilitator. A corrector of aberrations. You know you don't belong in this realm. You do know that, don't you sweetie?"

She lifted the stone. "Don't call me sweetie."

"Oh dear. How about some food. Yes? You deserve a nice last meal."

"Last meal?"

Her eyes were wide and earnest and not at all unkind. Her righteous attitude only annoyed Urszula all the more.

"You know as well as I do what awaits you on the other side. Come have a bite with me. We'll chat. Maybe you can help us clear up some matters of interest to our military folks."

"You want me to be your spy."

"Of course we would ask. It would be silly not to. You have access to the inner circles. Any cooperation on your part will be certainly be considered by the tribunal. They might consider a lesser sentence."

Urszula passed her rock from hand to hand.

"I am not a traitor."

"Of course not. We are at peace now. Why not compare notes? I can share a few things about us. Our technologies. You can bring that back to your people. Get some brownie points."

"Brownie points?"

"Oh sweetie. I keep forgetting that English is not your mother tongue. It means accolades. Or maybe credit."

"I told you not to call me sweetie."

"Listen. This is the end of the road for you. You are never going to make it to England. Why not stop your running and have a nice meal with me? Share what you feel comfortable. Nothing more. And we will take it all into account."

"You think you can stop me from going to England?"

"Yes. I believe so. And with mere words. Because I can tell you right now that you won't find what you're looking for in the UK."

"How do you know what I'm looking for?"

"Clearly, you are hoping to meet up with your friend in the UK. But that's just pointless. Because James Moody is dead."

The word struck her hard, but she refused to absorb it.

"I don't believe you."

"It is true. We had him executed by special warrant over a month ago, in Scotland. But in your case, justice will be served in the customary fashion as we have you in custody. Unless, of course, you wish to cooperate with us."

"James cannot be dead! You are just saying this to bring me down."

"You want to see a death certificate? An obituary? A picture of his grave? His corpse?"

Urszula's fury spread to the hand holding the stone. She gripped it tighter, digging her fingernails into its crevices.

"Left to your own devices, you would have found out soon enough. But I am a Facilitator. I expedite things. All this running and chasing is pointless. Look at you. You are not having a good time here. You look a mess. You can help us out or accept your sentence and move on to your next realm. Who knows, maybe you'll wind up in a better place."

Urszula's scowl deepened until her chin trembled.

"Facilitate this!"

Urszula swung the cobble, slamming it into the side of the Facilitator's head. The woman's eyes went foggy. She crumpled.

***

Urszula crouched down and went through the woman's purse, removing a thick roll of crisp hundred Euro notes that would add handsomely to her bargaining position with the fishing boat captain.

A thin trickle of blood seeped down the woman's brow into her perfect hair. Urszula checked her breathing and found it stable. As tempting as it was to send her off into a new realm, she could not bring herself to harm the woman any further. Instead, she dragged her behind a dumpster and hustled back to the main road.

She suppressed her aversion to crowds and found a take away shop in a busier part of town. There, she ordered a large paper cone filled with fish and chips, a bottle of sparkling water and a fistful of macaroons. The ocean was brassy with the sinking sun as she made her way back to Mr. Gregor's boat.

From a distance, the stilted collection of shacks and sheds with their bright white stucco seemed like a poor man's castle. Proximity revealed the truth. Her food was mostly gone by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs leading down to the beach.

The old man was no longer sitting on the deck with his book. The younger, bearded man from the rooftop now held the rickety throne, rocking back, guzzling a bottle of beer.

"Where is Mr. Gregor?"

"He goes home," said the young man, his English, much more heavily accented.

"Could you please fetch him? Tell him I have a proposition. I can give two thousand Euros for transport across the Channel. I will pay cash. In advance. And maybe even a bonus if he gets me there safely. Can you tell him that? See what he says? I will reward you as well."

"No need for call the old man."

"Excuse me?"

"I will take you. Two thousand. Plus bonus. Two hundred more. Yes?"
Chapter 35: Across

From what Urszula could gathered from their fragmented conversation, Gregor's nephew Michel was new to the trafficking business. His uncle had only recently given up the trade after a few too many close calls with Border Force patrol boats. Michel's English was quite terrible but good enough for basic communications.

"So far I have luck take for small people, one or two. The Force like for go after only big boat with many refugee."

"Good. Let's hope it stays that way."

Urszula strolled alongside his tractor as he dragged one of the stubby little fishing boats with overlapping planks over the sand. As they neared the water, another young man came running down the beach. The new fellow sported a top knot of jet black hair and a mischievous grin. Clearly, he and Michel were in cahoots in this fledgling trafficking business.

The new guy thrust out his hand for Urszula to shake.

"Hi! I am Ziggy. I am the crew."

Urszula just stared at his hand. She was not in the mood for touching strangers.

His grin faded. "Is something wrong?"

She turned away and strolled up to the glistening border between damp and dry where only the boldest waves came to lap at the pebbles.

"This girl is business only," said Michel, laughing.

Once the boat was buoyant, Michel unhitched a chain and returned the tractor to the dunes while Ziggy shoved the boat deeper into the surf. Ziggy clambered aboard when the water was chest deep and dropped an anchor to keep the waves from beaching the flobart. Ziggy waved for Urszula to join him.

"Now you have me come?" said Urszula, incredulous.

"Sorry!" Ziggy winced and grinned.

She stepped reluctantly into the cold water just as a wave surged up and soaked her jeans up to the waist. The swells were gentle, but she struggled to board the tossing boat before Ziggy reached down and grabbed her hand, hauling her up with one firm pull.

"Now I make you shake my hand." He winked.

Michel parked the tractor at the base of the scarp and came jogging back, knapsack bouncing against his shoulder. He splashed through the shallows, grabbed the gunwale and vaulted on board.

The surf toyed with the flobart, tossing and spinning it around its anchor line.

"You are sure this boat is big enough to cross?" said Urszula.

"No," said Ziggy, laughing as Michel struggled to start the sputtering engine. Finally, the motor coughed to life and Ziggy pulled the anchor.

"Relax," said Michel. "Enjoy. We take you now. We agree. Two mille, yes? Plus the bonus?"

"Here is your two thousand right now." She handed over the thick wad she had pre-counted. "Get me over there safe and you get the rest I promised."

Michel said something to Ziggy in French and they both laughed.

"What is so funny?" said Urszula, miffed to be the butt of a joke she couldn't understand.

"Nothing," said Ziggy. "No worries, miss. You are in good hands."

***

As they got underway, Urszula planted herself in a small cubby next to the hold. The smell permeating the narrow space suggested it had been used to store fish. But it didn't bother her stomach one bit—a good sign for the voyage ahead.

When they reached open water past a jetty, the craft began to heave. Michel and Ziggy seemed able to handle the boat to minimize the tossing. Nice to know that her little crew knew what they were doing.

Dusk gave way to starry night. Urszula tried her best to think nice thoughts. How James was not dead. How James could not be dead. How James was a survivor. For James to be gone from this realm was unimaginable. Impossible. Untenable.

The roots churning restlessly between the worlds of the dead and the living knew better. But ultimately, her optimism prevailed. James would be there on the other side of this water. There was no other possibility.

Michel left Ziggy in control of the wheel and hunched down next to Urszula.

"We are putting the lights off now. Now. Already. We can see the Dover."

"Dover? Is that where you are taking me?"

"No. Too much secure. Too much Border Force. We go to Folkestone."

"But that is still UK? Yes?"

"Yes. Of course. Is just a little south from the Dover."

"Good."

"You are refugee? Yes?" Michel asked.

"Yes. Sure. Why not?"

"From where? You are not Syrian. No?"

"No."

"Where you from?"

"Does it matter?"

"No. It doesn't matter. Not if you have enough Euro."

He chuckled.

***

Michel and Ziggy dropped their anchor in the shallows twenty meters out from the beach.

"You want me to swim?"

"You don't need swim. Is not so deep."

"Alright." She leaned over the side and stuck her hand in the water. It was quite cold.

"Quick!" said the usually chill Michel, suddenly nervous. "We need to leave."

"Here is your bonus." She handed over another three hundred from the Euros that she had gotten from the Pennie facilitator. Her little assault and robbery in Wissant had proven quite the windfall, more than doubling the thousand plus Euro stash she had retained from Jan.

"Thank you," said Michel, slipping the wad into his jacket. "Now you go."

He helped her over the side and she splashed down into the cold surf, the water well over her waist.

As soon as her feet hit the stony bottom, Ziggy hauled anchor. Michel slammed the boat into gear and gunned the engine.

"Good luck!" Michel shouted over the din as the boat churned away.

Urszula slogged her way through the surf and onto the pebbled beach. On a roadway clinging to the slope before her, a vehicle came around a curve and pulled over. Urszula picked up her pace.

A door opened. A powerful beam of light raked the beach.

She sprinted towards the greenery, diving into a thick copse of shrubs. She burrowed beneath them, wedging herself tight beneath the thorny branches, not caring how they scratched and tore at her skin. She wriggled as deep as she could and waited. She heard voices. Two men came down the road, shining their torches along the strand.

She worried she might have left tracks. The beach she had crossed harbored more pebbles than sand, but upon leaving the surf, she had dripped water with every step.

She lay still and kept her breathing smooth and calm, listening to the men work their way back and forth, at times stepping only a few meters from her hiding place.

The searchers did not give up easily. Each time she thought they had gone away, she would hear them again and the light would rake across the shrubbery. An hour must have passed before she heard the vehicle on the cliff fire up and rumble away.

She waited a little longer, until she was sure she was alone, before extricating herself from the thorns. She was sopping wet and covered with grit. Her blouse hung in shreds. She could not let herself be seen in public. So she turned away from the lights of the town and headed in the other direction, into darkness.

***

Hours later, by the light of a rising moon, she had made her way many kilometers from the sea. She came upon a campground in a nature preserve bordered by farms, dense with caravans and tents.

Dim solar footlights lit the pathways. The place was silent but for a gently strummed guitar emanating from the far side of the compound.

She wandered in, attracted by the clotheslines she had spotted here and there, hung up between trees. She scuttled over to the nearest and grabbed a random armload of damp clothing, undiscerning.

Embers faded in a nearby fire pit. A metal skillet lay on the ground with some leftover crumbs of fried fish. She scraped the pan clean with her fingernails and bustled off into the trees where she gulped down the morsels, licking the grease off her fingers.

Standing in the moonlit glade, she stripped off her old clothes and pulled on her booty. But the stolen clothes proved far too big for her. She considered returning to the encampment to abscond with another batch, but opted to improvise, rolling up the cuffs of some khaki trousers and cinching a belt tight over the folds of excess fabric at her waist.

When she buttoned up the shirt its tails dropped well below her knees. She felt like a little girl playing dress up with her father's clothes. Leave it to her to steal the laundry of some giant of a man. At least they were dry and clean and free of holes. She left her old clothes, torn and spotted with blood, strewn across the ground and made for the lights of the nearest town.

***

She hadn't intended to return to Folkestone, but there was absolutely nothing but hedgerows and fields in the other direction. Walking alone through that empty expanse only made her more suspicious.

Only when she passed under a street light did she notice the garish and distinctive blue and yellow striping of her new shirt. Her clownish appearance would make it difficult to blend. She would need to locate transportation quickly, before she was noticed by or reported to the border authorities.

The sun was just spreading its rosy glow over a glassy sea when she reached the edge of the business district. She wandered up and down the streets looking for anything that looked like a train station or a bus depot.

She no longer worried about Penny kidnappers or assassins. They didn't matter anymore. The encounter with the foolish woman in Wissant had only empowered her. She was becoming too tired to care.

She still had just over a thousand Euros left over from her thievery, plenty to get to Brynmawr, even if it belonged to the farthest reaches of Britain. She had little concept of UK geography. She knew the country was an island. How far could Brynmawr possibly be?

She roamed the narrow, cobbled streets of Folkestone were cobbled hoping to find a shop open this early. Some coffee and a pastry would go a long way to quashing her gnawing hunger.

It was hard for her to believe she was finally in the UK. What were the odds? It pleased her more than she ever felt possible. What would that arrogant Penny-loving bitch think of her prospects of staying alive now? No root dare touch her in her current state of triumph.

Not that she was lacking in doubts or regrets. James and Jan circled her mind like two doomed asteroids. Who cares if both were dead? They still existed. Somewhere. She would see both again, some day. Somewhere. And besides, James might not even be dead yet. She still clung to a little speck of hope.

A curvy black car came careening around a corner. Block letters in garish orange emblazoned its side—J.J. Taxis. She hailed it the only way she knew how, stepping in front of it, forcing the driver to slam on his brakes.

"Jaysus love! You want to be more careful. Just raise a hand next time. I would have stopped for you. You're my first ride of the day."

The driver was middle-aged, with freckles and ginger hair patched with grey. Wire rimmed glasses perched on his nose. A tweed flat cap slouched on his head.

"You know Brynmawr?"

"Brynmawr? You mean the one in Wales? Are you daft? Get yourself to London. Take a train. What are you thinking hiring a cab?"

"I can pay. With Euros."

"Love. Do you realize what I would have to charge to take you to Wales?"

"How about eight hundred Euros?"

"Please. I can pull in well more than a thousand quid on a good day just bopping around town."

"Nine hundred."

His eyes wavered.

"Have to admit, things have been slow of late. Alright. Why not? Nothing wrong with a little adventure discount. Been a while since I've been up to Wales."

She hoped the front door and took a seat beside him.

The man parted his lips as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it.

"You don't like me sitting here?"

"No, it's fine. It's just not the usual."

"You will find, I am not your typical customer."

"No. I expect you're not."

***

The taxi blazed across the green fields like a tin comet. He drove so fast it felt like flying, but it didn't stop the driver from glancing and leering at her constantly. She found his behavior far more irksome and intrusive than Jerome or Bernard. Sitting up front had been a mistake.

"Forgive me for asking, but ... those clothes you're wearing, they're not actually your own are they?"

"Never mind where I get them. You just drive, okay?"

"Just making small talk my dear. No reason to get snippy."

"My clothes should not concern you. These are warm and dry. That's all that matters."

"Whatever you say, love. We've all had our walks of shame."

"What are you talking about?"

"You are wearing clothes that seem to have belonged to a large man. Forgive me, but I can only assume that you are escaping some sort of awkward situation."

"Is not your job to assume anything. I am only paying you to drive."

"Just saying, if you would like me to stop somewhere where you can get something that actually fits you, just say the word."

"Just drive. Okay?"

He sighed.

"Since we'll be riding together for such a long trip, I think it's only proper we introduce ourselves. Dexter Morris is the name. But you can see that from my placard."

"That's nice."

"And you are...?"

"Just call me Urszula."

Again, here was another complete stranger acting a little too friendly and familiar too soon. She hoped whatever spell was making every person she met want to be her friend would just go away. She preferred strangers to remain strangers. It was better for their health.

"So what business do you have up in Brynmawr?"

"I am going to see a friend."

"Girl friend? Boy friend?"

"Does it matter? He is a man. But I don't know for sure he will be there. But the people there, his friends, they would know. They know him well. They could tell me where to find him."

"So you're just planning to show up out of the blue and look for him?"

"Yes."

"Pardon me, but you do realize there is this thing called a telephone? You might have heard of such a thing? You can call ahead. Text. Save yourself nine hundred quid."

"I have no number. And I ... I don't know how."

"Excuse me?"

"I have a mobile. But I don't know how to use it. It used to light up but now it has gone black."

"Oh my. That's called running out of battery, dearie. Have you tried charging it?"

"You mean the wire thing with the prongs?

"Oh dearie. What cave did you crawl out of?"

"I am from a small village. We didn't have such things."

"From your accent I surmise that would be somewhere in Eastern Europe. Are you familiar with the concept of flush toilets?"

"You are making fun of me now."

"Sorry. It's just so unusual to find a young person so unconnected to the modern world. It's quite refreshing, actually."

"Maybe, because ... this is not my world."

"Yes, well ... can't say I'm thrilled with the place myself."

"It's pleasant enough. I just don't belong here."

"Love, I have to admit I am beginning to feel bad about allowing you to go through with this. A more honorable man would have driven you straight to a train station. You see, the problem with just showing up in Wales unannounced is what if your man friend's not there? For instance, what if he's in London? What will you do then? Spring for another taxi? You don't seem to be the independently wealthy type. It just seems awful chancy to just go there on a presumption. I should not have to tell you that taxis are not the most economical mode of transportation."

"His friends will help me find him, I am sure. They are ... very good friends ... he says."

"Alright. I'm not going to tell you how to run your life."

"How close are we now?"

"Close? We're not close at all. We've only just passed Sevenoaks, my dear. Hours to go yet. We're still south and east of London. Do you happen to have an address for the place you're trying to find?"

"I think it is called Coom Grid farm, or something like that."

"I'm going to need a little more to go on my sweets."

"You just take us to Brynmawr. Let me worry about the rest."

***

Each Welsh road sign and mileage post they passed made Urszula's heart beat a little harder. She had never been here before, but still had the peculiar sense that she was nearing home. The sensation was much like the comfort of returning to her mesa after a successful raid, or spotting a settlement from afar after crossing the wastes in the Deeps.

That feeling was fueled by the prospect of seeing James. She couldn't entirely discount what the Penny had told her. That accounted for the butterflies. It undercut her eagerness just enough to spoil her full enjoyment of the moment.

Nevertheless, it felt good to be rolling so fast and so far. No more plodding through the fringes of towns. Things were happening now. Her destination was now in reach. Unattainable goals were being attained. If only Jan were here to share.

They reached Brynmawr early in the afternoon. Mr. Dexter pulled his taxi up along a tiny square full of benches and beeches. Again, she was loose with her money, tipping him with an extra hundred Euros.

Mr. Dexter offered to exchange the remainder of her cash at a rate quite favorable to him. She didn't worry about being cheated. If money was that important to him, let him have his pleasure. She just needed a bit of local currency for odds and ends.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to inquire about this farm you're looking for? I'd be happy to stick around and help you find it."

"No worries. I am in no hurry. But thank you."

He tipped his hat and pulled away from the curb. She waved him off with a genuine smile. She had few concerns over his welfare. His behavior had not seemed quite as stilted as some of her prior road acquaintances. He evinced no sign of a puppet master.

She suspected as well that the Friends had shifted strategies and were no longer targeting casual acquaintances. But extra precautions might be prudent when the time came to meet up with James.

Finding Cwm Gyrdd farm proved much simpler than she had expected. Even though she garbled the name, the first couple she approached in the town center seemed to know immediately what she was trying to say and pointed her in the right direction down the road. They warned her that since the fire, the farm wasn't quite the cheese making operation it once had been, and they would not likely be looking to hire any immigrant labor.

She passed a few clothing shops on her way through the business district and was tempted to go in and buy something less grotesque and more presentable. Having clothes that actually fit would make it far easier to walk. She wouldn't have to be pulling up her pants every other step.

But she was too eager to reach the farm to tolerate a pause. She needed this quest to be over. Even if James was not there, his friends would know where to find him. And if the worst turned out to be true, it was time to stop running.

On the edge of the commercial district, with the countryside visible before her, she kicked off her oversized and blister inducing boots. The wind was brisk and the air a bit chilly but the sun had warmed the pavement enough to make it a pleasure to press her soles against the macadam. Going barefoot was such a relief that she even skipped for a spell. She felt buoyant and drunk with expectations.

Coming around a curve she found an oval sign dangling from a post and chain. The chain was rusty and the paint was flaking, but it clearly read: 'Cwm Gyrdd Farm.' The mere sight of it made her heart float.

Up a swerving drive of gravel and dust she could see a little beige house and the charred timber frame of what had been a large barn. There were some temporary-looking structures up there as well, sheds with walls of painted sheet metal. They looked shiny and new.

Frilly blue flowers lined the drive, buzzing with honeybees. And there were goats in the paddocks, though not as many as she expected having heard James go on about the place.

Just as she reached the front walk, a door swung open and a robust middle-aged woman with thick locks of chestnut hair, greying at the temples, stepped out onto the porch. She seemed more bemused than wary, no doubt owing to Urszula's clownish attire.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"You ... you must be ... are you Miss Helen?"

The woman squinted and smiled.

"Why, yes I am. And how would you know that?"

"I am Urszula, a friend of James Moody. A good friend."

If she had expected her host to smile after sharing that bit of info, she was disappointed. Helen's expression remained spare and inscrutable.

"Oh? You were, were you? And how did you know him, may I ask?"

"I still am his friend."

"Of course. We all are. James has told us of the after realms. I assume you know as well. Can't say I grasp it all. But ... I am aware ... of his ... unique ... travels, shall we say?"

"I am from there. I know him from ... there. Root. He brought me back, just like he did for his woman, Karla. Not intentionally, in my case."

"Ah. So you're one of them. You ... you were ... um ... dead ... so to speak."

'Yes. I was dead."

"Well, come on inside. Have some cake with us. Any friend of James is welcome here. Tell me, do you bring any word from him?"

"Actually, I was hoping you could tell me where I might find him. Is he here, in Wales?"

Helen's eyes went blank. "Didn't you hear?"
Chapter 36: Biding

I lay flat on the mat that Gaia had woven for me and watched the clouds. Overhead, Zeke's diaphanous body, stretched wide and thin to screen us from view. It was pretty disconcerting watching his bodily fluids shuttle by through a meshwork of veins. Transparent as he was from below, Gaia assured me that his top side remained completely opaque, mimicking a grassy hilltop.

I was growing ever more restless biding time in this barren little hidey-hole. If I had known we would be coming to Penult to do more waiting, I would have opted to stay behind in the comforts of my abode in the hollow.

Being here made sense. Sure it did. We could react more quickly whenever Urszula returned. But that didn't make the waiting any easier.

Gaia had no problem keeping busy. She fussed with her strands, constantly sorting and stroking and knotting sets together. She weaved bits of root into pillows and stools. She scribbled notes into a journal—a pale slab with a changeable surface but not a hint anything electronic.

"Okay if I go for a walk?"

"No."

"What about after dark?"

"No."

"Why not? Nobody can see me if it's dark."

"You will be detected. Their avatars are ubiquitous and quite sensitive. They don't need much light to find you."

"So what if nothing happens? How long do we stick around?"

Gaia looked up from a fistful of unruly roots that were snaking around and trying to escape her grip.

"Something will happen very soon. I am certain of that. It may already be happening."

"What makes you say that?"

"My strands. They are changing."

"Aren't they always?"

"Yes, but I can read the trends. And your friend is trending towards a relapse."

I sighed. "Poor kid."

Gaia turned and pierced me with her gaze.

"Why is it you act like you are the one doing me a favor?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"This Urszula is your acquaintance, not mine. I did not have to come here, you know. She means nothing to me."

"Hey, I'm sorry. I'm just bored. Acting out. You know."

"I mean, you've been dying to come here all this time and now that we are here all you do is mope and whine."

"Hey. Chill out. It's cool. I was just asking if it was okay to go for a walk. Jeez! What's up with you? Why you so cranky?"

Gaia's gaze was steely and firm.

"Did you think I would not be stressed? This is a tricky matter, the thing we are trying to do. It is very risky."

"Yeah, but ... what's the worst that can happen? We ... uh ... die?"

"You think you're being funny. But there are things much worse than death. My freedom is at stake. My status for eternity. Now that my mentor knows I am here."

"Fine. Then go home. Just show me where to go. I'll go find her."

She sneered and rolled her eyes. "You would have absolutely zero chance of getting her out on your own."

"Oh. I'm not so sure about that. I've pulled off some chancy things in my time. If you've been watching me, you should know that."

"Look at you, so cock sure of yourself. You have no idea what this sort of rescue entails. She is essentially their hostage. You can't free her by brute force. They will slay her. This takes a gentle hand. The right words. Diplomacy."

"Fine. I'll let you handle things. I'm just bored out of my skull. I feel ... trapped."

I lay my head back down and resumed my cloud studies. If I couldn't leave this hole there were other ways to spread my consciousness. I emptied my thoughts and reached outward, attempting to latch onto something across the living realm, something I could turn into an avatar or some receptive soul with whom I could latch in and begin my leap.

Gaia's eyes widened. "I know what you're doing. No! Don't you dare go there!"

"What the fuck?"

"Penultian avatars patrol the Singularity. They would snatch your soul in an instant. The ether here is thick with them."

"How'd you know I—?"

"Your eyes. I could see it."

"Well, shit. I guess I'm stuck in this cave with you then. Maybe you can teach me how to crochet."

She bit her lip.

"If you don't appreciate my company—"

"What is up with you? Why all the drama all of a sudden?"

"Because! I am risking everything for you, and you ... you don't appreciate me."

"But I do. I didn't mean to imply I don't like being with you. I just don't like being stuck ... anywhere. Live free or die, you know? A lot of good that motto does in a place like this."

She stared me down, and took a step towards me. She had a murderous look in her eyes.

"What ... are you doing?"

She took another step, keeping her gaze locked on me.

I scrambled up off the mat. This girl was coming unhinged. There was no telling what she might do next."

Her free hand flew up to her shoulder and she stroked a button. Her blouse fell away, revealing her meager but shapely breasts.

"Gaia! What the hell?"

"What's wrong? You said you were bored. Does my body not suffice to amuse you?"

Maybe another guy might have been more opportunistic but this situation, so weird and abrupt, was a complete turn off to me. She was just offering herself to get me to stop whining. That wouldn't have stopped some guys I had known, but it didn't work on me.

"Put your clothes back on!"

The strands in her fist suddenly went limp and drooped over her knuckles.

Her jaw dropped. "It is happening."

"What?"
Chapter 37: Hospitality

The woman, Helen, just stood there stricken, with torment in her eyes.

"Oh no. Oh you poor dear! Do you not know?"

"Know? What?"

Helen sighed, and began to explain only to abort and start again, clearly discomfited by the situation. Eventually she managed to gather herself.

"James ... passed ... a few months back. Up in Scotland. He was poisoned, of all things. We were with him, the girls and me."

"So, it's true."

She had no reason to be surprised, but the confirmation still hit her like a piano dropping from a balcony.

"I am afraid so, sweetie. He was very brave about it. Told us not to fret. Said he would find his way back somehow. Strange, I know, but I don't put it past him. Though, maybe not to you. Me, I am still struggling to come to grips with all this oddity. Knowing James as certainly changed my outlook on ... mortality ... and existence."

"Someone told me he was gone. I did not believe her."

"I'm very sorry you had to hear it from me."

"Poisoned."

"Yes. By some folks James called: 'Friends.' Not very friendly, if you ask me."

Urszula sighed. "The Friends of Penult. Yes. I know them."

A younger woman emerged from one of the metal sheds carrying a stack of plastic buckets. Her reddish-blonde hair was braided and bound under a blue bandanna.

She put down the buckets and came over, wiping her hands on her pants.

"Who do we have here? Another applicant?"

"Her name is Urszula. She's a friend of James, from the other side."

"Why hello there. I'm Jessica." She looked to Helen. "Don't you find it interesting that all of James' friends from the afterworld seem to be lithe and lovely young women?"

"I would expect nothing less. He's a handsome lad."

"I presume you're the one he resurrected?" said Jessica.

"Yes. How did you know?"

Jessica grinned.

"Talk about a scheme for meeting girls! He finds a dead one he likes and brings her back to life. I presume he has not managed to bring himself back just yet?"

Urszula just stared at Jessica, puzzled at how she could be making light of James' situation.

"She's just now learning what happened to him," said Helen. "She actually came here looking for him."

"Oh. I'm sorry. My condolences, I suppose. Though, I have to say I've been expecting him to come striding up the front walk any day now."

"Come inside, dear," said Helen. "You look famished. Have some tea and cake with us. Your cheeks are so hollow! You've had a hard time. I can tell."

***

With considerable hesitation, Urszula followed Helen inside. Her host poured three cups of tea from a dented teapot on the stove while Jessica retrieved a small cake from the refrigerator.

"Have a seat, love. Maybe you would like something heartier, perhaps? Some cheese? I can fry up some rashers? What do you say?"

Urszula felt wobbly and disoriented. She was more than a little queasy and her head ached.

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh come on. Have some cake at least. I expect you will be joining us for supper as well."

"I should probably be leaving."

"Nonsense. You sit right down! We're getting some calories into you first."

Urszula, sheathed in shock and feeling very small, collapsed onto a chair.

"The man who owns this farm. James was fond of him. Is he—?"

"Renfrew's up visiting his brother. They've been nearly inseparable since they reconciled. The down side is that it feels like we have two Ren's when they're both down on the farm. Sorry you might not get the chance to meet them but frankly, it's nice to have some respite from the old grumps."

A few tiny tears dribbled down Urszula's face. Jessica promptly handed her a paper napkin.

"Look at you! James means something to you, doesn't he? Are you two a couple?"

"No. I'm just ... tired."

Jessica shared a glance with Helen.

"Tired," said Helen.

"You're a Hemi, aren't you, dear?" said Jess.

"How do you know these things?"

"We've learned more about the afterlife than we ever cared to, knowing James. If you're a Hemi, you must have a chance to go back and see him now and then. Yes?"

"I am not free. I am captive."

"Captive?" said Helen.

"I suppose the Pennies must have got you, huh?" said Jess. "James told us about the war. He was heading to Penult on some kind of raid while all the bad stuff was happening over here. Racing time, he was. He seemed worried about someone who was missing. Was that you?"

"He was worried? About me? Worried? Really?"

"Yes. Very much so."

Helen set down a plate with a slab of dense brown cake in front of her.

"Try some of the cake dear. I baked it fresh this morning. It's a chocolate Guinness. Ren's favorite, actually. Unfortunate he's not here to enjoy it."

"Fortunate he's not here to hog most of it, you mean," said Jessica, through a large mouthful.

Urszula lifted a fork with a tiny morsel on it. Tears continued to roll slowly down her cheeks and into her mouth. Things were churning inside her. She could not be certain that all were not roots.

She tried to keep her bad thoughts at bay by dwelling on the positive. She pictured James' soul roaming free in the Lim. He loved his little hollow with the pond. He always seemed so content when he was there with his handsome young dragonfly. And she was touched that he cared for her enough to express his worries to Miss Jessica.

"Jess, maybe we should give our lady friends a ring? I would bet Fiona and Britt would like to meet this one."

***

As Helen cleaned up after tea and got some supper going for later, Jessica ushered Urszula into a bathroom and attempted to brush the tangles and snarls out of her ratty hair. Urszula sat placidly on the toilet seat, wincing stoically at every yank of the brush.

"You might try having her wash her hair first," said Helen, ducking her head in the door. "Otherwise, it's a hopeless cause."

"Okay. I'll leave you here to draw a bath. Shower, if you wish. And don't you dare skimp on the shampoo and conditioner. Meanwhile, I'll go find you some clean clothes."

"She seems Fiona's size," said Helen. "Let me ring the ladies back and have them bring something over to supper."

"Can you manage on your own, dear? You seem out of sorts."

"Yes. I will shower."

Urszula suspected that if she found a full bathtub in front of her she would only use it to drown herself. But that attitude was not helpful. She stuffed her mind with expectations of flowery soaps and clean towels.

When they finally left her alone, she spied the tiny window in the bathroom and considered climbing through it thus escaping from all this lovely but smothering hospitality. But instead, she dropped her clown clothes and stepped into the bathtub and showered, keeping the water cool and bracing.

She did the minimum, using barely enough soap to lather her hair and privates. A quick rinse and she was done. No conditioner.

The bathroom door opened the moment the water stopped. Helen must have been hovering outside the door.

"Make do with these till Fiona gets here, love. Here are some undies, still in the package. These slacks haven't fit me in years. The blouse might be a bit roomy on you. But Fiona will fix you up good, I guarantee."

The door closed and Urszula opened the curtain to find a small stack of clothes on the toilet seat. There was a heaviness to her movements now, as if guy-lines had been strung to her limbs. Something was attempting to claim her soul. She knew the feeling well, and wondered how it was possible that she remained in this realm.

She got dressed and walked into the kitchen where the ladies were waiting to ambush her with more brushes.

The screen door slammed.

"Shite! Ren's home."

A burly, grizzled man swaggered in, dumping an armload of muddy rhubarb on the table. He surveyed the crumbs they had left on the cake platter.

"Who the fook ate all my cake?"

"We didn't know you'd be comin' Ren or we'd've left you a slice."

"A slice? Hah! And who's this lass? We helping the homeless?"

"Ren, this is Urszula. She was a friend of James."

"Oh really? She a Yank, this one?"

"No Ren. She's Romanian."

"Romanian? The fook?"

"They met on the other side, Ren," said Jessica.

"The other side! My goodness. The lad has girlfriends on every side of existence. Cute ones, too. Enough to make a man antsy to meet his maker if you believe all this horse pocky."

"You'll have to forgive Renfrew," said Helen. "He's a bit of a skeptic about all of this afterworld business."

"Skeptic? Not at all. I'm just saying here's just ... other explanations is all."

He stood by the sink scooping up every last trace of the cake crumbs.

"You were there to see Miss Karla die, were you not?" said Jess. "And how is it that she's alive now?"

"I'm no medical doctor, nor am I a coroner. Her death was never confirmed."

Urszula kept her eyes closed as the ladies coaxed the tangles from her hair.

"Oops! Did I pull too hard love? Jess, hand me those scissors. There seem to be some lumps of tar in here." She held her fingers up to her nose. "No, it's pitch. From a pine."

"I have been sleeping in forests."

"Well, not tonight love. You are getting a nice soft bed whether you like it or not."

"Are the dykes joining us for supper?"

"Yes Ren."

"Then I suppose we'll need an extra chair at the table. I'll go fetch one from the shed."

***

Crowded around the small table elbow to elbow with all of those eager and prying eyes, dinner proved a bit overwhelming. Urszula was not used to staying so engaged with so many engaging people for so long.

All the attention was exhausting for a loner like her. This was what it must be like to have a large family. They were all so nice, she didn't dare to be rude. On the plus side, all the attention kept her mind from wandering.

"Jess tells me you came all the way from Romania on foot," said Britt. "How did you ever manage such a feat?"

"No, that is not exactly true," said Urszula. "I did a lot of walking, yes. There were trains and buses. Truck drivers. People who gave me rides. And ... a boy ... a young man named Jan ... who helped me a lot."

Fiona's ears perked up. "Oh? And how did he help you, this Jan?"

"He quit his job. Took all his money from the bank and we traveled together for time, until—"

"Oh my," said Ren. "The lad was in deep, wasn't he?"

"So where is he now?" said Fiona. "Why didn't he come here with you? Did you two have a falling out?"

"Fiona? Do you need to pry so?" said Helen.

"Jan was murdered. In France. They shot him."

"Fook!" said Ren.

"Who shot him?" said Fiona.

"Friends of the Pennies, I would imagine," said Jessica.

"Yes," said Urszula. "It was them. I am sure."

"And that my dears is why I keep my shotgun loaded by the kitchen door," said Ren. "Think twice the next time you decide to give me guff about it."

All of this personal exposition was like blood in the water for the roots. Luckily, Britt quickly changed the subject to politics. The rollicking discussion of the latest Tory atrocities that ensued lightened her mood considerably. The spotlight came off her and she could sit back and enjoy their antics as they drained a large bottle of port.

Through all the ranting and chortling, Helen leaned in and whispered. "You can stay with us, by the way. Indefinitely. Ren might complain, but that's what Ren does. Pay him no heed. He may own this place, but he doesn't make all the decisions. We'd love to have you stay, we really would."

"Thank you, but no. I should be going."

Urszula couldn't help but think that the forces causing so many people to be kind to her in her travels were at play here as well. She could not stay. Her presence would put her new friends at risk. But where would she go from here? She had run out of destinations.

"But you just got here," said Jess, overhearing. "Stick around a bit. Rest up."

"You are part of us," said Helen. "All of us miss James. Having you here brings a little bit of him back."

"Yes. You must stay with us. Will you? For a little while, at least?"

"I will try," said Urszula. "I don't know if they will let me."

"Who won't?" said Jess. "Those nasty Pennies? Or is it the roots?"

"Both."

***

After Fiona and Britt had gone home and Renfrew stepped outside to smoke his cigar, Jessica and Helen led Urszula to a tiny bedroom upstairs that had been freshly made up with crisp white linens, a patchwork quilt and two fluffy pillows.

"I've left a fresh towel for you with a brand new toothbrush by the sink. Sleep in as long as you want. We won't disturb you for breakfast. Just come down whenever you feel like. Tomorrow, Jess and I hope to take you shopping, though I have to warn you, Fiona is insisting on tagging along. That usually spells trouble. She tends to be a bit ... experimental ... and you're her latest mouse."

Again, Urszula felt the presence of angels. She was speechless for a few awkward moments before she could summon the right words.

"Thank you ... for everything."

When they left the room, she slipped under the covers and flicked off the lights, hoping to fall asleep quickly before her brain could spin up too many disturbing thoughts. But it was not to be. She had drunk a little too much port and the alcohol seemed to accentuate many of the thoughts she had been trying so hard to avoid.

But wasn't drinking supposed to help people forget? Wasn't it supposed to numb hurtful feelings? Why did it seem to have the opposite effect on her?

As she lay in the darkness she could not help but dwell on the unthinkable. She missed Jan terribly. At least with James she had the comfort of knowing that his soul persisted at best somewhere in the Lim, or in the worst case, the Deeps—a place both he and she had managed to escape. But Jan could have been shuttled to any number of nested realms and some of them, she had learned, could be quite isolated.

She was fairly certain his soul would not have gone to the Liminality. Suicide or at least an intent to commit it were the prerequisites for entry into that realm and Jan had never given her any indication of being anywhere close to that mental state.

Her knowledge of the other realms was sketchy, but the mystics and heretics of the Deeps often preached that not all realms preserved consciousness. Some existed only to destroy, tearing souls into bits too small to ever put back together again.

The Horus was a portal into one such realm. Avernus, they had called it in the Deeps. The possibility of Jan having been blasted out of existence tore at her moorings. She could stomach the loss of his living body, but the loss of his soul would destroy every last kernel of hope she cared to harbor.

It was hard for her to admit, but their brief time together had irrevocably altered her stance on existence. Before Jan she had been fairly cavalier regarding her relationship with eternity, judging the persistence of her soul as a condition only slightly better than the alternative.

At times, being with Jan was almost like a realm unto itself, transcending all boundaries. Certain moments with Jan felt like how Heaven might feel, if Heaven were a feeling and not a place. The fact that those moments had long passed did not diminish their imprint on her soul.

Perhaps she had simply never known real love before Jan. Before meeting him, she had thought of herself as experienced, but her impressions may have been mistaken. Maybe none of the attractions and relations she had experienced before had been genuine.

Even though her feelings for Jan had never been consummated physically, as far as her soul was concerned, the union had been made. The how of it and the why was a mystery. That it had happened could not be denied.

Had Jan felt the same about her? Why else would he drop his life and run off with her as he had done. Another week together would have given them a chance to solidify what was happening, and to become one in mind and soul and body. Enough had transpired between them to create a certainty. And still she yearned to be close to him again.

She lay in bed in a most precarious state. The roots were all around her, sniffing at her despair but wary of her heart, ablaze with its strange and bittersweet euphoria, alive with defiance. Not even the more daring tendrils could bridge the gap without withering.

But something was creeping ever so slowly into her psyche, driven perhaps by forces interested in restoring order and whisking her to whatever trash bin realm some unseen and mysterious soul-vetters deemed her worthy. What crept was the realization of how meager were her chances were of ever seeing Jan again.

She could only dwell in the tiny realm of 'what-had-been' so long before the vastness of 'what-could-have-been-but-will-never-be' swallowed her up. And now she felt it happening around her. The massive void of the life she would never have with Jan, the eternity she would never share with his soul engulfed her like a black hole. And once past the event horizon, there was no going back. The roots snatched her from her soft, warm bed and shuttled her back to her cell in Penult.
Chapter 38: Complications

I lay there, still discombobulated by Gaia's abrupt and awkward advance, when the roof suddenly peeled away. A warm blast of wind peppered me with grit and bits of leaf. The 'roof,' of course, was Ezekiel who had shunted his mass over to one side of Gaia's excavation and was now busily and silently gathering himself into his more typical monster squid configuration.

"So this is it? For real? We're going?"

Gaia was too busy gathering her things to even glance my way.

I hopped to my feet.

"Cool! Let's do this."

"If only you were as eager a moment ago."

"Sorry."

"Saved by the bell."

I ran my fingers through my hair, smoothing it. I must have looked a mess. Gaia, in contrast looked like she had showered twice that day. I don't know how she managed to stay so clean.

The only water we could access was the meager trickle running from a small blobby creature she had conjured. Her little filter monster had been created from a pinch of Zeke's flesh and plugged into the slope.

Zeke was already pretty much inflated and vertical. He had kept his mixed coloration, greenish camo on what had been his upper surfaces, milky transparent beneath. But his tentacles grew beefier and more numerous than usual. He had reshaped their tips into various implements of mayhem, some clubbed, some sharp.

"He's so quiet this time?"

"I muted him. We are in Penult, after all. We must be discreet."

I had been waiting so long for this moment but I didn't know what to do with myself now that it was here. I didn't really have anything to pack other than the mat, so I just hovered near Gaia and watched her tidy up her bundles.

"We're riding Zeke, I assume?"

"No. I told you. We'll be going on foot."

"Well, you'd better tell him. Looks like he's aiming to go out on the town with us."

"He knows better. He will keep out of sight and trail us. Intervene if necessary."

"So he's out getaway car?"

"And our cavalry."

She walked up to me, her face inches from mine, studying me carefully. I thought for sure she was going to kiss me.

"You are suitably disheveled. That's good. But your face is far too clean. Undamaged." She picked up some dirt and smeared it on my cheek. "You could use a bruise or two."

"Go ahead. Be my guest. Hit me."

She grinned, and the radiance of her smile made me shiver. It was like staring into the sun. I was forced to look away.

"What's wrong?"

It was that mutable face of hers. There were times she looked tomboyish, or even homely. This was one of those moments when she looked absolutely stunning.

"Nothing. I just had a bit of vertigo."

"Vertigo? We are standing in a hole."

"Whatever."

She sighed. "Maybe that little smudge will be fine. You need to look like you are my captive and not so happy about it. Can you manage that?"

"Whatever you say."

"And whatever happens, do not ever attempt to threaten to harm me, or I guarantee—"

"Why would I ever want to hurt you?"

"I am just saying. Do not do anything to me that Ezekiel might interpret as aggression or he will ensure that those will be your last moments in this realm. Chariots are quite protective of their masters."

She was looking rather normal again. Just a girl, not a goddess.

"Now show me your wrists."

"My wrists?"

"Show them to me."

I extended both arms displaying the underside of my forearms.

She reached into the larger of her two handbags and pulled out a small, hard sphere the size of a large jawbreaker. She stroked a finger across the top and it turned transparent and liquefied.

"I will need to bind you now. Do not be alarmed."

"What for?"

She then reached over and slapped it on my wrist, it circled around in both directions and joined itself together like a bracelet. She slapped another dab onto my other wrist and the same thing happened. And then I felt my arms jerk back as the bracelets sought each other with a powerful magnetism. I stood there cuffed and gaping at her.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Appearances. No worries. There needs to be no doubt that you are my captive."

***

We left Zeke near our hidey-hole after filling it in and covering up the traces of our encampment. He had swapped his camouflage for a more transparent look. But he was pretty damned hard to pick out against the hillside if you didn't already know he was there.

Zeke seemed to slump a bit when we left without him, like kind of like a dog when its owners leave for work. Gaia assured me that he would follow once we put some distance between us and would never be far in case we needed him.

She led me up and down rumpled meadows of knee-high grass and shrubs that smelled like wintergreen. I have to say, it was more than a little disconcerting to be forced to walk with my arms bound in front of me. I kind of felt like a dog myself, tethered to her waist by a leash as dexterous as a spider monkey's tail. It was able to ride above the weeds and writhe itself free of tangles.

Finally, we came across some of that smooth, pale pavement so ubiquitous in Penult. Off in the distance, I spotted one of their spindly self-powered vehicles zipping along down another road.

"Be prepared," said Gaia. "We are now on the outskirts of Isalem. I expect us to be challenged very soon."

Our destination came into full view over the next rise, tucked deep into a convergence of several river valleys. Dense with spires and domes and stacks of boxy dwellings, undeveloped ridges separated wedges of densely built bottomlands like spokes on a wheel. The largest buildings were clustered atop a knoll at the center. Gleaming white roads threaded through it all.

The scale of this city made Frelsi seem like some Podunk town. It was far bigger than the place we had damaged with the root quake during our raid.

Gaia stopped and pointed.

"See that greenish dome on the side of the knoll? That is the Judicial Temple. The long, low structure right behind it is the penitentiary. That is where I expect they would be keeping your friend."

"So, you're trading me for her, is that the plan?"

"That is what we wish them to believe."

"Okay. Then how do we get me out?"

"Let me worry about the details."

"You've thought this out, right?"

Gaia ignored me and opened the bag of strands that hung on her hip and pulled out one that was knotted onto a brass ring.

"Her strand has gone rather dull. But that doesn't mean anything itself. She could just be feeling badly about her situation. Your own strand goes dark when you visit the Singularity."

"You've got a string for me in there? Let me see it."

She yanked the drawstring shut.

"Get your own."

***

And so we bushwhacked our way down into the valleys. Gaia avoided the roads and paths, preferring to tromp straight down through the meadows. Her feet her bare but a pair of light slippers dangled from her belt beside her bag of strands.

As usual, I kept several steps in front of her, stumbling over grassy tufts and gopher holes. I never got to see any of the creatures that made these burrows. The tall grass was also devoid of insects, large or small. I found the stillness kind of creepy. I had never walked through a field before without seeing as much as a cricket or a grasshopper.

We were headed for what I thought was a wall, but when we got closer it became apparent it was an accretion of houses, piled against each other and connected by stairways and patios. The transition from vacant landscape to extreme urban density was startling.

Things were getting busier on the road. There were people out strolling; others zooming by on self-powered vehicles. As we approached, a truck loaded with hexagonal blocks of stone came cruising down out of the hills.

I grew more anxious the closer we got to the city limits. Here I was, approaching an enemy camp in restraints and helpless. I was utterly dependent on Gaia. She had implied that circumstances might arise where she might not be able to help me.

Too late to go back now. One of the vehicles on the road stopped and the driver climbed out to watch us. Folks along the outer wall were gathering on their patios to watch us approach.

A rhythmic whooshing preceded the emergence of a sluggish condor craft from beyond the wall. Broad wings flapping, it rose out of the city and came over us, casting a shadow as it hovered. Its skeletal framework revealed a hold packed with soldiers. It circled once before setting down gently onto the roadway.

"Time for more bindings, I'm afraid," said Gaia.

"Huh?"

She crouched down and rolled a pair of her spheres across the pavement at me. I skipped and tried to dodge them but they each found their way to a separate ankle, sprang open, wrapped themselves around me and pulled tight.

"Gaia! What the fuck?"

"We need to keep up appearances. You are a high value prisoner. They need to see you properly restrained."

"How am I supposed to walk with these? Get 'em off!"

"Calm down. You'll be fine. The bindings don't interfere with a normal walking stride. Just don't try to run. The anklets will join together and trip you."

"Oh, that's just great."

She tugged on my leash.

"Come! Let's get moving."

"Are you turning me in? For real?"

"Shut up and walk."

"Gaia! What's happening?"

She glanced quickly towards the road. "Stop with the chatting. Their security is approaching."

"I'm not sure I want to do this anymore. Take this crap off of me."

"Too late. Now shush! Play your part. Act rude to me. Be upset. You are my sullen captive."

I glared at her. "That shouldn't be hard."

Six armored Hashmallim bearing wide-bored weapons dismounted from platforms on either side of the condor. Two pilots, harnessed to the mechanisms that made the condor fly, looked on from their caged cockpit.

The Hashmallim fanned out and approached us like a SWAT team. When Gaia raised both palms, they paused and looked to each other nervously. The lead Hashmal signaled the men to lower their weapons. He strode forward and dropped to his knees before Gaia.

"Dear and holy Mistress Er'el. How may we serve you?"

"I require an audience with the judicial council. I have a prisoner to exchange."

"A trespasser? We can take him off your hands."

"No. I need to see someone from the council. This man is no mere trespasser. This is James Moody. The one who shook your northern shore during the recent incursion."

The Hashmal looked shocked.

"How did you ... where did you find him?"

"In the Broken Quarter. I have come to trade him for another soul of interest to me. A halfsoul being held for proceedings."

"Of course Mistress Er'el! No doubt the council will be grateful. I will send our craft ahead to notify them and secure the route. We will provide an escort.

The Hashmal rushed back over to the others.

"Mistress Er'el?" I whispered.

"Don't speak to me unless I speak to you."

I ignored her.

"They think you're one of them Lords? One of the Power-that-be?"

"Not a Lord. A Lady. Now shut up and act like a prisoner.

The leader of the patrol returned, flanked by two members of his squad.

"The condor will return and bring word of your arrival to the Judicial Temple. "Shall we summon you a conveyance, dear Mistress?"

"No need. Our legs will do just fine."

"Then we will be honored to escort you into the city."

***

Isalem had no outskirts. One minute were strolling through meadows and the next, walking down broad avenues lined with multi-story structures. I was struck by the uniformity of the place, the lack of class distinctions. I saw none of the stark divide between Frelsi's outer ring ghettoes and its hoity-toity inner Sanctuary. This place was all Sanctuary, with every corner and alley gleaming and perfectly maintained.

We marched our little parade through neighborhood after neighborhood of variously baffled, amused and appalled residents. The Hashmallim acted like low rent security guards accompanying a celebrity through a shopping mall. They kept sneaking glances at Gaia and whispering to each other like a bunch of fan boys. I was surprised they didn't ask her for autographs.

From the intensity of people's reactions, I could tell that not much interesting ever happened here. It shocked me how much fear provoked. Some of these dolt even recoiled at the sight of me, like I was some kind of monster. It could have been worse. At least nobody pelted me with rotten vegetables.

As long as my pace remained steady and even, the thong connecting my ankles automatically lengthened and contracted to match my stride. Any variation in my gait, however, would make it re-adjust. It seemed to err in favor of a little too late and a little too short, which ended up tripping me over and over. My stumbles never failed to draw cheers from the crowd.

At least the road surface was forgiving, with a pebbled grain, but soft and rubbery. Nevertheless, my knees paid a price. Trickles of blood already seeped from a matching pair of scrapes. Despite my lack of a cross, I had a new appreciation for how Jesus felt on the road to Golgotha.

Everyone was stylish and beautiful here, the body shaping far more subtle and never as freakish as had been the fashion with the more privileged of Frelsians. Even the dogs were pretty and far more lifelike than Luther's animatronic monstrosities.

It was hard to believe that these beautiful people provided the raw material for the mindless, soul-less and monstrous Cherubim—the shock troops of the invasion force. It made me wonder who got chosen for such sacrifices? Were they volunteers or did they just seize random bodies like cattle from a stockyard?

A woman pushed through the crowd at one point to pay her respects to Gaia. I gathered from their interaction that she was a Seraph. Without their wings, I could not distinguish the Seraphim from the Hashmallim; maybe because there was no real distinction. It was just a matter of rank and privilege.

Olivier used to argue with his friends about how badly the Pennies had screwed up their ranking system. His Israeli friend Lev insisted that according to the Kabbalah's hierarchy of angels, Seraphim were supposed the subservient ones. Mateo, a Catholic, disagreed. He said the Seraphim were supposed to be superior to all others. According to Olivier, both interpretations ignored the Orphanim, an order of angels ranking higher than both.

As far as I was concerned, it was all a bunch of bunk. None of these fuckers were angels. Not even the 'Dear Mistress Er'el' holding my leash.

Gaia no longer spoke to me except to command me to move or stop or to shut me up. She refused to respond to my comments or queries. Her eyes had gone cold and she had this uppity mocking sneer whenever she looked at me.

Her behavior really messed with my head. Whatever happened to my weird but kind-hearted little buddy with the glowing strings and the squishy bedroom? Couldn't she at least drop me a hint from time to time that this was only for show?

She was either a super good actor or her prior behavior had been part of a long con to get me under her control so she could acquire a high value captive to turn over to the Pennies. It was getting harder for me to believe that we were actually still on our way to rescue Urszula.

Near the center of the city, another Seraph, this one equipped with the six wings that only Seraphim seemed allowed to possess, came dropping down out of the sky square into our path. Two new squads of Hashmallim rushed down either side of the avenue to intercept us.

The Seraph dismissed our escort, much to their chagrin, and transferred our custody to one of the new squads, who would escort us the rest of the way to the Judicial Temple. The old crew looked on all forlorn as the new crew led us away. They probably had been looking forward to getting some exposure to the big time.

Gaia barely acknowledged this changing of the guard. She greeted the Seraph politely but pretty much kept mum.

She kept glancing up at the sky nervously. The city was thick with flying contraptions, but she wasn't looking at them, she was gazing out towards the hills.

I wondered if something had happened to Zeke. He was supposed to be tailing us, but there was no sign of him. The clouds up there were just that—clouds.

***

The Judicial Temple sat alone atop a rugged knoll at the center of the city. Its walls rose seamlessly from a natural hillock ringed with pillars of naturally cleaved basalt, like a stubby, truncated version of the Devil's Tower in Wyoming. Its greenish-white dome seemed to capture and amplify ambient light. Despite the overcast it glowed like a lamp.

A causeway rose above the rubble field at its base, constructed from the fragmented fallen pillars jumbled all around us in a moat of stony chaos. Columns of inert Cherubim lined ramps leading down into the moat. As we crossed the causeway I saw a crew of Hashmallim tending the Cherubim. They carried buckets of brown slurry and fed the silent soldiers with devices that looked like turkey basters.

We passed through the arched and gaping entrance across the causeway, down a long, curving hallway and into a small, windowless room with a few benches along the walls, a stool in the center, and a row of strange looking loungers that kind of looked like headless hippos.

Our escorts attached me to the stool with a strand of self-sticking rope and offered one of the hippo-like loungers to Gaia. A harried-looking and portly man, rather unkempt, came bustling out of an adjoining chamber. He went straight to Gaia, knelt before her and they proceeded to have an extended conversation that included an examination of one of her skeins. I tried listening in but couldn't hear a damned thing.

After a bit, the portly man conferred with the leader of the Hashmal squad before retreating back to his chamber.

"Will someone please tell me what's happening?"

Gaia ignored me, though I said it plenty loud. Her non-response left me queasy and uncertain about what was about to transpire. I couldn't help but feel betrayed.

A door slid open and two men strolled through. One wore a flowing blue shirt and had a neat, angular haircut with a matching beard. The other man had the slenderest of mustaches paralleling his upper lip. Their loose and jovial demeanor tightened up when they spotted Gaia seated on the lounger.

The portly man returned with two women in tow: one slender-limbed and silver-haired wearing a loose wrap over tights that seemed painted on, the other tall, heavy-boned with very masculine features apart from her prominent bosom. The group came over together to greet Gaia, exchanging awkward pleasantries.

The loungers were arranged in an arc around me, and for a time they all just sat there gawking at me.

"He doesn't look nearly as impressive as I would have expected," said the neatly groomed man.

"He's just some boy," said the big-boned woman.

"Are we sure he's the right one?" said a man with a blade-thin mustache.

The portly man lifted himself slowly off his lounger, came over to me with slow, ponderous steps, head down, sorting through a portfolio. After flipping through some pages he removed a circle of what looked like blue fruit leather and placed it on my arm. It bubbled a bit before dissolving into a purple mist.

"Identity confirmed," he said, returning to his chair.

"We thank you on behalf of the Great Council," said the silvery woman. "It is most gratifying to have the Erelim looking after our interests. Since the edict was enacted, we have missed your guidance."

"But ... about this exchange you requested," said the portly man. He seemed discomfited. "There are complications."

"Yes," said the silvery one. "We are hoping that you might be open to alternative compensation."

"Alternative?" said Gaia, looking a bit perturbed.

The neatly groomed man, cleared his throat. "Of course, we are most grateful to you. Delivering Moody to us was a most generous and unexpected gift. Perhaps there are other services we might offer you."

"I don't want services," said Gaia. "I need a very specific soul. One soul is all I ask."

"Yes," said the portly man. "We are just trying to tell you that there are ... complications."

Gaia pursed her lips as she peeked into her bag of skeins.

"Complications? Explain."
Chapter 39: Gone

The executioners were ready and waiting for Urszula. She had only seconds to perceive the hard, cold curve of the floor of her cell, for her eyes to refocus to the bright light and for the temperature change to be registered by her skin before their scythes came stabbing down.

She did not scream but merely gasped as rigid, razor-thin blades found the path of least resistance between her ribs and cleaved her heart and lungs. Pinned to the floor of her cell like some bug collector's specimen, her blood flowed swiftly and freely into the drain hole. With no vessel to contain it, her soul slipped like quicksilver through the Liminality's pores.

***

Emerging into new realms—even the Deeps—could sometimes feel like rebirth, but not this time. Urszula felt like she had been flushed. She found herself in a place more alien and disorienting than she ever could have imagined. Disembodied and devoid of most sensation, she possessed only the vaguest perception of her surroundings. The light was dim and diffuse, revealing only the shimmer of a slick black surface and the hazy, dark atmosphere that smothered it.

She had no real body anymore. Her soul simply occupied a human-shaped memory space mimicking her former parameters in two dimensions. She seemed to be on the high point of a plain that sloped away gently in all directions. The natural tendency of a soul was to spread thin across the slippery surface and dissipate.

She instinctively resisted the subtle but inexorable tug. It took all of her concentration to keep it from stretching and pulling her apart into wispy fragments. There was nothing intrinsic to this environment for her to grasp. So she clung to herself, compressing her existence around the core of her being.

Hanging on to this expanse of nothingness seemed pointless. She clung on only out of fear for where she might end up if she didn't.

She could sense the presence of other souls nearby clinging to their own self-perceived high points. Though they made no sound, their emotions manifested as faint aural impulses in her consciousness—virtual sobs and grumbles and shouts, variously devastated, frustrated or furious to find their souls in such a sorry and perilous state.

Most kept silent, having surrendered to their fate, at peace, relieved to have escaped some great turmoil or pain, happy to dissipate from existence. These quickly fragmented and slipped away over the event horizon.

It was the rare few who fought desperately to hang on, defying gravity or whatever force it was operating on these sorry souls.

A nearby thought, perceived as a toneless voice, expressed itself to her.

"That's it! Do not give in. Join us. You are doing very well! Concentrate on the point at your very center. It does not take much strength. Think of a pin pressing lightly into a cork board. That is all the effort you need to stay put."

"Who are you?"

"Names do not matter here. Prove your stability and you may eventually be shunted to a more stable realm. It happens. It does! You simply need the faith and will to carry on."

"Thank you. For this advice. Whoever you are."

"Perhaps we will meet. In the next realm."

"Shit!"

A moment of inattention made Urszula lose control of one arm as it slid away from her torso, attenuating into a ribbon before she could pull it back in. But reaching out to regather her arm only made her other parts stretch apart as she felt herself about to slide helplessly towards the void that opened on every horizon.

"You can do it! Dig inward. Find your center point."

And then a nugget of communication came wafting into her consciousness that had no voice, but Urszula knew instantly that it had been compiled from the collective experience of countless stable souls before her. In one brief pulse it told her everything any lost soul had ever learned about this nameless way station of the after lands.

It would not matter what direction she let herself slide, if she let go the same fate would await, a place sensed only as a vast emptiness through which the vapors of broken down souls wafted and drifted, awaiting the distillation that might draw their bits together to form a new consciousness.

There was nothing to be done now but to keep pulling as much of herself together as possible, to fight the diffusion. It was her last chance to experience existence as the being her parents named Urszula.

***

Gaia blinked and smiled, but I could see the consternation beginning to fester beneath her polite façade.

"Complications? What sort of complications?"

The portly man, clearly discomfited by the situation, did not answer. Instead, he leaned over from his lounger and consulted with the other panel members in tones too hushed for me to hear every detail. I strained for news of Urszula, but it seemed they were mostly talking about me.

Gaia remained patient and sustained her smile, silently watching the panel deliberate. They would glance back at her from time to time, only to quickly avert their gazes, as if burned by her righteous stare.

I sat on my little stool trying hard not to fidget, because every time I did, the bindings around my wrists and ankles would tighten. My toes were beginning to tingle from lack of blood flow. My fingers began to swell.

A sizable crowd of onlookers had begun to gather around us. An extra squad of guards, All Hashmallim, filed in from the main entrance and arrayed themselves around us. I was beginning to understand that the Cherubim, apparently, were only used in wartime or for extreme emergencies, kind of like the National Guard. Souls and brains apparently came in handy for matters of civil security.

The onlookers gawked at me like I was some exotic animal presented to the court of some princess. They kept referring to me as a trespasser, but I knew better. In the Liminality, all who dwelled on the surface were 'trespassers.' The place had never been intended for surface dwellers. The plants and bugs were all contaminants from other Realms, and so we were we.

Whoever had created this place, and I'm not so sure it had been an omnipotent being, had made it all about smelly Reapers and dark tunnels, a place where potential suicides could be 'scared straight' or failing that, shunted to the Deeps. Any soul that ever came through this place was deeply flawed and all these fancy people standing around and chirping about me were no exception.

Several of the panel members had now risen and were huddled around the portly man. They even called over one of the ceremonial guardsmen who was garbed in striped pantaloons like one of the Swiss guards from the Vatican, and carried a crazy weapon—some kind of pole axe or halberd with a long, spiky spear point.

The longer their discussions continued the more annoyed Gaia became. Her smile had finally faded and the muscles in her neck were growing taut. Her reaction renewed my hope that maybe she hadn't betrayed me after all; that we might still be in this together.

The panel finally seemed to reach an uneasy consensus and returned to their seats. Apparently, they had designated the portly man to do the explaining.

"Well, I am afraid there is nothing to be done," he said. "The soul you seek is ... is ... is no more."

Gaia bristled. "What do you mean: 'no more?'"

"Well, she has already been terminated for her crimes. Only a short time ago. But quite irrevocably."

"You had her executed? Without a trial?"

Gaia took the news quite calmly, but I was out of my head with rage.

"She's dead?"

"Oh no, we had thorough hearings. She had advocates on her side, but in the end a majority ruled against her."

"You assholes! You fucking killed her?"

I struggled against my bindings. They responded viciously, squeezing me down against that stool."

"Silence!" The silvery woman tossed something at me that squirmed its way over my face and sealed my lips. Just what I needed. More restraints.

The portly man gave Gaia a beseeching look.

"I hope you understand, my dear Er'el. This was justice. We have had agents working on the other side to bring her back for some time now. If only you had reached out earlier."

Gaia had opened her bag and was frantically pawing through her assortment of threads.

"But she only just arrived back this morning? How could possibly have had time to hold a hearing?"

"We completed her trial in absentia. Her sentence had been decided. An order given to execute at first sight."

"Well. This displeases me greatly," said Gaia calmly.

I tried expressing my displeasure in more flowery terms but the gag turned into a mere grunt.

"We are so very sorry. If only we had known of your intentions. But her soul's visits to this realm had been highly unstable and brief of late. Unusually so, for a halfsoul. We had to apply a special warrant to her case."

"Execution seems a bit extreme," said Gaia.

"She was a saboteur," said the silvery woman. "She aided and abetted atrocities. Not to mention, she expressed nothing but contempt for our proceedings."

Gaia lifted a skein from her purse. "Her strand has gone completely blank. I can't ascertain where she went. May I ask, where did you send her?"

"Send her?" said the portly man, laughing. "What do I look like, a postman?"

"Excuse me?"

"I beg your pardon dear Er'el, but we have little influence over a soul's fate. We can only facilitate their removal from this realm. When one releases a balloon, does one know where it shall go? It will find its natural place depending on the winds and its buoyancy. Her fate was beyond our control."

The well-groomed gentleman summoned one of the Hashmallim over with a crooked finger and whispered into his ear.

The silvery woman leaned in and forced a quavering smile.

"As you must surely realize, my dear Er'el ... we humble denizens of Penult do not possess your ability to influence a soul's destination."

"How irresponsible of you then, to meddle with things you cannot control," said Gaia. "You are playing God."

"She was a trespasser and a saboteur," said the silvery woman. "She had no business intruding into our realm."

"Who are you to decide where her soul belongs?" said Gaia. "Who gave you the right to destroy her vessel?"

The panel members looked at each other. Several seemed afraid to speak up. Again, the portly man acted as their spokesman.

"We are not deciding anything dear Mistress, merely facilitating the natural process. This one subverted nature. No one gets to live twice. We simply provided an opportunity for her soul to settle in its proper place."

"Not to mention, we are at war, dear Er'el," said the well-groomed man.

"At your own discretion and aggression. Did you not invade their corner of this realm?"

"Their corner?"

The panel members erupted, talking over each other, even the previously silent ones.

"They were already fighting ... with each other."

"Human trash, all of them. Some even from the Deeps."

"Their presence on the surface is an aberration and an abomination."

"Enough!" said Gaia. "I sent word on ahead to spare her. You knew I was coming and yet you—"

"No, no, no! That's not how it happened at all, dearest Er'el," said the silvery woman with a smug smile. "We learned of your imminent arrival but the purpose of your visit was not relayed. We do apologize. We will make it a point of emphasis in the future for our security patrols. Of course, we might have graciously complied with your request had we learned of it in time."

"Yes, most definitely," said the well-groomed man. "What happened is most unfortunate. This woman, we would have gladly surrendered had we known you had intended to remove her from this realm."

"May I ask dear Er'el, what interest the Erelim had in this particular halfsoul?" said the portly man. "It seems she was nothing special, really, in terms of skills. Was it because she was a curiosity as a resurrection?"

"My offer is off the table," said Gaia, her eyes steely. "I am taking back my prisoner."

Eyes flew among and between the panel members.

"Oh, I am afraid that won't be possible," said the portly man, laughing nervously. "We won't be releasing this one now that he is in our custody."

"You must!"

"Surely, you realize his significance to us. We have yet to restore the damage he wrought to our infrastructure. Many souls were scarred by the emotional trauma. Penult was our safe place. We were merely trying to make it safer."

"And how did that work out for you?"

The portly man shrugged.

"Clearly there is much work left to be done. Many more sacrifices to be made. But James Moody has been our number one target for interdiction and termination, in fact. Step one required bringing him to this realm. And now you have fulfilled the second step. We are most grateful for you delivering him into our hands."

"The trade is off. Free him."

"Sorry, but the answer is no."

"Perhaps we can interest you in some alternatives," said the well-groomed man. "If you are merely looking for curiosities, we have several highly anomalous souls in custody that we could offer. One lad who found his way here all the way from Lethe. Another most bizarre halfsoul who oscillates between here and Avernus."

Gaia rose from her lounger. "No thank you. I am leaving. And James is coming with me."

Some of the panel members chortled nervously.

"If I am not mistaken, you appear to be an apprentice," said the silvery woman. "Do your superiors even know that you are here? I think we should keep him until we can confer with one of your mentors?"

Gaia came over to me and stroked the bindings cinching my wrists. Part of it fell away but my wrists remained bound by one slender coil.

"Who augmented my bindings? Release him!"

"Take it up with your superiors. In the meantime, he shall remain with us. He will receive a full and fair hearing. Though, in his case, we may need to expedite things. He might be a Freesoul and no threat to fade, but he possesses unique skills that pose a danger to us all. Nevertheless, I suspect you should have enough time to consult with your—"

A squad of Hashmallim wearing soft armor and half helms moved in between me and Gaia.

"Fools!" Gaia reared her head back and let out a scream that would have startled a banshee.

Something large and very heavy thudded against the dome above us. It reverberated through the hall like thunder. Through the skylights, I caught glimpses of translucent appendages, prehensile and flailing. The judicial panel rose from their loungers, confused and alarmed.

"Knock, knock. Who's there?" said Gaia in a girlish voice. She winked at me.

Another massive thud shook the dome and a large crack appeared and spread down to the walls. The crowd of onlookers screamed and ran for cover at the periphery of the chamber.

"Come in, darling! The door is open."

Another slap of thunder rattled the dome and a new crack appeared. A large segment broke free and crashed down, shattering when it struck the floor, blasting onlookers and Hashmallim with stone fragments A chunk the size of a base-ball bounced off the floor and struck me square between my shoulder blades.

A translucent hulk slithered through the gap in the dome and came floating down like a parachute. Zeke had transformed himself into a beast of battle. He was more crab than squid now, his once flexible outer skin thickened into a shell studded with spines as sharp as thorns. His tentacles remained flexible and unjointed but were now clad with plates of horny armor, the tips variously weaponized with spiked maces, serrated blades and barbed lances. He landed softly, poised on four broadly-splayed legs with clawed feet that would have been the envy of a velociraptor. His four upper tentacles were raised high and coiled like cobras. The numerous eye slits he had sprouted since we last saw him studied the commotion building around him.

A squad of Temple guards rushed at him bearing their ceremonial long-handled battle axes. Zeke met them halfway, pouncing into their midst, flinging his maces and thrusting his spear-tipped tentacles with deadly speed and accuracy, ripping through the guards' soft armor and spilling their bowels.

Hashmallim dropped to their knees and shouldered their large bore weapons. Powerful shock waves burst from their openings. But Zeke proved as impervious to their discharges as a ghost. The pulses wafted through him like a summer breeze across a deck and slammed into the far wall, cracking the stucco. Zeke wound up his torso and whipped his bladed arms at any Penny within reach. Those not decapitated lay groaning and bleeding on the rubble-littered floor.

Gaia stooped and plucked a device from the belt of one of the fallen guards. She then loped over to me and touched it to each of my restraints. On contact, the bindings turned to slime and dribbled down my skin.

"Let's go, James. We are done with these fools."

Zeke circled the chamber, inviting the remaining Hashmallim to challenge him. When none saw fit to oppose, he squatted flat, reshaping several legs into his familiar flower petal platform and spreading open a seam in his body to reveal his interior.

Gaia took my hand and we strolled up to Zeke, his cushy interior as welcoming as ever despite his menacing external configuration. She touched the pistil-like podium at the center and four petals began to fold up around us, each one widening to fill the gap left by the two that remained raised and coiled to threaten a pair of injured Hashmallim cowering on the ground before us.

Shouts and footfalls echoed from the corridors ringing the central hall. Chunks of rafter and stone continued to cascade from the gaping hole that Zeke had torn into the dome.

Zeke's limbs and torso lost their inner opacity, becoming clear as freshly washed windows. As he began to rise, I spotted a heap of partially shrouded and blood-stained bundles heaped on either side of a doorway leading into the confinement area, where an array of hexagonal cells stretched out of sight like some giant honeycomb.

Atop one of the heaps of corpses, a head protruded from the edge of a shroud. From it spilled a long shock of reddish-blonde curls. I knew that wild coif all too well.

I fell to my knees, feeling gut shot and despondent. Gaia glanced down at me, brow furled.

"Vertigo again?"

"No."

"Are you hurt?"

"I saw Urszula."

"Oh?"

"Her corpse." My voice cracked.

"Oh come. You, of all people, should know better. That was just a body. It's a person's soul that matters."

"So where is it? Where is her fucking soul?"

Gaia sighed. "Not sure. But we can certainly find it."

We floated up over the Temple hall and out through the hole in its dome.
Chapter 40: Another Realm

The image remained seared into my retinas—Urszula's limp body draped atop a heap of other corpses. I lay at Gaia's feet crumpled and sobbing on the floor of Zeke's narrow inner compartment.

It felt so wrong being inside the belly of the beast I had just watched maim a couple dozen Hashmallim. I wanted to go home. To a real home, not that fraudulent piece of real estate I had hacked together in the hollow.

And where was that? Not Fort Pierce. Probably my old bunk on Renfrew's farm. It was too much to bear knowing I would be stuck in the weirdness of these after lands for all of eternity.

Gaia stood with her elbows propped on Zeke's central post like some yuppie sipping coffee at a Starbucks pub table. She looked down at me and sneered.

"Oh, get over it already."

"She's dead!"

"Yeah? So what? So are we."

"Yeah, but ... but...."

A wave of anger boiled up in me, but I couldn't summon the coherence to argue back at her. Maybe her rudeness was the shock I needed knock me back to my senses. Tears dribbled off the tip of my nose as I struggled to gather myself.

But Gaia wasn't even paying any attention to me. She leaned close to the pillar, murmuring in some kind of lingo that seemed to consist only of soft vowel sounds like some grandma cooing to a baby, apparently talking to Zeke.

We continue to soar upward like a hot air balloon that had dumped all its ballast. High above Penult things got foggy and warped, and not only because my eyes were blurred by tears. Zeke was taking us through the interface, the place where realms converge and blend.

And then everything went clear again. As easy as slipping around a stage curtain, we were floating above a new and unfamiliar landscape. The place below us far too wild and rumpled for Penult, way too lush for the Liminality.

"Brilliant!" she said. "This is good. I was worried."

I glanced up, already feeling a bit calmer, but my voice still cracked. "Worried about what?"

"My mentors," she said, smiling. "I thought we might be intercepted. But they seem to be leaving us be, for the moment anyhow."

"Where the fuck are we?"

Gaia glared down at me. "Loom, of course. Do you intend to stay crumpled at my feet or do you intend to participate?"

"In what?"

"In your friend's retrieval. Look at you! You are pathetic. Get a grip on yourself. You act like something horrible and irrevocable happened."

"Something horrible did happen. They killed my friend."

"So what? It's not like she hasn't been dead before."

"Yeah but ... I'm the one who brought her back."

I broke down sobbing.

"Oh stop! Who knew you were such a drama queen? You will see. This is no big deal. We will use a loom to update my skeins and locate her. And then we go off and retrieve her. Simple."

"What if she's gone? Completely."

"Things don't work that way. Sure, there are deeper realms. But I doubt a halfsoul one like her would assort to one. Even if she was a resurrection."

"How can you be sure?" My own words caused more tears to spill.

"Will you stop dwelling on the negative all the time? Not everything is a worst case scenario."

"I can't help it." The tears kept rolling.

"My, my. Look at you! Imagine if you had actually loved the poor girl."

"Well I did ... I do ... love her. She's my friend. We go way back."

"Just a friend? Like me with you?"

"Yeah. I guess. Maybe it could have been more. Given time."

Zeke was just floating now, drifting slowly over the lush landscape, in no hurry to get anywhere anytime soon. Gaia gazed out through his translucent walls, wistful.

"You know, I've always wondered how it feels to be truly in love."

"You've never been?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I doubt it. Not for real."

"Remind me, how old were you when you died?"

"Twenty four. And I had boyfriends. But ... no true loves. Not how I have seen other souls engage. Some strands simply bedazzle with their phosphorescence. How they burn! It is a rare thing for humans to find real love."

"I don't know what you're talking about. People fall in love all the time."

"Yes, but these are mostly superficial attractions. You meet someone and neural pathways click into place to give the illusion of something deeper, but it is very rare to find a soul truly complementary to one's own and whose love reciprocates and endures."

I didn't let on, but her theory sounded like a crock of shit to me. True enough, there were times in my life when it seemed like I was falling in love just about every week. And true, the reciprocation thing hardly ever happened but usually something mundane and logistical got in the way, like not having a car. Things never got a chance to bloom.

What I had felt with Karla was real. Very real. And I think now because we had time to develop that initial attraction. I was pretty sure it could happen again with someone else. But I didn't feel like arguing so I kept mum.

"Guess, I was one of the lucky ones."

"You?" She smiled at me a little too smugly. "You think you know love?"

"Well, yeah."

"Oh? And so what does it feel like?"

"Well, it's ... I don't know. I'm not so good with words. It's ... special."

"Special? You don't really know what you're talking about, do you?"

"Sure I do."

"Lest you forget, I have seen your skein, as well as the strands of an individual you apparently thought you loved. Infatuation and love are different things."

"Thought? You're saying I don't know my own feelings?"

"I'm just saying that you are not very experienced in these matters."

My bile boiled up again. I don't know her attitude frustrated me so much. Maybe the thought of being dead without ever having experienced true love panicked me. But I was pretty sure that whole 'soul-touching' thing had happened to me. How else to explain my whole deal with Karla?"

"You ever heard of a band called the Cure?"

"No."

"Really? What year did you die?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'm trying to explain to you what being in love feels like ... to me."

"Honestly, James. Give it a rest."

"There's this song called 'Just Like Heaven.' Ever heard it?"

"I don't think so."

"It goes like this...."

And I did my best to sing the soaring and swoopy, jangly guitar melody to her, just the melody, no words. Her eyes beaded up and she gave me this cockeyed grimace, an expression so dismissive, it pissed me off even more.

"Do you get what I'm trying to say?"

"No."

"Well, I guess you have to actually hear 'The Cure' play it. But the feeling that song gives me, that's it! It captures what it feels like perfectly."

"James. I'm sorry, but ... and I don't mean to sound unkind, but I have seen your strand. I know what you have experienced in life, and it simply is not there. Nothing to feel bad about. It's a common delusion."

"Bullshit!"

"And you think a silly song can capture what real love feels like? Honestly?"

She closed her eyes and reached into her funky purse of strands, pulled one out and made it speak. Music came vibrating out of the damned thing.

"Is that the one?"

"Yes! How did you...?"

The volume soared until that Cure song came jangling from everywhere and nowhere at once, in my head and through my skull. Every molecule of Zeke resonated with sympathetic vibrations.

A dam broke and I gushed freely, crying like I had never cried before. More than when Dad died, or Mom, or even Karla that first time. And Gaia just watched me with those pale blue eyes, a faint, sad smile creasing her lips as those guitars chimed across the sky.

***

We drifted over a landscape as lush as Penult, but not nearly as manicured. It was wild and rumpled, with no visible roads or cities. A city dweller might have found the place fairly hellish but all of these endless trees brought me comfort.

I wondered if all enlightened souls were expected to enjoy this wilderness motif or if upper realms were tailored to specific psyches. Where would an agoraphobic Brooklynite go? Not my problem, I suppose. I liked it here.

Zeke settled down gently in the middle of a glade surrounded by a fern-infested, sun-dappled woodland. As he unfolded his petals I noticed that he had already reabsorbed his armor. The spikes on his tentacles were gone and gashes and abrasions inflicted by the Hashmallim had completely healed.

Gaia reached down and squeezed my shoulder.

"Feeling better now?"

"I'm fine," I said, feeling more numb than soothed.

"Tears are healthy for the soul. It's good to get it all out."

I didn't say anything, but there was still plenty bottled up inside me. I stood up and tucked in my shirt, picking off bits of dried slime left over from the restraints. Gaia stepped out onto the ramp Zeke had laid out for us. I followed after her.

The forest surrounding us was full of big, old trees with massive horizontal branches perfect for climbing and tire swings. The air was brisk and spicy with a faint tinge of sweetness.

"So what's this? Is this your private little corner of Heaven?"

She smirked.

"Nothing private about it."

"So where is everybody?"

"They're around. There are places in Loom for those who prefer crowds. I don't, so I come here."

"Why'd you bring me here? Is that even allowed?"

"Just a quick stop. I need to update and augment my skeins and then we'll be off."

"Off to where?"

"To find your friend, of course. You still aim to help her, don't you? If so, I will need to consult a loom. There's a rather quiet one up in these hills. Perfect for loners like us."

"You really think we can find her at this point?"

"Of course! Come. It's still early in the day. The loom should be vacant."

***

We followed a trail that led along a vigorous creek that gurgled between boulders of pink granite over a bed of pale sand. The water was devoid of silt or algae. Fish zipped like rosy-bellied darts from pool to pool.

A small herd of tiny deer browsing along the edge of the stream pricked their ears and watched us pass. They were no taller than a golden retriever—graceful creatures with mottled coats, but alien to me. Nothing I recognized from nature shows or picture books.

I was having trouble keeping up with her on the trail. She loped effortlessly up the hillside but I kept lagging behind. She had to pause atop each pitch to wait for me to catch up.

"The loom I intend to visit is not the best. It is rather neglected and not the most comprehensive. But I believe it will suffice."

I could only respond with a grunt.

"This is not your native realm," she said. "I should have warned you. Physically, you might not feel up to your best."

"To put it mildly."

She ran her gaze up and down my length.

"I am sorry to say, but you are looking pretty awful. Would you mind if I freshened you up a bit?"

"You gonna give me a makeover?" I said, panting.

"Your face is filthy. Your tears have carved tracks through the dirt."

"So?"

"You'll attract less attention if you're clean. Tidiness is the custom here."

I could hear the stream trickling beyond the trees to our left.

I sighed. "Let me go splash some water on my face."

"No need." She fished around in her bag and pulled out what mom used to call a 'worry stone.' It was basically a rounded grey beach pebble with a white line going around the middle. She looked up at me, squinted a little bit and rubbed her thumb over the white line and touched the stone to my forehead.

A jolt went through me like I had been mildly electrocuted. My hair puffed out, suddenly free of all the oil and grime that had flattened it. The holes and fraying of my jeans and hoodie spontaneously knitted together. Grass stains and caked mud blasted off into the breeze as little clouds of dust.

"Whoa! Where can I get me a rock like that?"

"There is nothing special about this pebble," she said, slipping back into her bag. "It's merely a conduit. A talisman. But you should know these things. That sword you used to own. Your sticks. They're much the same. Where there is a will there is a way."

"How do you know about my sword? I never told you...."

She cocked one eye. "How do you think you found it in the first place? Do you think destiny brought you to it in those deep, dark tunnels?"

I narrowed my gaze at her.

"How long you been watching me?"

"It is what I do. I am a watcher of souls. If only you had not chosen suicide. You might be here with us right now."

"Suicide? But I never...."

"You had the intent to reject the gift. That is enough to spoil a soul."

"Listen. I was going through a hard time. You can't blame me for—"

She shushed me gently. "No matter now. Water under the bridge."

She reached over and fussed with my hair, attempting to pat down several stray locks but it was a losing battle. A gentle breeze had other designs on my hairdo.

"Oh dear. I suppose that's the best we can do for now. If we encounter any other souls, try not to stare no matter how strange they may seem. If we are challenged, let me do the speaking. If you are addressed, respond politely and pleasantly. But be honest. Admit that you are a temporary visitor, no more."

"I take it people don't mind their business around here?"

"My mentors may try to intervene. I have the hardest time keeping them happy, or at least keeping them from being unhappy with me."

"Maybe I should just lay low. Let you go and do your thing."

"Oh no! I would fear for your safety if you were to be discovered."

"Why'd you bring me here, then?"

"You will be fine as long as you stay close to me. I would simply suggest that you treat me with some respect in their presence, not as a peer."

"You saying I don't treat you—?"

"I'm fine with it. Really. I'm not that kind of person. Now come, let's go find that loom."
Chapter 41: The Loom

The path wound its way gently up to a treeless hilltop surmounted by a large, round hut with walls of perfectly fit stone blocks and a roof thatched of reeds and encrusted with moss and lichen. Lonely clouds drifted like lost sheep just above our heads.

We had views in all directions. The regularity of the rumpled landscape struck me as rather odd. We were surrounded by dozens of treeless hills of similar size and shape; some rocky, some grassy. Most seemed devoid of human disturbance. A few bore familiar round huts at their summits. The valleys were just as densely forested as the hills apart from a meandering river flanked with vast marshes of tall, feathery reeds.

The heavy wooden door of the hut was deeply engraved with a symbol resembling a pair of stylized fishes attached end to end by the tips of their tails. It occurred to me that I was looking at script for a lower case 'L' carved in script. This was a 'loom.'

The door, though it looked massive, balanced lightly on its hinges. Gaia was able to pull it open with only the gentlest of tugs.

A lack of windows made the inside dim. The only light filtered in through gaps in the eaves circling the interior. Most of the central area was occupied by a massive structure, leaving only a narrow walkway along the outer walls. Despite the lack of horses, it reminded me of a carousel.

Gaia skipped along the walkway, as excited as a child at a carnival.

"Oh wonderful! This is a good one! The old kind. Not as multi-dimensional as a master loom, but still fairly nuanced. It should give us what we need."

At the farthest point from the entrance we reached a low platform bearing a thick post fitted with spoked wheels resembled ship's helms. One was mounted vertically while the other spun horizontally.

"Alright. Here we go," said Gaia, slipping her palm into a deep indentation on the surface of the post.

The interior of the carousel began to glow with a phosphorescent blue mist. Quickly, the mist coalesced into a meshwork of thick slanting strands connecting clusters of nodes on the upper rim with similar bumps along the lower rim. The arrangement of nodes seemed almost as random as the stars in the sky.

A few of the strands glowed along their entire length, though most shed light only near their ends, proximal to the terminal nodes. The centers of the incomplete strands were either transparent or black.

"These all represent human connections," said Gaia. "Souls that are touched by other souls. Actual and potential. Some people go through life never realizing their connections. The gaps you see between the lighted ends. Clear indicates their potential for growth. Black means regression and decay. Do you understand?"

"They're just like the thingies you keep in your purse."

"Yes. Except those I carry are not as sensitive to subtle changes in the state of a soul. They are, in effect, static copies. Snapshots in time. The strands before us are live and connected to the souls they connect. They represent real-time conditions between souls."

"Holy shit? You mean some asshole is watching over each and every one of us every minute of our existence?"

"Not necessarily. Looms track all souls but that doesn't mean anyone is watching."

"Not even God?"

"God is not an asshole."

"That's a matter of opinion."

She ignored me.

"Put your hand over mine."

I covered the back of her hand with my palm. Her fingers were smooth and cool—the un-calloused hands of a person who had never had to wash dishes or dig a ditch.

Gaia slipped her hand out from under mine and the strands before us disintegrated into mist before reassembling into a much sparser and darker array. Without the dense confusion of tangles I could see that each lighted node on top was connected to a globe hovering at the center of the carousel plus an array of nodes scattered around the basal platform.

"Whoa!" I said. "You're way more popular than me."

"You're a bit of a loner, I see. But I have been here longer. I have acquaintances in many realms."

"So these connections I see are all people I know? Alive and dead?"

"Alive and dead or somewhere in between. Every soul that has ever touched yours or is simply simpatico."

"What about ... Karla? Is she there?"

"I don't know. You tell me. Do you see her?"

"All I see is a bunch of glowing strings. What do the colors even mean?"

"If you saw her strand you would know it. You would feel it. Turn the wheels."

I turned the vertical one first and it did the opposite of what I expected. Instead of the carousel turning, the rim rotated, bringing up new nodes from below the floor. The strands again turned to mist and re-congealed once the turning stopped.

I gave the horizontal wheel a spin and again the action was not what I expected. Instead of turning the floor of the carousel, the ceiling rotated, bringing new nodes into alignment with those I had summoned from beneath.

"I have no clue what or who I'm looking at."

"That large orb in the center is you. Those on top, are those who matter to you. Those below are second order relationships. Those who also matter to those you love."

Gaia put her hand back over mine on the panel.

"Oh? And what about that blue one in the back?"

"Blue one?"

Though my set of strands were much sparser than those that Gaia had summoned, it remained a confusing tangle in my head, despite her attempt to explain it to me. But then, something hit me. A wave went through my stomach and my eyes latched onto a dim and dark blue strand in the rear of the carousel.

"Mom?"

"Yes. That's right. That one is your mother."

A bright blue strand ran from the central node to a star-bright point at the top of the carousel. The entire length of it had color, though the center third was a bit faded.

"Is she okay? Can you tell where she is?"

Gaia reached in and plucked the main strand. It made a sound that shook my bones.

"The timbre suggests she is only one step removed from this Realm. That means either Root or Lethe."

"Lethe? That a good place?"

"There are worse."

"She might be okay, though? I mean, still in Root?"

"That is possible, yes."

"I saw her in Frelsi. Before the invasion. She didn't recognize me. She didn't remember me."

"I'm not surprised. Spiritual lobotomies were popular there."

"Lobotomies?"

"Temporary dulling. They wear off eventually, like most in-artful flesh weaving."

"Hey, what about my dad? Is he in here too?"

"You tell me. He's your father."

"Sorry, but I still have no idea what I'm looking at. Just a bunch of colored noodles."

"Reach in, touch them. They will tell you."

"Nuh-uh. I'm not touching those things."

"Don't be afraid. They don't bite."

"I'd rather not."

Gaia sighed and leaned into the loom, brushing the back of her hand gently against the colored strands that ran from my mom's node to my orb and then to others along the top and base, spinning the vertical wheel to cycle through additional sets.

"I'm sorry. I don't see anyone in here who could possibly be your father."

"Why not?"

"Well, his soul may no longer exist."

"What? How can that be?"

"It happens. To many if not most. Souls get recycled. Their bits rearranged and replicated and reintroduced."

"Dad? My dad's been recycled?"

"I can't say for sure. This loom does not have the reach of some. There's a chance his soul may merely be inaccessible to it. Some farther realm."

"But he was such a good guy. Everybody liked him."

"That's not always a criterion for vetting."

"Why not? I mean ... damn. A man's character should count for something."

I was fucking started to cry again, thinking about him and all the times he would lay down on the floor with me and my Legos and indulge my toddler play fantasies. Then later, the times when mom's often frustrating home schooling had pushed me to my limits and he'd whisk me out of the house and we'd go beachcombing or car shopping till I could cool down and reset my mind frame.

Gaia looked at me, this time with a bit more sympathy than she had mustered when I was grieving about Urszula. I took that as a bad sign. Dad's fate was probably hopeless and she knew it. She stepped over and wrapped her arms around me.

"James. He might be okay."

"It's just ... I had hope after coming to the after lands that people may die but their consciousness goes on. Now you're telling me that some people do die, and they take their consciousness with them, forever."

She stroked my shoulder.

"If he can be found, I'll help you find him. I promise. No need to be upset about something we don't know for sure."

"What about Karla?"

Gaia straightened up and took a step back.

"Do you still have feelings for her?"

"Well, yeah. I probably always will. It's not something I can ever forget."

Gaia flicked her chin.

"She's there in the loom waiting for you to notice her. Just cast your will."

"I already looked."

"Look again. And this time don't lie to yourself. Make yourself really want to find her."

So I looked and this time my eyes went immediately to a plump strand connecting my orb to one of the upper nodes.

"Holy shit. Is it that one?" I reached and touched it and immediately recoiled from the pain it summoned in my heart, the feeling I had when she had died superimposed with the way I felt when I had first realized that I didn't want to be with her anymore.

"Shit! Oh yeah, that's her."

"Will you look at that?" said Gaia, amazed. "She still has strong feelings for you. It hasn't faded, like you had assumed. And yet your end has gone black, but not completely."

"Can the blackness ever go away?"

"It can, yes. But not as easily as growing into the clear space. Do you want it ... to go away?"

"I don't know. I was just wondering ... if these changes were permanent."

Gaia's eyes were large and inquisitive. "They're not ... permanent. Few things are." She just stood there, staring and studying me like Jane Goodall with some chimp.

"Shall we seek your other friend now? Miss Urszula?"

"Sure," I said, my voice cracking. "I mean, that's what we're here for. Right?"

She turned the upper carousel on its horizontal axis, studying the nodes that lit up on the upper rim. Each had multiple strands connecting to them, some in sharp focus and bright, but most blurred and ghostly in the background.

She used the vertical wheel on the controls to cycle through these other strands. There were dozens of them. But most remained dim apart from an occasional burst of color spiking down a strand towards my node.

One chartreuse strand stabbed a little stronger and brighter than all the others. At my end of the node, the colored portion was a bit longer and brighter but not by much. It had a large stretch of transparency in the center and the edges of the colored portions on either end had turned black. The colors guttered like a candle in a breeze.

"You see?" said Gaia. "That one right there. I think that must be her."

"So she's alive? I mean ... her soul is ... er ... not recycled?"

"Not yet. She seems fairly intact, though the flickering concerns me."

Gaia turned the other wheel slightly to bring more strands connected to Urszula's node into view. A brilliant flash of color sliced down to another node that had just wheeled into view.

Gaia beamed.

"Oh my! Look how that strand is completely lit, all the way across its length. See? This is that rare thing I was trying to tell you about. It only happens with true soul mates. It seems your friend is one of the lucky ones. The hues suggest quiescence but once souls connect all the way across a strand like this, their light is unquenchable."

"Don't tell me it's that guy she met when she was on the run?"

She reached in and plucked the strand. It bellowed loud and deep, rattling the floor like the low strings on an upright bass.

"I suspect so. From the sound of it, he is definitely someone who is also no longer alive. And someone who still cares for her very much, even in death."

"Are they ... together?"

"No. They are in different realms."

"Well, that sucks."

"You are disappointed? Not jealous? Not even a little?"

I wasn't sure how to feel about it. To be honest, I was still a little shocked.

"Nah, I'm not jealous. Just a little surprised. She was never the touchy feely type. So ... where is she? That's what we need to know."

Gaia reached in, plucked the strand again and frowned.

"Well, the news is not ideal. I was hoping we might find her in a place like Lethe, where souls can linger unharmed for some time. But no. As I feared, she is in Avernus. Souls there, are exposed to the vagaries of will, they have no flesh to protect them and thus are highly perishable. Much more so than the Deeps. She still seems fairly intact for the time being, but we will need to reach her ... and soon."

Gaia reached into the Loom and pulled at the strand that connected Urszula's node with mine. A ghostly copy of it pulled free, leaving the main strand behind. The copy regained solidity as it contracted to a fraction of its original length. Gaia tucked it into her special purse.

I still had my hand on the panel, twisting the wheels, fascinated by how many points of light there actually were in my little universe of souls, no matter how sparse the array might seem against Gaia's.

In many cases, only the nodes were lit, indicating that these were souls I had some potential of connecting with. Maybe we had never met and never would and thus the strands between us would remain transparent. Often, there would be a bright node with a little bit of glow running up the strand. I took that to mean these were people who knew me, though in some cases, my end of the strand remained blank. That was a little sad, I though. Some people had tried to make a connection with me but I had not reciprocated.

There was one strand in particular that caught my eye, a very bright node with mauve and purple running almost half way up the strand. My end of the node had only a little bit of a spark, but that meant this was someone I had met, someone who apparently felt a very strong connection with me.

I reached into the carousel.

Gaia grabbed at my arm. "No! Not that one! Don't touch it!"

Before she could stop me, my finger hooked the strand and plucked it. It vibrated all loud and twangy, resonating off the walls of the loom.

Gaia staggered back and gasped clutching at her chest.

I gaped at her. "Oh my god! That was yours, wasn't it?"

She couldn't speak. Her eyes showed only panic.

"Hey. It's alright. It just means you like me, right? I kind of knew that already. For you to even risk bringing me here? To help me as much as you have?"

Yes, I did kind of know that she liked me, but I hadn't really acknowledged it yet to her, or to myself. And now that I knew for sure how she really felt about me, it kind of puts things in a whole different perspective. This was not some superior being doing charity work. This was a fellow soul, and she thought of me as a peer, as someone she could actually have a relationship with. I looked back at my node and wouldn't you know there was a bit more color flowing up in her direction.

I reached in and plucked to get a copy of the strand like I had seen her do. She grabbed at my arm again and yanked me away. My palm left the panel and the carousel went dark, but I already had my strand.

"What are you doing with that? You have no use for—"

"Souvenir." I tucked it into the pocket of my hoodie.
Chapter 42: Avernus

Gaia hustled down the path far ahead of me, prancing nimbly down a steep and twisting trail. I fell and skidded down loose scree and tripped over tree roots. Not once did she glance back to see if I was keeping up.

"Yo Gaia! Slow down! You're gonna kill me."

She continued to ignore me, but I managed to catch up with her along a stretch where the path leveled out and widened as it passed through a grove thick with tree ferns. I grabbed her shoulder and tried to turn her. I just wanted to look her in the eye. But she squirmed away and skipped ahead.

"Jeezus! It's okay. What your strand showed, I'm fine with it. No need to freak out. It's totally cool."

"Yes, well, I don't want to talk about it."

"So you like me. Who cares? Is that a crime?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," she said, her voice shrill. "In my realm, here, fraternization most certainly and definitely is a crime. What's more, by plucking my strand from a loom, you will bring only more attention to me."

"We can go put it back."

"No. You can't. It's too late."

"But it's no big a deal. I mean, I like you, too."

"I am not allowed to fraternize with souls from other realms. Period."

"What do you mean by 'fraternize?'"

"Casual personal relations ... of any kind."

"You mean like even just hanging out together? That's bullshit."

"There are few rules binding here in Loom but that is one that is taken quite seriously."

"But who cares if you—"

"The Powers-that-be!"

"Who the fuck are—?"

"I told you, I do not want to discuss this! And certainly not here!"

We found Zeke in the glade where we left him, petals wide open and completely relaxed and defenseless, though he had this odd nervous quiver about him that I had not ever seen him do. He perked up as we approached, firming up a ramp for us.

Gaia froze. And then so did I when I saw why. A man stood on the edge of the clearing, leaning on a huge spear. Eyes like pebbles down a pipe. Shock of wild grey hair matching a chaotic beard. He wore nothing but a soiled loin cloth. Tattoos of Celtic knots decorated his scrawny chest.

"Yes? Do you have something to say, Oswaldo?"

The man shrugged. "What there was to say has already been said. The question now remaining is how much farther you will take this debacle."

Gaia's face and posture were rigid.

"As far as necessary. Does it matter, at this point?"

The man returned a serious gaze.

"Probably not."

She kept still, staring at his spear.

"And I hope that you will not attempt to stop me?"

His face shifted into a faint smile. His eyes betrayed a fatherly love tinged with a touch of sadness.

"No."

Gaia's expression softened. She glanced back at me, then tipped her head to the man in the loin cloth.

"Thank you."

"But the Argents might!"

She turned away and pranced up Zeke's petal and into his central cavity. I followed quickly on her heels.

As the petals closed, my eyes met those of this Oswaldo guy, still watching, and I was struck by an intense feeling of pity and disdain. Not my feelings for him. His for me, conveyed with a mere glance.

Gaia fussed in her purse for the strand she had just copied from the Loom and tucked it into the groove atop Zeke's central post. Our elbows brushed and she took an emphatic side step to restore the space between us.

The petals began to curl and fold, as Zeke enclosed us in his capsule. Only when the walls were sealed and Zeke began to levitate did Gaia begin to breathe easily.

I glanced down to find Oswaldo still watching us. I tried to avoid his eyes but they found me and conveyed one last warning.

"Be good to her."

***

The sky went black. Not all at once, but gradually, like a northern sunset. I had expected the darkness to be transient, like always when we pass through interfaces, but things stayed dark for the longest while.

"Where the hell are we?"

Her face went red and she snapped at me. "You were right there when I told you. Were you not listening?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Honestly!"

"What I meant was—"

"We are going to Avernus."

Her outburst startled me. I had never seen her so agitated. Throughout her charade and the ensuing catastrophe in Penult, she had kept her cool to the point of frigidity. I was not used to seeing her display any level of anxiety.

Actually, I found it immensely attractive. It made her seem more human.

"What's it like there?"

"Dangerous," she said. "And highly disorienting. Once we get there, you must stay with Ezekiel. I don't want you blundering about. Much too easy to get trapped. Let me do the searching."

"She's my friend. Let me help."

"No. It's too easy to lose one's self in this realm. Souls get trapped and utterly destroyed. It is that kind of place."

"You mean like ... there are Reapers?"

"This entire realm is one big Reaper. It exists only to reap, to grind up souls and recycle their bits. So please, let me do all the searching. I know how to maneuver there. I know how to protect myself."

"You don't have to baby me. I've been through these kinds of places before."

She wrinkled her nose at me. "No you haven't. If you think this is some simple realm like the Deeps, you are sorely mistaken. This is not some place you can wander about calling 'yoo hoo' and your friend will come to you. You have no idea, James. Avernus will be completely unfamiliar territory for you. You've never seen anything like it."

"But you've been there?"

"Yes. Once. During my tutorials. So please, stay with Ezekiel and let me handle the dirty work."

My stomach lurched. I felt a sudden lessening of the g forces. Things got brighter. We were going down.

Gaia pulled back a flap in the central stalk and reached in deep. She pulled out a heap of limp and diaphanous mesh. It looked greasy and disgusting.

"What's all that crap?"

"I need it," she said as she stuffed it into a shoulder bag.

"That's not what I asked."

She just ignored me. I realized then that Zeke had stopped moving. I had not felt any bump or other indication that we had touched down. He always stuck his landings but was rarely too gentle about it.

Something strange had happened to the gravity. We weren't exactly weightless, but it felt like we were unstuck from the ground. It was the weirdest feeling. I had the sense that I could walk up Zeke's walls just as easily as strolling across his floor, as if there was a little bit of gravity tugging me in every direction. Which seemed impossible.

"What are we ... are we ... hovering?"

"We have arrived."

"We in a cloud or something?"

"Don't be alarmed. Avernus is different. Its physical laws are just ... different. This is entirely a realm of the soul. It does not attempt to emulate normal human experience. Physical beings can engage with it, but we experience it differently than disembodied souls."

"How so?"

She shook her head.

"Don't ask me to explain. Just accept that Avernus is unusual and dangerous, particularly to those who don't understand what they're dealing with."

"Okay. Then tell me what I need to know to understand it."

Gaia rolled her eyes and muttered.

"Avernus is a four dimensional sphere, the way a tesseract is to a cube."

"Four dimensions? You mean like ... time?"

"No! Space. More space."

"So how do you walk in four dimensions?"

She shook her head and sighed.

"If you can't understand a simple description.... Never mind. Just stick with Zeke. He will keep you safe, and take you back home if something goes wrong. I will handle the retrieval."

Zeke let out a whimper and began to tremble and drift.

"No Ezekiel! Stay!"

"What's going on?"

"He doesn't like it here. I am going to disable him so he does not try to flee. We need to stay close to this spot."

Again, Zeke whimpered.

"Hush! You big baby!"

She pressed a row of bumps down the side of his pillar and whispered:

"Gaia Vibeke Pounce."

His drifting and fidgeting instantly ceased but he continued to whimper faintly.

"What'd you do?"

"That is my key. How I discipline and constrain him. But don't you dare repeat it because it will unfreeze him."

She leaned over to check the strand she had tucked into the groove. A smile graced her lips, the first I had seen in a while.

"You are right. She is tough. Most souls shatter the instant they touch this place."

"She's okay?"

"Hanging on. I need to be quick."

She peeled off the strand and tucked it back into her purse. With a quick stroke of the back of her hand against Zeke's wall, one petal curled open.

"Wish me luck."

She stepped outside. I went to the opening to watch. The terrain out there baffled me. We were embedded in this translucent grey stuff full of holes and dark splotches. A diffuse light spread evenly through everything, casting no shadows. The grey stuff didn't waft like clouds or mist, but looked far from solid.

Gaia just stepped out into it like she was wading through a giant snowdrift. She glanced back over her shoulder.

"Stay back! Don't you dare come out here, no matter what happens."

She tunneled upward through the grey matrix, swimming more than crawling. Sections that she had parted were already closing back in around her, flowing together like cold molasses.

"How the hell are you gonna find her in all this crap?"

"Her strand tells me she is close by." Her voice came back all muffled. "I can do it. I can find her. I just need to be thorough."

She reached for one of the splotches, knifing her hand into the center of it while peering into her purse of skeins. She shared a frown before moving off, scrambling over to the next dark patch.

As the grey enveloped her it smothered all sound, I was left to stew in a silence so profound I became aware of a faint tinnitus I had never noticed before.

I sat on Zeke's floor staring into the grey. He was shivering again, but at least he didn't whine. He had formed more appendages than I had ever seen him produce. They reached deep into the grey in all directions, attempting to cling to the nothingness.

Black spots sifted and drifted through the matrix, some compact as bowling balls with well-defined borders, others so diffuse and attenuated they were barely distinguishable from the background haze.

I closed my eyes to rub them and was assaulted by chaotic snippets of daydream: a gator lurking in a swimming pool, running through a park playing tag, walking the hills of Brynmawr at sunset. All real experiences remembered vividly, sensually. Something about this place stirred up the deepest elements of those memories.

But it was too intense for me to handle. I made sure I kept my eyes open, the only way I could suppress them.

Time passed. How much, I couldn't say. I had no way to tell in this sunless, changeless realm. But I was pretty sure it was too much.

I went over to Zeke's central stalk and ran my fingers over its grooves and knobs hoping to gain some insight as to Gaia's whereabouts. I was cautious about touching it, worried it might cause Zeke to do something drastic, but he kept still, frozen by Gaia's parting command.

I don't know what I was hoping to find. Some kind of radar screen? But Gaia had removed the strand she had used to navigate here and taken it with her.

I waited inside until I could stand it no more. I slipped out onto the one open petal to see what I could see, which was nothing. I yelled out into the grey but it was like shouting into a blizzard. The sound just got sucked away and swallowed up. Gaia couldn't have heard me if she was even twenty feet away.

Lobes of the grey gunk started crowding in over me and Zeke. There wasn't much to the stuff. It had some tangible mass, but gave way easily when touched, like solid smoke. I paced up and down the length of the lowered petal, batting it all back.

I stared out into that mess of grey, sorely tempted to strike out into the direction Gaia had gone, but she would have killed me if I wasn't already dead.

I went back inside, folded my legs under me and sat down, disconcerted to discover to find myself sitting on the wall looking straight out at the floor. I wasn't sure how I managed that trick. Zeke hadn't tipped over or anything.

I crawled back down onto the floor and took a seat there instead, for old time's sake. It felt no different. This weird, omnidirectional gravity thing was really fucking with my head.

At this point, I was yearning really hard for Gaia to get her ass back here. Zeke was getting restless too. I could feel him quivering faintly, as if he were straining against whatever spell she had put on him.

I tried thinking happy thoughts, picturing the girls strolling back through the grey arm in arm. The sweet reunion we would all have together. Urszula's fake indignation over me saving her soul a second time.

Suddenly Zeke's shivering intensified. He let loose a sharp, keening wail that was way different from his usual alarm sound. Almost seemed like he was crying.

I patted Zeke's side. "It's cool, Zeke. Mama will be home soon."

A slithering sound drew my eye to the ceiling. The rest of Zeke's petals were starting to droop. Some of the grey stuff was intruding where they had peeled back.

I hopped to my feet, took one step and stopped, disconcerted by how squishy Zeke's floor was feeling. Even his central stalk had lost some of its tone and was beginning to lean.

What the fuck was going on? If Zeke was a manifestation of Gaia's will—a more developed version of Billy, my occasional avatar—what did that say about Gaia's current condition?

Suddenly, I felt like I had swallowed a bucket of rocks. I scrambled over to Zeke's opening and screamed into the grey.

"Gaia! You okay out there?"

My words were absorbed as absolutely as a dew drop on a dry sponge.
Chapter 43: Rescue

Gaia's silence and her absence terrified me. She had struck out into that grey fluff without hesitation—serious about the risks, but brimming with confidence. But now I feared the worst, recalling her warnings of Avernus being a destroyer of souls. Zeke's collapsing only verified my dread.

The greyness was no longer shy and respectful of our personal space. It had grown aggressive, closing in around me and Zeke like a super slow fog bank. When you stared at the stuff you could barely detect any motion. But close your eyes for a few seconds before opening them and the changes were obvious.

It was pointless, maybe. But I kept hollering out into the grey wastes until I had screamed myself hoarse. Consumed by panic, I fished around in my pockets for the strand I had plucked from the loom, the one that connected me to Gaia.

"Zeke, we gotta go get her. Bring her back. Okay bud?"

I spoke Gaia's full name—Zeke's unlock key—out loud. But nothing happened. Zeke continued to sag. How had she pronounced Vibeke? Like Rebecca, I think.

I tried it again; speaking louder, slower and enunciating more precisely:

"Gaia ... Vibeke ... Pounce!"

This time Zeke shuddered and groaned. Tone returned to his boneless form. His petals uncurled. His base stiffened.

"Yeah! That's it! You go, boy!"

I tucked Gaia's strand into the slot atop the central stalk.

"Let's go get her! Go find your mama."

Zeke perked up even more, lifting himself up and out of the grey gunk into which he had been sinking. The end of one large tentacle slip into a bunch of smaller, radially-splayed arms, with tips flattened like fins. He balled them up and thrust them deep into the greyness, then spread them to gain traction against the fluff.

The tentacle contracted and yanked us in the direction of his splayed arm, carving a tunnel through that bizarre, hard smoke. He made three more thrusts in the same direction, dragging us a total of about thirty meters before losing steam and stalling.

As he stretched out a tentacle for another pull, he gave out a yelp like a puppy with a tweaked tail.

"What's wrong?"

Again, he went still and began to lose the muscle tone he had regained.

"No! Come on Zeke! Keep at it. Let's go find mommy!"

All he could do was twitch. Slowly and steadily his body went slack.

Clearly, he had been attempting to move towards his master. The direction of his lurch at least clued me in on her location. I strolled out onto the unfurled petal and stood there on the verge like a reluctant diver. If only this was merely cold water I was afraid of. I sucked it up and took the plunge.

***

I swam through gaps in the greyness. The whole mess was like an avalanche of dirty snow suspended in mid-tumble. Piles of deep powder just hung there, holding together just barely enough to hold my weight. I kicked and pulled my way through the stuff, attempting as best I could to match the angle Zeke had been carving before he gave out. I kept calling out for Gaia, though my voice did not carry much beyond my face.

The deeper I went, the more my head crowded with thoughts and images that competed with my actual senses and interfered with my perceptions of my surroundings. It was like being awake and asleep at the same time, processing real inputs alongside the creations of a dreamscape.

The dream world was doing its best to make me give in to it, luring me with happy remixes of scenes from my past life. If that was all there had been, it would have been no contest. Who doesn't like ice cream cake and birthday presents?

But there was just too much bad stuff lurking in the wings for it to conceal. For every nightmare filtered out, a dozen more clamored at the fringes of my consciousness, a menagerie of rabid creatures clawing and bashing themselves against cage walls trying to get at me. Just a glimpse of those horrors was all the motivation I needed to bolster my resistance.

The bad vibes worsened whenever I passed too near the dark stains soiling the greyness. There, I was assaulted not only by my own demons but the traumatic and ugly experiences of strangers.

Fuck that shit. I had enough problems. I quickly learned my lesson and tunneled around them, giving them plenty of leeway. They were poison to my soul and not to be touched.

Avernus doubled down, unleashing a firehose of positive imagery and sense memories at me. It got increasingly difficult to block out the chaos. It was taking all of my will to prevail over it.

Bits of the grey began to cling to me. Wherever I brushed them off, they left dark spots. Some clumps clung to my skin as tenaciously as barnacles and burned and itched where they touched me. The moment I noticed any, I scraped them off with my fingernails.

But there a came a point where I started to think, why bother? Why not just lay back and given into the good thoughts, try to ignore the bad. I had no desire to claw my way back to Zeke. Why bother? Besides, what would be left of him once I got there? I had given it a good run. Maybe it was time to move on.

And then I heard it. A feeble grunt. A defeated whimper. To hear anything at all in this environment meant its source was super close.

I plowed ahead, digging through the damned grey slop till I bumped my head against a limp and spread-eagled body.

"Gaia!"

My mind returned fully to the present as I cried with astonishment and joy.

"You okay?"

She hung there, suspended in the greyness, with that gauze blanket all wadded up and tucked against her belly. It had a horrible black stain all over it now, as if she had used it to sop up a puddle of dark blood.

Gaia's pale blue eyes were open but unseeing. Her body was crusted all over with that gray stuff. Only narrow patches of bare skin remained exposed. I tried scraping some of the crap off of her but it was useless. It seemed to have bonded to her skin.

She was awfully still, so I pressed my ear against her chest. She wasn't breathing! I freaked and tried doing CPR but there was nothing solid to push against. Instead of compressing her chest I ended up just shoving her deeper into the grey fluff, carving out a Gaia-shaped cavity.

The only thing I could think of doing was getting her back to Zeke, so I grabbed her and yanked her back in the direction I had come. I'm not sure what I thought Zeke could accomplish in his weakened condition, but options were few.

The gaps I had been cutting through the grey were already closing up, extinguishing my traces. It was like trying to retrace one's steps through a blizzard. I had only backtracked at few meters, but already I was lost.

In desperation, I called for Zeke by his full name:

"Ezekiel! Help! Gaia needs you! Ezekiel!"

For a while nothing happened. I clung to Gaia's limp and still form, cheek to cheek. And then I heard something slipping through the gunk. It would slither then stop, bogging down. It had to be Zeke. What else could it be? So I moved in the direction of the sound.

Discerning up from down had become a joke. No gaps in the grey were evident in any direction now. The stuff was caked inches thick over my legs and feet. Movement had become nigh impossible. I was mired worse than a deer on a quaking bog.

"Come on Gaia, wake up."

I kept squeezing forward but could only progress a few inches at a time. Those pushy dreams got pushier and more inviting. There was Karla in her cozy little bubble in the caverns of Root, urging me to stay. Mom was there, too, making apple fritters, saying they'd be ready in just a sec, telling me to wash my hands.

It took so much to move and I was so tired. I stopped struggling. I told myself that I was just going to rest a little while, gather some energy before I continued. The dreams agreed whole-heartedly, promising to entertain me in the meantime and to fill my soul with warm and fuzzy feelings.

I lay my head on Gaia's shoulder and closed my eyes. There came this vision of us lying on a beach blanket, palms swaying overhead, sun glaring down. Crashing surf. Thunderheads in the distance, approaching.

Gaia sighed and rustled, just shifting around like she was trying to get more comfy. My eyes popped open. My mind slammed back out of that cozy dream space.

"You're breathing! You're alive!"

Her eyes opened as well, flashing blue through crusts of grey. She smirked and her eyelids fluttered back down.

"Silly head. You know better. I died a long, long time ago. A long time ago. You know that you silly, silly boy."

"Come on! We have to get moving."

"What's the rush? Isn't this such a lovely beach? Isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's ... great. Hey ... uh ... you wanna ... wanna go for a swim? I'll race you. First one who touches Zeke ... wins."

"Ezekiel? In the water? That's not like him."

"Yeah. I know. Let's go see what's up. Come on. First one to touch him wins."

"Wins? Wins what? What do I win?"

"Whatever you want. Whatever you wish for."

"Really?"

Her eyes opened back up, still all loopy and distant, but present now. Her soul was here with me. Not that my own mind was in such great shape. I was slipping. Slipping back to the dream.

I held up my hand, mystified by all the little grey freckles now mottling my skin. My head felt so fuzzy and thick. It reminded me of the time I had way too many sinsemilla brownies down at the park.

I thought they looked cool, all those grey freckles. They prickled and stung a bit but that was cool too. It was exciting. Refreshing. Life-affirming. Kind of like the bubbles in a carbonated beverage, except that it was happening all over my body, not just in my mouth.

And then somehow, through all the haze and calm came crashing a pang of fear and panic. I was losing myself.

"Gaia ... Vibeke ... Pounce!" I shouted with every last bit of energy I could muster. And as soon as I did, the beach was back, with Gaia next to me, sharing a towel with some pink flamingos.

A pale and flabby tentacle came jabbing through a seam in the grey and wormed its way up to us. I watched it approach, fascinated. I used to have bad dreams about snakes, but this little guy looked friendly. But what was he doing here on this beach? And why was the sand all grey? I was very confused.

I watched the tentacle wrap around my wrist, utterly enthralled. And then came more friendly tentacles that wrapped around Gaia. And all I could think was that this was some nice octopus come to take us on a tour of his garden.

And then we were moving. The nice octopus was so strong, and yet so gentle. We were so lucky, Gaia and me to have it as a friend. And then there it was, so tall before us, like a sparsely branched and leafless tree.

It pulled us put of the grey and onto its lap. The dream world shattered. Reality came flooding back: the specks burning into my skin, clots of grey webbing stinging my eyes. I coughed and gagged up hunks of grey that had somehow gotten down my throat.

Gaia writhed beside me, moaning and clutching her mid-section. Zeke kept nudging us closer, urging us down his flattened petal and into his little chamber. I did my best to comply, crawling on my hands and knees, tugging Gaia after me.

He lifted his petal to create a ramp to help slide us into his interior, rolling up the distal end to retain us and prevent us from going back out into the grey. His free appendages slashed and whipped at any lobe of grey that swarmed too close, keeping the space around us free.

But the grey did not give up its prey that easily. It was moving quicker now, crowding in between Zeke's swipes, attempting to reclaim us.

Zeke spasmed and I suddenly found myself sucked deep inside his chamber. Gaia bumped against me hard as Zeke pulled her in right behind me. She was still clutching that filthy blackened mesh against her bosom. Her clothes hung in shreds, eaten away as if splashed with acid. She curled up against at the base of Zeke's central stalk and groaned.

My head cleared. Now I could feel every speck of grey sticking to me like spatters of red-hot concrete. The stuff burned!

I rubbed off all I could and went to work on Gaia. But the grey had had more time to work on her. Much of it clung to her as tightly as scabs and some had penetrated beneath her skin and fused with her flesh. There wasn't much I could do for her. She was covered with big, ugly lumps of it. Dendritic fingers of blackness spread along her nerves.

"We never should have come here! This wasn't worth it. We almost lost the three of us!"

Gaia could barely focus her eyes at me.

"I have a ... we have a ... have her."

I didn't know what the hell she was trying to say but I wanted out of Avernus and I wanted out now.

"Zeke, we gotta go. Get us out of here."

Nothing happened.

"Gaia? How do we get him to go?"

Her lips quivered but she couldn't speak. She looked straight through me, her gaze fixed on a point a hundred miles away.

I snatched the purse off her shoulder, reached in and pulled out some random strand. I shot to my feet and replaced the strand already tucked into the groove atop Zeke's stalk, the one that had helped guide Zeke to Gaia.

The effect was instantaneous. Zeke's partly open petal rolled the rest of the way and sealed out the nasty grey fluff for good. His torso firmed. His floor regained its tone. Once his walls attained the consistency of a properly inflated bouncy house, he began to rise out of the grey.
Chapter 44: Gracie

Zeke's lift-off startled me. I had resigned myself to never escaping the soul-snuffing mire of Avernus. I hadn't really expected that random strand from Gaia's purse to do what it did. But as I watched the chunky grey terrain drop away beneath Zeke's milky floor, I giggled in disbelief at the improbability of our leaving.

None of this registered with Gaia, of course. She lay curled around the base of Zeke's stalk, gasping like a bluegill stranded on a dock, with eyes as dull as a day old cod in a fish market. That she breathed at all was a triumph.

But just when I began to consider the future again, I happened to glance down. The bottom dropped out of my stomach.

The surface of Avernus had come to life. Thick lobes of grey boiled upward after us like angry cumulonimbi. Nothing slo-mo about it now. Avernus did not give up its souls easily.

A pair of warty colossi overtook us and pinched together like the fingers of an all-powerful deity, clamping down on and darkening Zeke's translucent walls. Zeke pushed on valiantly through the grey fluff, scraping through seams of lower density.

The drag proved too much. We lost velocity, stalled and began to drop. My doubts came slinking back.

But Zeke was far from done. A ripple shuddered through his flesh and he transformed into battle mode as swiftly as a cuttlefish swapping camouflage. He writhed and wriggled and whipped his saw-toothed tentacles against the fluff, ripping through lobes, sending large chunks tumbling. He carved his own gap and swooped through it before a second set of pincers could gather and close their grip.

Momentum restored, Zeke took us across the interface. We blinked out of diffuse light into the utter blackness in the nowhere land between realms. I was never gladder to exit existence. Nowhere was a good place to be when you had narrowly avoided being dragged down to a fate worse than hell. I collapsed to my knees, gasping in relief to be finally free of this nastiest of soul-destroying realms.

***

We drifted lazily for the longest time. I could only perceive motion as we passed a series of arching beams of convergent light. These were connected in a lacy array like the junctures between soap bubbles in a tub of foam.

I started to ask Gaia what they were but was busy squirming and moaning on the floor, clearly in no mood to play tour guide.

I assumed they were the borders of after-realms, but how could there be so many? That couldn't be right. Could it?

Zeke continued to drift, but there seemed to be a purpose to his motion. He was not merely coasting. He was clearly bringing us somewhere. The uncertainty of our next destination made me a little nervous. I suppose nowhere we could end up would be any worse than Avernus.

Gaia looked like shit. Her eyes were half-open and crusted with goop. She kept trying to sit up but couldn't help flopping back down. The poor thing was so weak. I sat down next to her and held her up. She laid her brow against my shoulder and snuffled quietly.

"Hey," I said. "It's okay. We made it out of that shit hole."

She spoke slowly, her voice slurred. "I was... down there... that was so ... it was so ... so stupid."

"Hey. If I had known that place was gonna be that nasty, I would have insisted we never go."

"No. It should have been ... could have been ... fine. Had I prepared. There are ways to navigate that place. I should have known."

"Woulda, coulda, shoulda. Shush now. It's done. We're out of there."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. I leaned over and gently kissed her forehead, still rough with clumps of that grey gunk.

"How do we get all this crap off of you?"

"No worries. It will crumble off by itself. It cannot persist for long outside Avernus."

I reached out and flicked a clump dangling of the end of her chin. It exploded into a puff and withered like mist in the desert. I was glad to see the black spots under her skin fading, the lumps receding.

Specks of light dappled Zeke's walls. It took me a moment to realize they were stars, billions of them! I turned my head in time to see the sun gild the rim of a lush and watery planet.

"What is this?" said Gaia, rising on her elbows, brow furrowed, squinting. "Where are you taking me?"

I shrugged. "Dunno."

Gaia coughed and sputtered as she struggled out of my embrace. "What have you done?"

"I ... uh ... kinda rescued us."

"But how? How did you get Ezekiel to leave Avernus ... without my consent?"

"I just popped in a strand from your purse. Just grabbed one and stuck it in his slot. Like I always see you do."

She gaped back at me.

"Which strand? Whose strand?"

"Beats me. I just grabbed one."

She tried to stand but her legs were still all rubbery and she sank back down. She persisted, knees quivering, willing her way vertical. She ran her finger over the strand in the groove.

"Oh my Lord," she said, rolling her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

Through the milky translucence of Zeke's floor I could see clouds and oceans and land coming into resolution. With the clouds so far below, we were far higher than any commercial airplane ever goes.

My heart started to thump real hard. I got antsy like a dog in a car a block away from home. The huge island below us confused me until I realized that I was seeing it upside down. This was not an island, it was a continent.

"Holy shit! Is that what I think it is?"

***

As we descended, I was feeling mighty pleased with myself. Zeke was bringing us back to the land of the living!

"I always wanted to go to Australia."

Her eyes were a pair of angry hornets.

"We can't stay."

"Why not?"

"Because we are dead!"

I just shrugged.

Zeke slowed his descent until he wafted down no faster than a hot air balloon at a carnival. His walls grew ever more transparent. We were homing in on a large coastal city surrounded by desert.

"That Sydney?"

"Perth," she said, dejectedly.

"You know someone there?"

"My sister. Gracie."

"But I thought you were from—"

"She married an Aussie and emigrated. But now she's a widow. He died in a car accident a few years back."

"Is he ... in a good place?"

"No."

I sucked air through my teeth. "Sorry to hear. But ... you must be excited about seeing your sister. Right?"

"Most definitely not!" Gaia looked aghast.

"Did you two not get along or something?"

She looked at me with eyes as wide as blue lagoons. "James. Intervening for you in Penult had probably already sealed my fate. Bringing you to Loom made things worse. Avernus, even more so. Now this? Coming here means there is no case for any lenience from the Powers-that-be. I fully expect them to send the Argents after us."

"Argents?"

"There is zero tolerance for visits to the living realm by those like me. It is considered soul tampering to the nth degree and absolutely forbidden. Whatever sliver of mercy I had a chance of receiving has vanished."

"Why should they care? I mean, nobody's bothered Karla since she came back. Urszula only ran into trouble because she got tangled up with the Pennies."

"I am of Loom. Expectations are higher for me. I was warned not to engage in your affairs before we even met. My behavior was already being monitored. A case was already being built against me."

"Blame this last one on me. I plugged in the strand that brought us here."

"You were my responsibility. Your deeds are my deeds."

"I'm sorry. I just grabbed a random strand. What else could I do? We needed to get out of that freaking place."

Gaia closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"What's done is done. No use to fret about it now. My goose was cooked long before we ended up in Australia."

***

Zeke drifted over a fallow garden clothed in dead and brittle weeds. A grove of tall eucalyptus shaded a small white house flanked by sheds and a vacant chicken coop. We touched down gently. Zeke unfurled all his petals, exposing us to the morning sun.

It was very early. Shadows were long. A breeze wafted by, bearing an exotic but not unpleasant musky scent. An alarmed cat stood atop a rail on the back porch, watching us.

Gaia stood behind me, peering over my shoulder with trepidation. All was quiet on the property. It was hard to tell if the house was even occupied.

"We need to leave before she sees us."

Gaia snatched the strand from the groove in the post and stashed it back into her purse, fumbling through a tangled mass of strands.

"What did you do to my strands? It's a tangled mess in here!"

"Don't you want to say hi to your sister? I mean, we're already here."

"We can't stay."

"But we can see if she's home. Say hello."

"But I must look horrible."

"You're dead. I'm sure she'll cut you some slack."

"We can't interact. It will upset the order."

"What order?"

"Those who learn the truth about the after lands sometimes end their lives prematurely. We can't have that. No. Not at all."

"Your sister's not gonna off herself just because we go over and say hi."

She continued to fumble through her purse.

"Sorry. But we must leave. I will take you back home."

"Oh come on! This is your sister we're talking about. When was the last time you got to see her?"

"I visit her quite often, actually. In her dreams."

"You little hypocrite. How is that different from us being here? I mean, apart you being able to go over and give her a hug in the flesh? Come on! Let's go knock on her door."

I stepped off Zeke's unfurled petal and felt the dry grass crunch under my bare feet. I took a deep breath.

"Aah! So nice to feel solid ground!"

A screen door creaked open and the cat curled its tail and sauntered over. A slender woman with long, dirty-blonde hair tied back in a pony-tail, leaned over and poured some milk into a saucer.

Gaia gasped.

"That would be Gracie," she whispered. "She's looking well, considering. That old cat might be Vivi. She was just the tiniest kitten the year I passed."

Gracie looked up and spotted us standing side by side in her yard. Zeke had gone all flat and invisible in stealth mode, though the effect was ruined by a star of flattened weeds imprinted by the weight of his petals. . Gracie stood up straight, squinting our way with a bit a bemused puzzlement

She waved. I waved back. Gaia only stared. It must have looked to Gracie like she was hovering several feet above the ground.

"Stay put and don't speak to her!"

She slapped her hand against Zeke's stalk and cooed a curt command. Zeke's petals began to fold and curl.

"Gaia?" said Gracie. "Gaia Vibeke Pounce?"

Zeke froze in place before his petals could make it a foot off the ground.

"But I thought you said you couldn't visit."

"This ... was an accident."

"A happy accident. Let's make the best of it have some lemonade before the angels come to get you."

Gaia sighed with resignation and attempted to step over Zeke's partially furled petal. Her knees buckled. She wobbled and nearly fell. I caught her and helped her down into the barren garden.

"You okay?" I asked, softly.

"I feel like an old lady." she said, her face already damp with tears. "I'm feeble. I smell like dirt. And I look like I've been exhumed."

"I have a feeling your sister won't mind," I said, as Gracie came dashing across the yard, golden tresses flying, embracing Gaia with the mother of all hugs.

***

With the sisters reunited and all caught up on the well-being of most of their extended family, living and dead, we retired to the kitchen for some peppermint lemonade while Gracie tended a pot on the stove.

When the adrenalin rush of being back on earth began to fade a bit, I came to realize that I was still feeling a little off, as if my soul had not entirely come back together from Avernus' attempt to tear it apart. In particular, my feet and hands were numb, my head foggy with echoes and snatches of other people's dreams that refused to fade.

I could only imagine what Avernus had done to Gaia's bearings but she showed no signs of impairment, chattering on and on with her sister having shed all trace of the reluctance she had expressed on our arrival.

Oddly, now I was the one feeling antsy about being here. I jumped at every movement outside the window. There was no way the Pennies or their Friends could know we were here, but my murder had turned me paranoid. Being here didn't feel right this time. It felt like cheating.

Gracie ladled out portions of something she called hunter's stew; with bits of beef and mushroom, carrots, potatoes and parsnips. It smelled way better than the faux food Gaia and I tried to whip up back at the ranch. We both dug into it without waiting for Gracie to join us.

"My! You two seem famished for a couple of ghosts."

"We're not ghosts, Gracie," said Gaia, blowing on a heaping spoonful of stew.

"What are you, then? You're no zombie. Dead ten years and here you are looking fresher than when you passed."

"Hardly. And it's been twelve. Twelve years. And to tell you the truth, I've felt plenty fresher. James and I, we've had a bit of a rough day."

"Well, you do seem a bit dusty," said Gracie. "You're welcome to use my shower."

"Thanks, but—"

Gracie stuck her finger through a hole in Gaia's blue dress and giggled.

"So what happened to your clothes? You look like you were attacked by flocks of moths. Help yourself to anything you find in my closets and drawers. I kept a few of your old things. Some of Neil's might fit James."

"Any chance you hung onto my favorite blouse? The blue one with the star fishes?"

"Of course! I have it practically been enshrined in a special drawer. No worries, dear, I've never worn it. I just take it out and cry into it from time to time."

"Dear God, Gracie. Death is no cause for tears. People die all the time."

"I know, I think, but—"

"Death is really not such a big deal. It's more of a matriculation than anything. No reason to be morbid, for sure. Did you cry when you graduated college?"

Gracie gazed up at the ceiling. "A little."

"That's just you. You've always been overly sentimental."

"So what's it like out there? You never tell me much."

"It's fine. You'll see, soon enough."

"I'll take my time, thank you very much. I'm in no rush."

"Good."

Gracie turned to me for a second opinion.

"How is it for you, James? Do you like being dead?"

"Like's too strong a word. I mean it's got its bennies. But I gotta say, nothing beats breathing the air of this place."

"Don't get too comfortable," said Gaia. "We need to be on our way soon."

"You're welcome to stay," said Gracie.

"Can't. The Argents will be coming for us, I'm sure."

"Argents?"

"Enforcers for the Powers-that-be. They repair anomalies in the after realms. As you might have deduced, sis. James and I might be in a spot of trouble."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"James is from a lower realm. I've been meddling in his ... situations."

"Again, not surprising coming from the likes of my sister. You were also attracted to the bad boys."

"James isn't bad. He's simply gone astray."

"Isn't that what they always say about bad boys?"

"In any case, after we leave, you may be visited by some rather strange people. I would suggest you tell them the truth about everything you saw. For your protection, don't withhold anything. Nothing I've told you should compromise your safety."

"How will I know them?"

"You will know an Argent when you see one. Believe me. They are not entirely human in appearance. Almost, but not quite."

"Holy shit! Thanks a bunch for giving me the heebie-jeebies? Oh well, I suppose me and the cats could use a little more excitement around this place. Get the juices flowing. Though, I've got half a mind to have you take me with you."

"Oh no. You have a life to live, Gracie. You will get to the after lands soon enough."

"I said half a mind. And probably not the larger half. Though, I do hope you can visit again. I've come to treasure our little dream chats."

"But only in your dreams," said Gaia. "Not like this."

"That's fine, Sweetie. I understand. Those dreams felt real enough. You're coming here will make them only more so."

Gaia pushed back her chair and glanced at me.

"Shall we?"

"Where to now?"

"Home."

***

Gaia stood on the porch, engulfed in her sister's arms for the longest time. Gracie's tears stained the shoulder of her starfish-patterned blouse which now accompanied a simple jean skirt. I was wearing a pair of canvas work pants and a chambray shirt from Gracie's dead husband. They almost fit me too, being only slightly loose and long.

I just stood there on the steps while they hugged and shared some last words, having a stare-off with a striped cat sitting on the porch rail.

"You feel so real!" said Gracie, squeezing.

"Because I am real," said Gaia.

"But I saw you at your wake. Saw your coffin go into the ground. This is a miracle!"

"No miracle. Just the way things work."

"Well, thank God for the ways things work."

Gaia sighed and slipped free of her sister, who immediately swooped over to me. It was my turn for one of Gracie's sloppy hugs.

"Thank you, for bringing her here. Even if it was an accident."

"I'm so glad she got to see you, even if...."

"If what?"

"Never mind," said Gaia. "Come. We've lingered too long already."

We boarded Zeke, and it must have looked exceedingly strange to Gracie as he was still in stealth mode and far more transparent than usual. I could sense his petals folding over us, but they barely refracted any light.

Gracie took it in stride, watching and waving from the porch as we ascended back into the sky and up through the interface. The stars blinked out all at once. It was like a punch in the gut.

"Sure wish we could have stayed a little longer."

Gaia shrugged. "The Argents would have squashed us like bugs."

"But they're cool with us going back to the Lim?"

"For you. Because that's where you belong. For me? We shall see."

I sighed. "Too bad about Urszula. But we tried, right?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I mean us not being able to save her."

I blinked at her and she looked back at me like I had Alzheimer's.

"But we did."

"How? Where is she, then?"

Gaia glanced down at the greasy blanket she had dragged out onto the grey wastes of Avernus.

"You're standing on her."
Chapter 45: Restoration

I gazed down in disbelief at the crumpled and sooty cloth Gaia had been clutching when I had dragged her out of the grey. It looked like a heap of cheap burlap someone had used to clean a chimney flue.

"Urszula? What the fuck? Where?"

"Her soul is there, bound to that matrix, what I could salvage anyway. But I was quite thorough. Collected every bit of black I could see. Even the seepage. I suspect her soul is fairly intact. We only need to reconstitute her."

"How?"

"It is trivial. However, if you want all of her to be restored intact I would suggest you take your foot off of her substance."

I stepped off the blanket, checking the undersides of my shoes for traces of soot, relieved to find them free of any smudges of Urszula's soul.

"Alrighty. I'm off of it. Do your thing. Bring her back."

Gaia shook her head.

"First we need water."

"How much?"

"A pond will do."

***

With my face resting against Zeke's central stalk, just inches from Gaia's hairy and scratched-up legs, I sat back, knees tucked up, and watched everything go wiggly beyond Zeke's gelatinous walls as we crossed one of the seams between realms. When the outside view stabilized, we could see stars again but they were way sparser now.

It was such a downer to leave the living world behind again. Who knew if I'd ever get another chance to see the place? I should have run off and disappeared into the suburbs of Perth while I had the chance, Argents be damned.

Not that I would have ever abandoned Gaia. She had sacrificed so much for me. The least I could do was stick around to help her deal with whatever trouble was coming her way.

There was land below, with a horizon curvature far more severe than the orb we had just exited. We swooped down over a dry and rumpled landscape speckled with occasional green oases.

The feeling it gave me was different from seeing Earth, but it still felt like coming home. The Liminality was home now. My new home.

Zeke drifted high over the pitted plains, large areas now a tortured badlands thanks to the root quakes. The land had endeavored to heal itself but plenty of scars remained—hills split and fragmented into chaotic badlands, deep, concentric ripples marring what had been perfectly flat savannah. The roots could only heal so much. These were fated to be permanent reminders of the war against Penult.

Zeke dropped abruptly, descending so fast that I felt myself lift off the floor, weightless. He had the ability to instantaneously increase or negate his mass and density to control his ascents and descents. Physically, that seemed impossible, but the physics I used to know and what happened in the Liminality didn't always mesh.

His means of lateral locomotion was similarly mystifying. Somehow he was able to make himself absence in one place and present in another slightly ahead of the first location. It hurt my brain to speculate on the specifics of his propulsion. The beast certainly did know how to move.

Out of nowhere a giant dragonfly with striped wings came zooming up to slam into us feet-first, shoving us off course with six clawed legs. Tigger! I wasn't sure if his actions were territorial aggression or a friendly love tap, but either way it made me smile.

"Your beast is just asking to be beheaded," said Gaia, dryly.

"Tig's just being a dragonfly. It's what dragonflies do."

"Poor Ezekiel has had a difficult few days. I would not blame him for lashing out."

"Oh, Zeke wouldn't hurt him. They're old friends by now."

We passed between the bluffs and followed the creek deep into the hollow. What had been a neat replica of my boyhood home was now a shapeless blob with globular appendages reaching in every direction. Only a few corners of the original wooden frame remained visible. The damned thing looked about ready to crawl off into the hills.

"Gaia! What the fuck? Your bedroom ate my house."

"No worries. I'll prune it back when I get a chance."

As Zeke drifted over the yard, I noticed that all of our ornamental plantings had had reverted back to natural scrub. We kept drifting until we were over the center of the pond, hovering several meters above its rippled surface.

Gaia gathered up the mesh blanket and handed the twisted and rumpled mass to me.

"Take her."

I just looked at it.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Just hold her for now until Ezekiel prepares himself. Do not touch any of the black stains unless you wish your soul to be tainted."

I took it and held it out awkwardly from my body like one would with a bag of manure. It was no way to treat a friend, but I was still not quite convinced that Urszula had any connection to this filthy blanket.

As Zeke peeled down his petals, I noticed dark stains seeping from my fingers into the parts that I touched.

"Crap! My soul is leaking."

Gaia shook her head dismissively.

"Superficial. I wouldn't worry about it. I'm sure a part of mine has entered the mesh as well. Consider it a gift to your friend. Perhaps it will restore some of what she lost to Avernus."

Zeke fused and firmed a pair of flattened petals to create a sort of floppy gang plank. A warm and resinous breeze came wafting in as Tigger came rattling in close, the wake behind him tossing us about. Wavelets scaled the pond's surface.

"Your beast really is quite annoying."

"He's just happy to see us."

"Okay, let her go," said Gaia. "Drop her in."

"In the water? Really?"

I took several careful side steps out of the chamber and out over the water. Zeke, for his part, provided a remarkably stable platform for a creature just hanging there in the air, better than any helicopter could manage, I'm sure.

Again Tigger buzzed us like a pesky gnat. I reached out and held the blanket out over the edge but Gaia put her hand over mine.

"Wait. The wind is still too strong. Wait for a lull."

I stood there holding that greasy mass out over the water, watching and waiting until the pond went glassy.

"Now!" she said. "Drop it. Gently. Into the water."

I let it go. The wind caught it and opened it up like a wayward parachute. It spread wide and settled flat onto the surface of the pond.

I leaned over a little too far and lost my balance. Gaia came up behind me and steadied me with a firm hand.

"Nicely done!"

"Yeah, but what the hell are we doing? Spreading ashes? Is this like a memorial?"

"Not at all. You wait ... and watch."

As the blanket floated, the black stain seeped out into the water like ink from a frightened squid.

There wasn't much to see at first. But gradually, the inkiness came together into one cohesive mass. The particles configured themselves into the general shape of a bipedal creature, but the outline was so grotesque I worried that we might be bringing Urszula back all malformed and hideous.

My worries were unfounded. Her limbs and torso gradually refined into the muscled elegance of Urszula's familiar figure. The bottomless blackness turned pale.

And then there she was, face down and naked, her great mane of frizzy auburn hair spreading out over the surface of the breeze-rippled pond.

Face down.

"Oh my God! She's gonna drown!"

I jumped feet first into the water, landing right beside Urszula's limp form, my splash rolling her over, face up. I gathered my legs under me and found soft silt squishing between my toes. The pond was only as deep as my chest here so I was able to hoist Urszula over my shoulder and drag her back to shore.

Zeke and Gaia drifted back over to shore and set down in a bare patch between two long lobes of the house that seemed to be grasping towards the pond.

I laid Urszula's naked and mud-mottled body down in the dirt, wondering how best to revive her. I wasn't too worried about her lack of pulse. Gaia had pretty much resembled a corpse when I hauled her out of the grey goo.

But I wondered. Might there be water in her lungs? She wasn't breathing. She had no pulse. I considered doing CPR. But what was the point? A beating heart didn't seem to matter much in the afterlands.

Gaia hopped off of Zeke and strolled over to us, taking her sweet time.

"She's still dead!" I said, anxious.

"Give her time. Her soul needs a chance to knit to her new flesh."

"Knit?"

Before she could answer, Urszula's eyes popped open and she started vomiting pond water. She rolled over and rose up on her knees and palms, hacking and wheezing, regarding the both of us with a venomous glare that was generally Urszula's way of greeting any new or uncertain situation. The look in her eyes suggested she might be weighing the advantages of cracking our necks over tearing out our tracheae. She didn't seem to recognize me.

"Who? What did you do to me? Where the fook am I?"

"My place," I said. "Welcome back! Man, you don't know how good it is to see you up and kicking."

Realization flowed into her eyes only milliseconds ahead of the tears.

"James? Oh!" She sat up and just sort of heaved herself at me. I caught her and held her. Her skin was slick and damp. Pond water trickled from her sodden hair and soaked into my hoodie. She trembled in my arms.

I looked at Gaia with more than a bit of awe over what had just happened. She just beamed back at me, clearly pleased with her good deed.

"Maybe I should leave you two be?"

"What for?"

She started to walk away.

"Gaia. You don't have to go."

"Don't you want me to tame your house?"

"Later. Stick around. I might need your help explaining things."

With the buzz like a flock of chainsaws, Tigger landed beside us and stood there preening his antennae.

Urszula looked up at my bug with the adoration Dusters reserved only for their giant insects.

She turned to me, her eyes all eager.

"My Lalibela. Have you seen her?"

"Well, we've been away too. But before we left she would come by the hollow now and then to torment Tig."

"So she has survived! Oh, that is wonderful news! When the Penultians took me. She tried to fight. They hurt her."

"Yeah. She's got a few new patches from what I saw."

She grabbed and hugged me again, so hard this time she ended up squeezing the breath out of me. Urszula was not a particularly large girl, but she had a hard body, all muscle and sinew and bone.

I realized that this was the first time I had ever actually hugged. She was not the touchy-feely type, if you know what I mean. Dusters tended to be that way no matter if they had been affectionate people in life. The Deeps tends to beat the cuddliness out of folks.

"You okay?" I asked, picking pond weed out of her tangled hair.

"I am not sure," she said, sounding a bit spacy. "None of this seems real. I should not be here. I was almost gone for good. The place I went, it was tearing me apart. My mind, exploding with the snips of so many dreams. And not just my own."

"Yeah, I know the feeling. I was there for a bit. In the grey."

"The grey? You mean, that place was Avernus?"

"But I thought you knew."

"How am I here? The Pennies, they killed me with their blades. How am I okay?"

"Ask her." I flicked my chin towards Gaia.

But Urszula was already lunging. We bonked foreheads and her lips latched onto mine, suffocating me with kisses. As I came up for breath I saw Gaia standing there, eyes flitting, cheeks red with embarrassment.

"Oh you ... you are so incredible, James. Thank you!"

"Wasn't me. It was her. Thank her." I nodded towards Gaia, who was already slinking off. "She was the one who found you and saved you. I didn't have that much to do with it."

Urszula gazed up at her, her eyes alight with wonder.

"Thank you ... so much."

Gaia blushed even deeper.

"Oh, but it was actually James who prompted your rescue mission. I merely facilitated the process."

"But how did you get me out? That was Avernus! No one escapes Avernus."

"That's not entirely true," said Gaia. "It happens. Early intervention is the key. I've even heard tales of unassisted escapes."

Urszula screwed her eyes towards Gaia.

"What sort of being are you?"

Gaia looked squarely back at her.

"A human being."

"Don't listen to her," I said. "She's special. Some kind of higher being. Higher than us."

Gaia shook her head vigorously. "Nonsense! I am just a soul lucky enough to slip through whatever vetting gains souls entry into Loom. Just barely, I would bet. I'm not that different from either of you."

"Don't let her humility fool you. This gal's got wicked skills."

"How did you two even find me?"

"Strands," I said. "There's this place on Loom with this merry-go-round thingie that connects every soul in existence. I mean you can see whose soul connects to who, and even figure out where they are. Like what realm. Am I right?"

"The 'thingie' he's talking about is called loom," said Gaia. "Loom is also the informal name of the realm in which I reside, when I'm not out and about wandering. Though, I doubt I will be welcomed back there anytime soon."

Urszula stood and crossed her arms over her naked breasts. Eyes fixed and intent, she took a step towards Gaia, which seemed to discomfit my Loomie friend and cause her to inch backward. Urszula was fully alert now and there were some serious calculations evident in her gaze.

"Your loom finds all souls? Any souls?" said Urszula. "Anywhere? Living or dead?"

"Yes," said Gaia, looking a bit apprehensive. Like a predator loose at the zoo, Urszula could have that effect on people.

"I want to find someone. Can you help me?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps. I highly doubt I still have access to a loom. But if I happen to possess the relevant strands...."

Urszula pressed into Gaia's personal bubble which, from the way it discomfited her, was way smaller than Urszula's.

"Show me what you can do."

"In time," said Gaia.
Chapter 46: House

It took a good hour or so for Gaia and Urszula to beat my house back into submission. When they had finally persuaded it to retract its lobes and regurgitate some of what it had swallowed, I was relieved to see that that much of the woody part of the structure remained intact under the blobby overgrowths. Thankfully, not all of it had been digested.

I summoned up my courage and went inside for a damage assessment and tallied up the losses. My workshop, hallway and master bathroom had been completely replaced with that fleshy, gurgling stuff. My bedroom remained fairly intact apart from for one wall that was suspiciously soft and made weird noises when poked. Only the kitchen and porch and the half bath near the entry remained just as we had left them.

I had already decided that I would be sleeping on the porch tonight. Urszula could have my bed if she could tolerate a wall that snored.

With the salvage operation as complete as it was going to get, I offered to conjure up some refreshments while Gaia got Urszula washed and clothed. My root stocks were low, but what little I found was quite lively and malleable. I managed to round up enough strays from the corners of my cupboards to put together a decent-sized meal.

If only my culinary weaving skills hadn't regressed during all that time on the road. I had intended to whip up a pizza Marghuerita but it came out looking more like a giant Ritz cracker with a thin layer of ketchup and lumpy mayonnaise.

But the nice thing about weaving was that you could always fix mistakes. As I tweaked my concoction and made it cheesier, I heard a crash down the blobby end of the house, followed by shouting, some of it quite shrill. I took off running and found Urszula screaming at a frowning Gaia, who stood holding a blouse of slinky white material with ruffles along the shoulders. A remnant of my old framing had collapsed in the corner and was in the process of being gobbled up by Gaia's bulbous closet.

"What the hell's going on?"

Urszula was naked from the waist up, wearing only panties, and I'm talking the kind your grandma used to wear to the doctor's office.

"Do you want to dress her?" said Gaia.

"No thanks."

"This one. Look! Look what she wants me to put!" said Urszula.

"It's just a plain blouse," said Gaia. "Maybe a few frills. This one even refuses to wear a bra. One can defy gravity for only so long, even in the after lands."

"She's a Duster," I said. "They kind of have their own fashion sense."

"Like what? Tell me what that is. This is the fourth outfit I tried and all she does is tell me no. I would be more than happy to create something that suits her fancy if I only knew what that was."

"Armor," said Urszula.

"What did she say?"

"Dusters like armor," I said. "Not metal. Just something sturdy and flexible but puncture resistant. Segmentation's good for freedom of movement. Think crustaceans or insects."

Gaia looked aghast. "Absolutely not. I am not in the business of outfitting bug soldiers. Clothing like that only inspires aggression."

"How about a compromise? Olive drab fatigues and a blue T-shirt."

I remembered Urszula once selecting those very items at rummage sale during our wanderings in New Hampshire.

"What is this fatigue?" said Urszula.

"Simple clothes. The kind you like."

She shrugged. "Okay. Anything but the ballerina crap she makes for me."

"Urs, Gaia's just trying to help. She doesn't know you like I do."

"Fine. Okay! So I say thank you to her. I am so thankful."

Gaia glared at me for no good reason. "How is the food coming along?"

"It's ... coming. I'm not so sure I can call it food yet."

"We will join you in a few. I want to see if I can do something to tame her hair."

"Yeah? Good luck."

I went back into the kitchen and wrestled with my giant cracker a bit more. I managed to make the crust more doughy and the mayonnaise stretchy. There wasn't much I could do about the sauce. At least I had managed to get the thing hot and steamy by the time the girls reappeared. I noticed that Urszula's hair was now free of twigs and mud clumps, but it was far from tamed despite the headband that Gaia had somehow convinced her to wear.

"What is that thing?" said Gaia, wrinkling her nose with disdain.

"Pizza!" said Urszula, ripping off a jagged hunk from the pan and devouring it on the spot.

"Let me try and make something else," said Gaia, wheeling around and heading back into the kitchen. "You have more roots, I presume?"

"Check the corners of the drawers. And I think there might be some hiding under the sink."

I grabbed the pan and brought it out onto the porch. I tried tasting a little piece of it and gagged, struggling to choke it down. It tasted all moldy and funky like spoiled tomatoes. But that didn't stop Urszula. She ate slice after slice until she finished the whole pie.

I heard Gaia thumping around the kitchen and within minutes she emerged with a large bowl of something steaming and fragrant.

"Wow. That smells great! What is it?"

"I don't remember what it's called. Some Turkish stew I once had. I don't even know what's in it. Raisins and lamb I suppose. I just recreated the textures and flavors from memory."

Urszula ended up eating most of that too, but I managed to snag a nice big mug of it. Gaia, as usual, ate like a bird.

"So Urszula, tell us all about your special friend," said Gaia.

"Okay," she said, speaking with her mouth full. "Well, he is from Poland. And his name is Janusz."

A glow came into Urszula's eyes when she spoke of him. It made me feel small and jealous, though I couldn't tell if I was more envious of her new boyfriend or of her for having discovered a soul mate. Gaia, for her part, exuded nothing but thrill and compassion.

"He is just a man. Nothing special. But I have never felt so comfortable being with one person. It was always a pleasure to see him and do simple things with him, even if we did nothing. Just being with him felt ... nice."

"Yes, I could see that in his strand."

"You have it?" I said, gaping. "You have his strand?"

Gaia smiled, eyes twinkling. "Yes."

"So you know where he is? Fuck! Don't tell me it's Avernus."

"No. Not Avernus. A much better place. Not a very nice place. Not as nice as here, for sure. But tolerable. More pleasant than the Deeps, certainly."

"You know how to find Janusz?" said Urszula, eyes wide. "He is somewhere? In the after realms?"

"So where the fuck is he? We supposed to guess?"

"Lethe," said Gaia. "At least he was there at the time I plucked the loom. But things happen. Things can change quickly as we know, but we have no reason to believe he has moved on to another realm."

"How do we go?" said Urszula.

"Going there is not the issue," said Gaia. "Getting him out is the problem."

"Just bring me. I stay."

"Lethe is not the kind of realm one would wish to reside long term. Flesh is unusually vulnerable and ephemeral in that realm. Lethe is a conduit. One step from Avernus. Options for upward mobility are quite limited."

"I don't care. So I die again. I die with him."

Gaia sighed.

"How about we talk about this in the morning?"

"In the morning, we go?"

"We'll talk about it."

***

Our little chat got Urszula so excited about the prospects she couldn't keep still. While I rigged myself a hammock from some moldy bedding I had salvaged from what used to be my room, she went wandering off in the moonless darkness, singing. Urszula. Singing.

"I can kick myself," whispered Gaia. "I should have never mentioned the strand."

"Why? What's wrong?"

Gaia sighed.

"It is only a matter of time before they come for me. I will likely be banished from Loom. And they will likely limit Ezekiel's ability to cross to other realms. If I am to be stranded I want it to be here, not Lethe."

"How about we go there. Dump her off. Come back."

She have me an exasperated look.

"Seriously? You just want to leave your best friend in a strange and dangerous realm?"

"She's not my... and... her boyfriend's there. He can take care of her."

"If she can find him. Do you know how many souls there are in Lethe? It's not like this place. Lethe is seething with masses of humanity. And it's practically lawless. Unsupervised. The Elysials, they try but it's overwhelming."

"Now that she knows he's there, she's gonna want to go. We'll never hear the end of it until we go."

"Okay. So we go," said Gaia. "We must. But we stay and help her. Hope for the best."

"You have his strand. We can locate him quick. Right?"

"We can find where he was. How many days ago? How long were we on Avernus?"

I shrugged.

"Felt like years."

"Precisely."

"Let's give it a shot. Things go bad we skedaddle."

"If possible."

I settled into my hammock.

"I'm not worried," I said.

"Good. That makes one of us."

"We won't get stranded. We got Zeke."

"I'm worried about what we need to do when we find Urszula's boyfriend."

"What do you mean?"

"If we are to bring him here, we can't bring his flesh. It is bound to that realm."

"Huh?"

"Those black smudges in the grey, and the one we adsorbed onto the matrix. Those are Shades, the material essence of a soul. But on Lethe, Shades can walk."

"Dang. So, basically they're ... ghosts?"

"I suppose so. Essentially, yes."

"But his Shade can travel?"

"Yes. And be reconstituted here. Just like we did with her."

"So how do we turn him into a Shade?"

"Easy. We murder him."

"Dang! She is not gonna like that. We're better off just leaving her there with him."

Gaia shook her head.

"I hate using the term, but people on Lethe are essentially zombies. Wounds don't heal. Damage accumulates. Is that really the fate you wish for your friend? If so, why did we even bother to rescue her from Avernus?"

I sighed deeply.

"Beats killing her boyfriend."
Chapter 47: Lethe

I drowsed in my musty hammock, swaying in the warm and resinous breezes blowing down from the hills. As the chill began to mix in with the residual heat, I tucked my blanket in around my shoulder.

Even though my house was an unrecognizable mess, it was still nice to be home again. I realized now that it wasn't the structure but the locale that made me feel so at home. I could just build another wood-framed house across the pond. Let Gaia have her fleshy catacombs. We could be neighbors!

I wouldn't even need to make another copy of the old Fort Pierce ranch this time. I could do something Arts and Crafts-y, or even a spooky faux Victorian. I wanted something with character this time.

Lots of stuff had happened to me since I last spent a night in the hollow. I tried to make sense of it all, but I passed out before I could get very far. But that's what sleep was for—sorting through the chaos and filing things away in neat little rows. Even in the afterlife, experiences need to be processed to keep a consciousness organized.

As I dreamt I slyly steered my dreams into some sleepwalking through the Singularity, but this time the borders weren't so clearly defined. I was not as confident that I could disentangle the real from the imagined.

As usual, I found my way to Karla. I came upon her strolling down a city street walking a small dog on a leash—a Yorkshire terrier wearing a hooded sweatshirt. That couldn't be real, could it? Karla had never liked dogs. Her father had never allowed her or Izzie to keep pets. She had always detested Luther's canine automatons.

I head-hopped down the block, catching glimpses of Karla from various people's perspectives—an elderly postman who barely noticed her; some younger guy with headphones full of hyper-bass beats who actually did a double take to allow me a long and lingering look at her. But then Singularity squeezed me out and back into my own head and my hammock.

I missed her. It was nice to see her doing okay. If that was really her. I could not be sure this time.

I woke up to early morning light sifting through feathery clouds. Urszula was up and frolicking in the tall grass by the pond's edge while Tigger hovered protectively over her. Those Dusters sure had a way with bugs. In a way it was a match made in Heaven.

Zeke had melted back into the front yard, enjoying a well-deserved slumber. After some time, Gaia emerged from her blubber-clogged hallway and joined me on the porch, reclining on the wicker chaise that she had whipped together from the remains of a partially-regressed table.

She had her palimpsest with her and was sketching the landscape with her fingernail, conjuring shades and colors at her whim. She wasn't half bad as an artist, tending more towards expressionism in her choices. When she was done with a sketch, she made the surface separate from the block, peeled it off and went to work on the blank surface underneath.

Meanwhile, Urszula had made her way across the pond to the willow I had created from a shrub, beneath which I had once buried an earlier version of Karla. Funny, how my improvised burial ritual had seemed so final at the time. The reversibility of a soul's fate as I had come to experience made death seem trivial. It would make it harder for me to grieve when someone in the living world died. One can cry wolf only so many times before the wolves become lapdogs.

Avernus taught me about real death worthy of grief—the death of the soul. That's what mattered. Keeping your soul alive. Flesh is replaceable or maybe even optional.

"Your friend seems to love this place," said Gaia. "Seems a shame to drag her off to Lethe."

"It's what she wants."

"I certainly understand. It's rare to find a soul mate. Such a same they can't be together here."

I turned my head sharply.

"You getting cold feet?"

"No," she said. "Just my way of giving myself a pep talk."

"So, we're gonna try."

"Yes. We're going to try.

"Maybe one of us should tell her we plan to kill her beau."

"Not yet. Look at how happy she is. Why cause unnecessary distress?"

"Who gets to do the deed?"

"Gets to? You make it sound like a privilege."

"I've killed people before."

"You seem a little bit too eager."

"I just want her to be happy."

"We will find the right opportunity. I will carry the mesh. It might be best if we do it together."

"Be nice to get Urs involved."

"Perhaps. I can't tell how receptive she might be."

"She's been around. She might understand."

"Might does not suffice."

"Okay, then we'll wait to tell her."

"That's exactly what I've been saying."

"Yeah. Well, I trust your judgment."

Gaia looked at me. The color of her eyes seemed to have shifted. The blue was still there in the background but shards of green and copper now highlighted her irises. It was a gorgeous effect and had to be her own conscious doing. Some women put on makeup. Gaia puts on eyeballs.

"That's a change."

"What are you talking about?"

"Penult."

"Yeah, well. I didn't know you as well."

She took my hand and squeezed it.

"That's good. That's progress."

I swung my legs over the edge of the hammock.

"Shall I slap together some breakfast?"

Gaia started to roll her eyes but aborted halfway.

"How about you leave that to me? Go dig some fresh roots."

She got up from the chaise and skipped down the porch steps, heading towards the pond.

"Where you going? What about breakfast?"

"I'm fetching the soul matrix. You left it in a sodden heap by the shore."

I shrugged and grabbed a spade I had propped against a wall.

***

Late morning brought us a brunch of omelets and sausages from the fresh supply of roots I excavated from the pit out back.

Gaia 'cooked.' So Urszula and I cleaned up. And afterwards, as Gaia prepped for our trip—sorting strands, bagging secretions from various nipples on the walls—Urszula took my hand and dragged me out towards the ledges where Tigger tilted his wings to catch the morning.

"Come. I want to find Lalibela."

"Don't be long, you two," said Gaia, glancing up.

We saddled up Tig and took him for a ride up the valley and into the hills. I let Urszula have the front of the saddle and paid for it with a whipping from her wild hair, longer now than I had ever seen it. Maybe Gaia could sweet talk her into considering the possibility of a trim.

Atop the massif, we cruised over the avenues of New Frelsi. The settlement was bustling in its new location at the base of the glaciers.

I was surprised to see so many Old Ones active and mingling with Frelsians. They were coming out of their sleep again. I wondered why. Did they sense another threat?

"Where are all the Dusters?" I pondered aloud.

"I could not live near Frelsians," said Urszula.

"Why not?"

"They don't understand us."

"I'm a Frelsian. You tolerate me."

"Ah, but you know the Deeps."

"We're all just people you know."

"Down here. I prefer my own kind."

"Yeah. Well, I guess you're not alone," I said, as we reached the satellite community of Dusters perched amidst a badland of canyons and pinnacles on the edge of the massif. The giant forest in the valley below was just buzzing with bugs, predator and prey.

"We can go see Lille. And her husband."

"Nah. It's too far."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Gaia's expecting us back. I told her this would just be a quick jaunt."

"So we will be going?"

"Yes."

I noted the breadth of her grin. Not even she could hold back her excitement.

When we returned to the hollow, we found Zeke all decked out in full travel mode with an expanded chamber and minimal aggressive accoutrement. Gaia wore a floppy hat and khaki cargo pants as if she were some safari guide.

"Time to go you two," she said. "I have noticed some disturbing activity in my strands."

"Disturbing? How?"

"Oh, just that one by one, they are blinking out. Someone is breaking my connections with the looms."

"Your mentor?"

She shook her head. "Not him. He wouldn't dare. He's a wimp. This is something that Argents do."

"Shit. Not a good sign, huh?"

"No."

Urszula stood before Zeke, looking puzzled. "What kind of creature is this? Is it not a Reaper?"

"No, not a Reaper," I said.

"Where are its eyes?"

"He sees with his skin," said Gaia. "Now gather your things and let's go."

Urszula shrugged. "What things? What do I own?"

"Come on then."

"Just a sec," I said, rushing off into the house.

"Where are you going?"

"Fetching some of my sticks."

"Don't bother. Weapons of will don't work in Lethe."

I stopped in my tracks. "Why not?"

"Matter on Lethe is fixed. There is no spell craft. Not the sort to which you are accustomed, anyhow. A stick is just a stick."

"Dang! Do you know how hard I worked on these things? I never get to use them."

"That is a grace not a curse," said Gaia. "Now come."

We crowded into Zeke's chamber. Expanded or not, three was still a crowd in that phone booth-sized cavity. A TARDIS, Zeke was not.

"You expect this creature to fly? Where are the wings?" said Urszula.

"Zeke don't need wings, Urs."

"What is he, a rocket?"

"You ask too many questions," said Gaia, as Zeke furled his petals and began to rise. Urszula grabbed onto me to steady herself. She smirked and patted my belly.

"You are so skinny now. Do you eat?"

"I eat plenty."

"I had the best chicken in Poland. The best. I wish we could have some right now."

"You won't be needing food in Lethe," said Gaia. "Bodies are different."

"No spells. No weaving. No food. What the fuck?"

"Just be thankful it's not Avernus."

We soared over the plains. The extreme curvature of the planetoid that made the Lim became apparent.

Urszula swooned. "We are so high. How did we get so high?"

"I should have warned you," said Gaia. "We will be crossing many interfaces to reach Lethe. This realm is more isolated than most."

"Okay, Urs. Hang on," I said. "This part's gonna get weird."

"What part? Part of what?"

The first interface shimmered as we approached, a glowing membrane outlining a patch of darkness shaped like an irregular polyhedron.

"This part."

Everything went wiggly.

***

Three interfaces later, Urszula had gone limp in my arms and passed out, her weight dragging me down on top of her.

"Gaia, what the fuck?"

Gaia glanced, but showed no concern.

"It happens. Some people react that way to crossings. She will be fine."

I patted Urszula's cheek gently, trying to revive her.

"Don't bother," said Gaia. "We have more interfaces to pass. She will only fall again if you wake her now. Let her sleep."

I arranged Urszula in what I thought was a cozy position on her side and rose up next to Gaia. Sure enough, we came up suddenly on an even more complex interface and everything got wiggly again. I looked for stars or orbs but saw nothing out there but utter blackness.

"What's this place?"

"Nowhere. Just an empty space. A pocket universe for future constructions."

"You mean like a vacant lot?"

"Essentially."

"Whoa! We should stay here and make our own realm."

She smiled, dreamily.

"It sure would be lovely to design a realm from scratch. But it is not a common ability."

"Not common? You mean it's even possible? It's not just God who does that sort of thing?"

"Our realms have many makers. Perhaps why most of them are so flawed."

"Who made Earth? The universe of the living?"

"You're asking me?"

"You know more than me about this crap."

"I know next to nothing, James. There's simply too much to know. Too many mysteries."

Again came the wiggles, and this time they were so severe, even I started to feel woozy and wobbled.

Gaia scrunched her brow at me. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Think so. I almost lost it. But I'm back."

A light source now appeared outside Zeke's transparent walls, hovering above a massive and weird vase-like object. The base of the structure was vast and bulbous and opaque, its flared top occupied by a shimmery, transparent mass like the mother of all Ezekiels. Inside the vase was an island surrounded by a sea curved up the sides and curled down like a perpetually breaking wave. My mind boggled trying to make sense of it all.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Lethe."

"That's no planet."

"No. It is not."

"And what's that blobby dangling over the top it, where all the light is coming from?"

"That would be Elysium."

"What the fuck?"

"Don't be alarmed. We'll be under water for a bit."

"What?"

"Get ready to dive."

As we approached this vase-like mass it became apparent from the ripples and swirls that its very walls were indeed made of water.

"Jeezus!"

Gaia smirked. "Hold your breath."

We plunged straight into this wall of liquid. I fully expected Zeke to leak but he remained as tight as a steel drum. Passing through hundreds of feet of water, we broke through into open air. And then everything became topsy-turvy. We had waves directly below us, distant waves overhead and a mountainous green island off to our left, seemingly tilted perpendicular. The sea surrounding us was deeply concave. Everything curved; it made me dizzy.

"Shit, I'm glad Urszula's not awake. I don't think she could handle this."

"Can you?"

"I'm not sure."

I made the mistake of looking up to my right to see a fringe of white where the ocean curled away into nothingness. Above it hovered that blob with a brilliant and blazing oblong patch, pointy at both ends like a cat's eye. Come to think of it, it reminded me of nothing less than the Eye of Sauron. Mordor, here we come.

Gradually, all of this weirdness started to make sense. The best I could make of it was that we were now inside the vase-like structure. The island lay at its bottom, with the water itself forming the walls of the vase, curving upward then out, ending in a frothy curl at the top. Elysium dangled over the opening of the vase, providing the only source of light.

Simple. Think of a terrarium in a vase with a grow lamp over the top.

Zeke skimmed along the surface of the water, heading towards the island. The lower we got in the vase, the flatter our orientation became in relation to the land's surface, and the more normal everything seemed again as long as you didn't look at the horizon. Too late for normality, though. My mind was officially blown.

"Why is this place so strange?"

"Lethe is one of the older and smaller realms. Its scope is limited. However, its population is immense."

"Why?"

Gaia just shrugged.

Urszula began to toss and moan at my feet. She was coming back awake. She had missed the weirdest bits. Lucky girl. I almost wished that I could have passed out alongside her.

I knelt down and helped her up to a sitting position, supporting her so she wouldn't flop back down.

"We are here?"

"Apparently."

Her eyes sprang alert like a kid waking from a car upon hearing she had reached the gates of Disneyworld.

Zeke passed low over the shoals to a broad beach of dark volcanic sand. He settled down in the fluffier part just below some dunes but beyond what seemed to be a high tide line. There were people out and about, alone and in groups, wandering the strand like beachcombers. They were a scruffy bunch, though. Dressed in rags. Gaits with hitches. This was no Palm Beach.

Zeke unsealed his walls and lowered his petals. The breeze that fluttered in smelled of seaweed and rotten mollusks.

"We need to be careful here," said Gaia. "This is a rough place. Not everyone is friendly."

"Rougher than Penult?"

"I am just saying."

"He is here? Jan is here?" said Urszula, gazing out at the locals, her face alight with wonderment.

"So say my strands."

The people on the beach were giving us a wide berth. Some were even backing away or fleeing.

I turned to Gaia for an explanation and gasped. Her skin had lost all of its color and gone semi-transparent. I could see her bones! They even seemed to glow faintly.

She returned my gaze and pursed her lips.

"No worries. My status in this realm results in this configuration. In their parlance, my soul is Ascendant."

"You look creepy. Like a jellyfish."

"Thanks. I'll remember that."

Urszula bulled past me and grabbed Gaia by the shoulders, not the least fazed by her new look.

"How do we find him? How do we find Janusz?"

"I would suggest we stay put and let him find us. We make quite the spectacle just by being here. Word will pass and I suspect that souls will soon be arriving from miles around to gawk. And in the meantime Ezekiel can keep us safe."

"Kinda chilly," I said, as gust blew down from the mist-obscured heights.

"Sense is optional in Lethe. You can opt not to feel the cold if you wish."

"How?"

"It's a knack you must acquire."

"I'm doing it!" said Urszula. "I stopped it! I stopped the cold."

"See? She's a natural."

"Lucky her," I said, shivering.

***

For hours we perched on Zeke's petals, his bulbous form flared out behind us to make a windbreak. Just as Gaia had predicted, as the hours passed more and more people gathered, first at a distance, until several summoned the courage to approach us.

These weren't the prettiest folks I had ever seen in an afterworld. So many had missing fingers and teeth. Poorly healed wounds and sores were ubiquitous. Clothes, when present, were sparse and ragged. The lack of roots and the spellcraft to weave them was telling.

"Who are these folks?" I said. "I mean, who ends up in a place like this?"

"Immature, unfinished," said Gaia. "Souls with a passion for existence, but who need more tempering, more discipline. Not all make it out in time to avoid Avernus, but at least this realm gives them a second chance. As opposed to the Deeps, which is essentially a dumping ground, a coal bin for the furnace that is Avernus."

"The Horus. Does it—?"

"Yes. It is a direct conduit to Avernus."

"Man. If I had known."

"Where is he?" said Urszula, anxiously scanning the crowd of gawkers.

"Maybe we can hold up a placard with his name on it like those limo drivers use at airports."

"He will find us," said Gaia. "Word of mouth travels fast here. He will learn of our arrival and he will be curious. I know how this place works. Not much ever happens. Anything new is a sensation."

I couldn't stop peeking at Gaia and her newly transparent flesh. She was like one of see-through tropical fish. I could see her brain through her glassy skull. Every vein and artery traced their way around her muscles and bones.

I shuddered to think of her naked with all of those organs pumping and squirming and sloshing around. I don't know if I was more repulsed or fascinated. Ascendant or not, I certainly wasn't envious of her new look.

A glint on her hip caught my eye. A black and glossy obsidian blade with an irregularly scalloped and serrated edge now dangled there. Where had that come from? That little hypocrite. She had told me to bring no weapons.

Though, I knew why she had it. Poor Urszula had no clue what we intended to do to her man once he showed up. She was expecting only a happy reunion. I feared that keeping her in the dark was a big mistake.

I glanced down at the greasy mesh wadded up at her feet, weighed down by the snake-like shackles Gaia probably planned to bind her with so she wouldn't interfere with the execution.

Urszula was no more than bait. She would be forced to watch us murder her man while she writhed helpless on the sand. It was all well-intended and in her best interest, but I doubt she would ever forgive us for the trauma it would inflict on her psyche. I couldn't stop dwelling because I couldn't convince myself that we were doing the right thing.

"Here comes someone quite bold," said Gaia, nose perched high. "Could that your man?"

Urszula wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Him? Hell no! That is not Jan. I don't like the look of that one. I very much don't like the way he is looking at you."

The man approaching wore only a vest and loincloth. His wiry hair was a match for Urszula's in terms of how many directions it could stick out all at once. He looked friendly enough. At least he was grinning. Toothless but happy.

Gaia put her hand over her blade. Zeke, sensing her concern, reshaped himself from a windbreak to a beast of battle.

"Easy! No need to jump out of your jeans," said the man. "I'm just coming over to say hi."

He sounded very American.

"Who are you?" said Gaia.

"Name's Marc. Marc Sabonis. And just so you know, this is my beach you're squatting on. My girl and I got a shack out behind the dunes. Don't be getting any ideas about settling here permanently."

"We are only just visiting," said Gaia.

"Look at you wearing clothes! Most Guides around here go French. Being transparent is a whole 'nother level of naked."

"I am not a Guide. We are visiting from another realm."

"Elysium?"

"No. You wouldn't know of it."

"Try me."

"Have you ever heard of a place called Loom?"

"Of course! One of Nehan's sub-realms. Am I right?"

"How would you know such things?" said Gaia, astonished.

"What's Nehan?" I said. They both ignored me.

"Oh, I get around, hon. Used to, anyhow."

He turned to me and Urszula.

"You guys both look like newbies."

Something flashed up in the pewter sky, which I now knew was not an actual sky but an arc of ocean. People screamed and scattered off the beach.

"Fuck me with an oar!" said Sabonis, alarmed. "What're they doing here?"

More flashes appeared, centered about silvery clusters that trailed sparks as they hurtled down on us like meteors.

"Oh my," said Gaia, gaping like a grouper.

"Pretty!" said Urszula.

"What's going on?" I said.

"The Argents have arrived."
Chapter 48: Justice

One by one, twelve shiny objects accumulated in Lethe's dull grey sky, spiraling down like parachutists, jettisoning sparks and glints off their mirrored surfaces.

"Beautiful!" said Urszula, totally entranced.

"Ophanim," said Gaia, grimly. "Their chariots."

"Maybe we should skedaddle?" I said, glancing towards Zeke, who had been splayed open like a fresh daisy but was now folding himself into something more battle worthy, transitioning into fighting mode, toughening its outer skin, lengthening the tips of its petals into whips and blades and clubs.

"Ezekiel, no!" She slapped at his walls.

"Let's get out of here!" I said, with more urgency.

"We stay and fight?" said Urszula.

"No fighting. You can't fight Argents. You can't run. Once they find you, you submit."

"What're they gonna do?"

"All of this concerns only me," said Gaia. "Just stay out of their way. I'm only surprised it has taken them this long."

The beach cleared as people scampered up into the dunes and beyond, reacting as if the Ophanim were incoming missiles. They came in fast. I braced for an explosion, but the Ophanim decelerated abruptly and entered a hover in a ring all around us.

"Keep your hands at your sides," said Gaia. "Do not do anything that could be interpreted as a threat."

Up close and motionless the Ophanim resembled spiky gyroscopes, with mirrored surfaces and multiple concentric wheels spinning rapidly in various planes.

One sphere emitted a low drone and flashed blue. In unison, they all descended softly onto the coarse grit of the beach.

"What's this all about?" said Sabonis. "What'd you guys do?"

"It does not concern you," said Gaia.

Urszula reached down to retrieve a hunk of driftwood

"Urszula! No!"

Reluctantly, she tossed it back onto the sand and stood there arms crossed and pouting.

"I don't like this."

One by one the spheres popped open, reducing their walls to a pair of two-dimensional rings that wobbled and settled like hula hoops around the shins of their occupants—twelve rather athletic-looking men and women in skull caps and pale tunics with armor embedded from chest to navel. None seemed to carry any obvious weapons.

A woman came forward. The striations on her chest plate resembled claw marks.

"Gaia Vibeke Pounce?"

"That would be me."

"Are you prepared to accept our reckoning?"

"Yes. I imagine so."

"You are hereby advised that our injunctions are only temporary until the Makers adjudicate your case."

"I understand. This is not the first time I have received injunctions."

I leaned close to her and whispered.

"Gaia, what are they gonna do to us?"

"Whatever they feel is justified by the circumstances," she whispered back. "I'm confident they will be fair."

"Yeah, well I'm not so trusting."

The lead Argent consulted a thin slab taken from a pocket in her sleeve.

"You have been deemed a threat to order."

"Yes. I suppose that's accurate."

"But there are mitigating circumstances."

"I was hoping you would see that."

"You will be charged with seventeen violations of the Code of Conduct. How will you plead?"

"Seventeen?"

"Would you like me to list them?"

"I believe you. Just a few more than I was expecting."

"You are to surrender your chariot and be confined to this realm."

"Surrender? Can't you simply encumber him? Confine him here with me?"

"Not possible. Your chariot must be removed from your presence."

Zeke looked confused. He was puffed up and agitated, halfway into battle mode but slightly droopy.

The chief Argent flicked her hand. Zeke was yanked off the beach and hauled into the sky screaming.

"Ezekiel!"

Gaia dropped to her knees in anguish as Zeke went tumbling upward end-over-end, rocketing straight for the slit of light emanating from the orb overhead. He shrank to a tiny dark speck silhouetted against the glow of the orb and in a flash, blinked out.

"Please don't hurt him!"

"Your creature will be preserved," said the chief. "You may retrieve it once you regain a status appropriate to possess agents of will."

"How long am I to be detained?"

"That's up to the Makers. If there are grounds for you to be committed elsewhere, they will decide."

"Here is fine," said Gaia, looking at me. "I'd rather be here with my friends."

"That is up to the Makers."

I reached out and rubbed her shoulder.

"You never should have gotten yourself tangled up with me. I'm so sorry, Gaia."

She looked back at me, unflinching.

"Don't be. I don't regret a minute of it."

A gaggle of curious onlookers who had slipped away came slinking back, Sabonis among them, emboldened by the realization that these Argents had no interest in them whatsoever.

"This is bullshit," said Urszula, giving the enforcers a look over. "These are not warriors."

"Don't get any ideas Urs."

The other Argents came over and confiscated Gaia's purse and all its strands.

"Yeah, look at these guys, all squeaky clean," said Sabonis. "Guys and gals wearing the same clothes. Unisex."

Urszula laughed. "They look like ... like a dance troupe."

"Yup. Modern dance. No tutus."

The Argents ignore them, but Sabonis persisted.

"So if you all are watching us, whose job is it to watch you all? You watching each other? Is the fox guarding the henhouse? Or maybe you guys are so squeaky clean you can do no wrong. Your mamas raised you right. Is that it?"

"Bugger off," said one of the male Argents.

"Bugger? Did you say bugger? Wow. That's not very angelic. You must be a Brit. Right? Or an Aussie?"

"Leave. Now," said the chief.

"You don't own this beach."

The chief raised her palm, alarming Gaia.

"Please, have patience," said Gaia. "This resident is merely expressing himself."

The chief glared at her.

"He is interfering with our duties."

"You confiscated my chariot. You have my strands. What more do you need?"

"We are done here," said the chief, spinning around abruptly. "Squad, prepare to depart."

The Argents went back and stepped into their Ophanim. When they crossed their arms over their chests, the hoops expanded to form a spherical shell around them. They rose in unison, hovering a moment before accelerating into the haze above.

"Well, that's that," said Gaia. "There will be no going home for any of us. Not without Ezekiel."

Urszula looked about, scanning the scrubby slopes beyond the dunes. "This is not such a terrible realm. I have seen worse."

"For sure," said Sabonis. "I can show you guys the ropes. This place ain't so bad."

"Come, Miss Urszula," said Gaia. Let's go find your man."

***

It felt weird for me being without Zeke. I could only imagine how it was for Gaia. It was probably like losing a limb, or worse, a dog. But at least she had the chance of getting him back.

She led the way down the strand despite Sabonis' insistence on playing tour guide. He let her do her thing, but made sure to keep shoulder to shoulder with her at the head of our little group. I lingered back with Urszula who kept wandering off to snag pretty pebbles and weird bits of flotsam that had washed up. It startled me to see so much plastic littering the strand. How did it get here?

Urszula sure was acting loopy these days. A little scatter-brained if you asked me. This was not the laser-focused Urszula of yore.

I had trouble keeping my eyes off of Gaia in her new translucent state. It was disconcerting to see her heart beating behind her sternum, never mind all those ghostly ribs and vertebrae and leg bones.

"If it bothers you so much I'll get myself a cloak."

"It's fine. Just takes some getting used to."

She was either telepathic or had eyes in the back of her head.

"I used to have boats," said Sabonis. "A beautiful catamaran and outrigger. Now that's the way to travel on Lethe. The wind never stops. It's always coming down off the mountain."

We kept just above the surf line where the sand was nice and packed. There were beach camps strewn everywhere with shelters made of driftwood and bark and perforated blue tarps that I swear were the kinds you buy at Home Depot. This place had a connection somehow with the living world and that intrigued me to no end.

"So tell me. What's going on back in the real world? Anyone been home recently?"

"These ladies have been dead for decades," I said.

"Okay. So what about you?"

"Couple months."

"Who's President?"

"You don't want to know."

"Maybe I do. Any wars on?"

"Nothing huge. Not yet, anyhow."

"Aw c'mon guy, I'm hurtin' for news. In case you haven't noticed, we don't get CNN in this place."

"Things suck back home and are getting worse. How's that for the gist?"

"Yeah, whatever. I take it your death was a suicide."

"Not quite, but good guess. I was murdered. Involuntarily."

"Ah. Yeah, but you were a wannabe. I could tell from your bubbly personality."

As we walked, Urszula kept her head turned to scan the crowds milling about the dunes and ledges and the hillsides beyond. Of all the places I had seen in the afterlife, Lethe by far was the most overpopulated.

"So many souls," she said, her tone stretched and pining. "How will we ever find him?"

"He was here, on these beaches, only days ago," said Gaia. "No worries, love. We've got all the time in the world."

I sighed. "Wow. You must really like this guy."

"I do."

"He must be really special."

"No. Not really."

"No? Then why him?"

"Love just happens," said Gaia.

"Oh, here we go. Gaia, the love expert."

"I just know what I see. What I saw ... in those strands."

"I'm in love with a girl named Bianca," said Sabonis, grinning. "Didn't happen right away. Took a while."

"Oh? Dead girl?" I said.

"She's here. Used to be a Guide. She fell for me. Literally. Fell."

"From Elysium?" said Gaia.

"That's right."

"Oh my."

Sabonis turned to face us, walking backwards.

"That's the thing people on the other side don't get. People be people, dead or alive. Doesn't matter if you spent a whole lifetime alone. Love will find you. And the vetting means shit! It has nothing to do with anything."

"Everyone's a philosopher," I muttered.

We arrived on the outskirts of a sprawling village that hugged the base of the dunes. Driftwood shacks draped with mangled fishing nets huddled together, many sharing walls or leaning on each other to keep each other from collapsing.

The place was teeming with people, but not a single child was among them. It was the same way back in the Lim. No one could ever tell me why. But I had never asked an elevated soul.

"Where are all the kids?"

"Only mature souls pass the vetting."

"So where are they?"

"Children don't come.

"So what happens to their souls?"

"Recycled, I suppose."

"Avernus?"

"I have heard there is another place. I have never seen it. It doesn't show up on looms."

"That's awful!"

"It's just how things are."

We passed through the shanty town only to encounter another find another large settlement a few hundred meters down the strand, this one employing a decrepit shipping container as a community center.

"This place must have a connection ... to Earth."

"Yes. It is close. Objects leak through," said Gaia. "But don't be getting any ideas."

"Why not?"

"Because crossing some realms degrades one's existence."

"You can say that again," said Sabonis.

"How so?"

"You don't want to be a Shade in a land of flesh and blood. It really sucks."

"You've been?"

"Once. Never went back. It's just not worth it. We're better off here."

The knowledge that a physical crossing was even possible buoyed me. The quality of that existence seemed secondary.

"It can't be that bad being a Shade, can it?"

"Shades are vulnerable," said Gaia.

"Easy pickings for Collectors," said Sabonis.

"What's the worse that can happen?"

"Avernus," said Gaia and Sabonis in unison, then sharing puzzled glances.

A fog bank tore open revealing part of a hillside that had been obscured from view. There were people up there too, but far fewer than down here among the dunes.

"Nobody even tries to Ascend anymore," said Gaia. "That's sad."

"Not nobody," said Sabonis. "But you're right. The mountain gets pretty empty the higher up you go. Takes a lot of discipline to get your ass off the beach."

"I wonder what's changed," she said. "I used to think the quality of souls was a constant. Immutable."

"Dunno. They don't make 'em like they used to."

"It must be those Primentors and their power games," said Gaia. "All that involuntary recruitment bringing souls that have no business being here."

"Blood means everything to them," said Sabonis. "Disgusting what lengths they go to pluck souls to boost their kin line."

"They murder people? In the living world."

"Yes," said Gaia, pursing her lips. "Innocents."

"Fuck."

"Angels," said Sabonis. "Aren't they special?"

***

We stopped on the edge of a village and built a campfire. Sabonis had managed to finagle a hot coal wrapped in a sheath of dried seaweed from some villagers he knew. Everyone we ran into here seemed to know him. He was a man about town.

Gaia had found a soiled strip of cloth discarded in the sand that she was able to fold into something resembling a kimono. None of us had even the slightest ability to weave in this realm. Matter here was immutable. Believe me, I tried.

Our light source, the 'orb' as they called it, permanently stuck at high noon. It may not have budged in the sky since our arrival but it had certainly dimmed. It now shed its light through a pinched and pointed slot, staring down on us like some giant eye.

Gaia caught me staring upward.

"That's Elysium up there."

"Heaven?"

"Hardly. Places don't always live up to their names. But I guarantee they have a nicer existence than those down here. It could be something to aspire to, if we're here long term."

"Nice to know there's an out ... or two."

"I suspect that's where they're keeping Ezekiel."

"Yeah? They got a dog pound?"

"Essentially."

"What's it like?"

"Cozy. For me."

"You've been?"

"I have yes. There is a loom there. A master loom."

"Cozy for you, though, means squishy."

"It is definitely a squishy place."

"No thanks. I'd rather hang out on the beach. Apart from the weather, this place seems fine."

"I may have no choice but to go," said Gaia, staring out at the sea.

"Oh? Says who?"

"The Makers. They could make me go."

I was struck by a pang of something I could not name, made up in equal parts of regret, denial, loneliness and fear.

"Promise you'll come visit?"

She said, nothing, just looked at me like another piece of a puzzle had clicked into place.

***

Day after day, as the orb alternately widened and narrowed its cyclopean eye at us, we wandered the endless beaches through dense morning fogs and afternoons so clear the hills and ridges looked like they had been snipped with scissors from magazine photos.

Ever so gradually, we made our way around the stupendous mountain that loomed over this pocket realm. Occasionally, upon rounding one of the countless buttressed ridges we would even steal a glimpse of its lofty and blocky summit. More often than not, it remained demure behind its veil of mist.

Gaia had gone silent and sullen. I didn't think it could have been anything I had said. Maybe Sabonis' endless chatter was starting to annoy her. Maybe she was simply dreading what was to come.

I did notice that she still had one of her strands, one that she had somehow managed to not turn over to the Argents. She kept it hidden in a fold of her ragged kimono. She only consulted it when no one was near her and she thought no one was looking. I had spotted it glowing in her palm at dusk, overpowering the faint luminescence emanating from her glassy bones.

We stopped for a break after a morning of meandering through the fog. She did her usual pretending to go off and pee, but I saw her tease that lone strand from the crease of her robe. I slunk behind her as she slipped behind some boulders. She spotted me and wheeled around, trying to conceal the strand from my view, but it was too late. I saw how dull and grey the strand had become, without a trace of color or glow.

"Shit!"

"Not a peep to Urszula," she hissed.

"But what does it mean?" I said, fearing the worst.

"Maybe nothing. The Argents might have severed my links."

"Or maybe he's been ... recycled?"

"That is the other explanation."

"Shit."

"Say nothing. No need to stir up her fears when they might be groundless."

"You really think they're groundless?"

"It doesn't matter what I think."

This terrible knowledge lent a poignancy to watching Urszula's eagerness in perusing every new gaggle and crowd we encountered. What had seemed cute had become tragic. I felt awful for all the times I felt jealous of her pining for this Jan fellow.

Gaia have sensed my despair as we stood and watched Urs go through her routine with a mob of fishermen hauling in a net.

"Chin up! There's still hope," she whispered and rubbed my arm.

Hope. Now there's a word that had gotten drained of whatever meaning it used to have for me. What did I have to hope for anymore? Where in this universe did I hope to go? What deed did I hope to achieve? I only hoped for others now. For Urszula to get her wish. For Gaia to avoid any more punishments. For Zeke to be alright, wherever they had sent him.

I suppose you could say I was hopeless. Devoid. Just coasting through my current existence.

Gaia, in contrast, had gone back to her normal self now that she had shared the burden of her secret. I almost preferred her glum side. It was hard to take her when she was so unfailingly chipper, unruffled by the discomforts of this cold, damp and windy land.

She had resumed her hobby, sketching on a sun-bleached slab of wood that she carried with her from camp to camp, using bits of sharpened charcoal as drawing implements. Every morning she would scrub it clean with seawater and sand to begin again on her sooty palimpsest.

When Urszula wasn't searching for Jan, she sorted through the driftwood and flotsam that littered the beach, exchanging one hunk for another in a search of the best weapon. Dusters sure did enjoy their sticks. Even where will projection failed, they remained useful for bludgeoning and impaling, I supposed.

She finally settled on the prize of a broken oar with most of its blade splintered off, leaving a spike of mahogany at the tip. The handle end was sheathed in brass and stamped with Chinese characters.

I was impressed and a little distressed frankly by the sheer mass of earthly detritus littering these beaches. Plastic bags, bits of nylon rope, sneakers, toy ducks, empty rice sacks, glass fishing floats, Styrofoam coolers. If there were seven seas on Earth, the ocean surrounding Lethe was surely number eight.

I kept expecting Sabonis to grow bored of our fruitless and maybe pointless expedition, but for some reason he clung to us like the most loyal of stray dogs. I had to admit, he was good to have around.

Every day he proved his worth. Like the time he restored peace when Urszula had attempted to abscond with a branch spiked with a nail that she found lying on the beach. It may have looked like junk, but it was a tattered old fisherman's prized possession.

He was particularly effective at begging food, fetching us strips of fish jerky, dried limpets and tiny minnow-like things that people scattered on the black sand. Not that any of us ever had much of any appetite astir in our benumbed bodies, but sometimes it was just plain comforting just to have something in your mouth to chew, no matter how fishy or foul or gritty. It made you feel alive.

Another day came and went without any sign of Urszula's boyfriend. I had to wonder what we were trying to prove, going through the motions of this apparent charade. Urszula's boundless hope trumped our morbid concerns over that limp grey strand.

***

That night, I achieved a major breakthrough, and I mean major. We were just coming out of the twilight, the orb's light reduced to a razor slit. As usual, there were no stars, just a bank of fog swooping in to swaddle us in further darkness. We huddled around a fire, Gaia busy attempting to sketch a portrait of me too agitated to sleep. Urszula and Sabonis, in contrast, never seemed to have any trouble catching a good snooze.

It had been ages since I had tried to reach out and tune into the Singularity, but I decided to give it a go. I wasn't expecting much, but when I dipped in, I found a sea of murmurs lurking just below the surface calm, almost obscured by the rush of the wind.

It was tough getting a grip. It actively repelled me, shrugging me off like an unbroken horse when I did manage to latch on for a bit. Undaunted, I kept trying until I hooked on real good and rode deep into the sea of souls.

I can't express how much a relief this was to me. It was like being locked out of one's house for hours on a cold night, then suddenly finding an open window to crawl through. Accessing the Singularity would make my exile in this dank and gloomy realm immensely more bearable.

I moved aimlessly at first. For some odd reason I found myself in Brazil—a place I had never visited in life. I meandered between villages, working my way towards larger cities before I could make a jump into a Copa Airlines flight somewhere over a place called Salvador. I quickly spanned the Atlantic, hopping from trawler to military cargo jet to more airliners until I found myself on the ground at Heathrow airport.

From that point I found myself inexorably drawn northward. I had an inkling to swing by Wales but it was engulfed by a massive urge to go and peek in on Karla. I kept telling myself that I had no more feelings for her, but the Singularity proved me a liar, swinging me north in great bounds with each beat of my ghostly heart.

I found her there, still hanging out on that old lady's farm. There was no sign of the dog I had glimpsed on the last go-around but she lay in a steaming bathtub under a layer of suds, head tilted back, eyes closed. My consciousness kept its distance, taking care not to alarm her soul to my presence.

She was looking good. Eating well, at least. She had gained a little weight, but she carried it well. She had always been a little too scrawny for her own good.

And then came a jolt. She had a boyfriend now or maybe a girlfriend, if the hickeys above her left collar bone were any indication. She wore a turquoise ring I had never seen before. Turquoise and silver. Not diamond. No gold. But still.

That was all fine, I told myself. To be expected. I was happy for her. Right.

Nevertheless, the discovery took a toll on my stability and caused me to lose my grip. I slipped away and drifted, bouncing between random souls, letting the flow take me wherever it wanted. In turn, I possessed a homeless woman in Leeds, a zookeeper in Jersey, a Basque shepherd, a Moroccan taxi driver, a Senegalese politician before it spat me out back onto this beach.

Sabonis was talking up a storm, but no one was listening or at least not responding. He was easy to tune out because he tended to tell the same stories over and over, about his life and death in the real world, his younger days prowling discos in the years before HIV, his cancer diagnosis and rapid deterioration, his rather unbelievable self-initiated escape from Avernus, his tangles with the Elysial overseers of Lethe, his romance with Bianca the ex-Elysial guide and his return to the land of the living.

"As a Shade," I said, startling him with my attention. He was apparently expecting to be ignored.

"Yup. That's right. That's the only way to do it. Unless you finagle a way to undo a death, like I did for my friend, Dan."

"What? How?"

"Easy. When you go back from here, you go back right to the moment you died. Doesn't matter how long ago it was. Once you're there, time picks up right where it left off."

"Yeah, but you're a Shade. What good is that?"

"Yeah, but if you get a little help from a friend, like I did for Dan, one of you doesn't have to stay a Shade."

"Go on. I'm all ears."

"Enough, you two!" Gaia shrieked. "For goodness sake, can you give it a rest? Enough of this silly babbling."

Sabonis winked at me as the firelight dappled his face. "Some other time, bud."

***

There was not much to look at once the orb blinked out. The beach was as dark as a cavern. No stars. No moonlight glinting off the water. Just the remains of our meager fire and the embers of other hearths here and there among the dunes.

Once Sabonis conked out, I followed after him in a fashion, but I wouldn't exactly call what I experienced 'sleep.' I barely lost consciousness. I could hear waves crashing and people murmuring on the dunes. Sabonis' nasal rasp. Urszula's gentle snore.

The border between wakefulness and slumber remained tissue thin. I didn't know how much was a function of my mental state or how much I could blame on the mechanics of this realm, but it was not enjoyable.

Out of nowhere, Gaia grabbed my shoulders and jolted me alert. I found the beach awash with light.

"Is it morning. Already?"

"Look!" she said, pointing up.

I looked up, finding not a re-opening orb, but a star so bright it burned through the mists. Already plenty bright, it seemed to be getting brighter.

"Argents? Why they coming back? They forget something?"

"Not Argents. A Maker. And she's coming for me. I feel it."

"Feel?"

"In my heart. My core. Whatever you want to call it."

"This a good thing?"

She did not answer. But by then the Maker's presence had begun to register in my own gut as a slug of dread.

***

The glowing thing landed as light as a milkweed puff, dominating the shore line like an electric bonfire. It generated no heat, no sound just an unrelenting glow that penetrated every pore and eradicated all shadows.

"I can't believe they actually sent a Maker. I'm not that important!"

"Who'd you expect them to send?" I said, pretending as if I knew something about the way things worked around here.

"I don't know. One of my mentors from Loom. Or nobody. I was hoping they would just do their adjudications and leave me be. What more do they want from me? They took my strands. They took Ezekiel. What else can they take away?"

"I don't know what to say." Which was the truth. "I'd better wake up Urs."

Gaia nodded.

"Not Mr. Sabonis, please, if you can help it. He is a repeat offender, if his stories can be believed. And he talks too much. He'll just get us into more trouble. We never should have let him tag along."

I crawled over and nudged Urszula gently. Maybe it was cruel, but she needed to witness whatever was about to happen, especially since these might be our last moments of existence in this universe. I had re-learned the hard way how perishable souls could be. It made existence after death that more precious.

Her eyes popped open.

"What's happening?"

"We have company."

She scrambled to retrieve her splintered oar but Gaia had planted her foot firmly on the shaft.

I dug my fingers into the damp sand. I didn't think it could possibly get any brighter, but the glow expanded like a slo-mo explosion until it had replaced every feature of the landscape with a vast and featureless and dimensionless whiteness.

Silence ensued. Gone were the waves, the wind, the fog and all the murmurs from the village

As if from behind a curtain stepped a petite, middle-aged woman, naked and barefoot. She stood about ten paces away, studying us, this weirdly chimeric person with a perfect nineteen-year old body but with grey hair and a creased and saggy fifty year old face. Why would she do that only to her face? For gravitas? To make herself look more authoritative?

Gaia put her hand over mine.

"It's Beth."

"You know her?"

"Them. They are Beth. They are a Maker, which are collectives of many souls. Sometimes thousands. Often sharing kinship."

"Are you gonna introduce us?"

"They know who we are."

"She looks small," said Urszula. "The three of us can take her. Four, if we count him." She glanced down with disdain at the still snoozing Sabonis who lay on his side on the white plain, curled up around no longer existent embers.

"No one is 'taking' anybody," said Gaia. "We will listen in peace to whatever they have to say to us or else."

Urszula stood arms akimbo. "Or else what?"

"Or else you get squashed like a bug. One does not mess with a Maker."

"What shit," said Urszula.

"Just be quiet and behave yourself. They came for me."

"What exactly do Makers make?" I asked.

"Vetting realms, of course," said Gaia. "Worlds like Lethe and Root."

For the longest time I was pretty sure that no one ran the after lands the way Frelsians and Pennies could run amok in the living world, meddling with impunity with life and death. Now, it was becoming apparent that we were little more than ants to the Powers-that-be. Enforcers only concerned themselves with souls of Gaia's stature.

Above them? Sub-creators with absolute power over their creations and the souls who resided in them. I still didn't know how 'God' fitted into all of this, but it was becoming apparent that He/She was not a micro manager.

"She does not look very dangerous," said Urszula.

Gaia smiled. "Neither do you my dear. But we know better, don't we?"

A low-pitched hum arose out of the white, sounding like an orchestra of badly tuned bass violins being bowed. Wide vibrato. Mid-range rumble. Shrill overtones.

Sabonis popped awake.

"What the fuck's that racket?" He looked around and took a deep breath. "Oh shit!"

Gaia rubbed my hand. She looked at me and smiled sadly.

"Here we go."

The hum got louder and louder, rattling every inch of this whiteness. And then it stopped.

Beth the Maker sauntered over and stood face to face with Gaia.

"Gaia Vibeke Pounce. You had a promising start. Why this?"

"Things were out of order. I just wanted to help ... a little bit."

"You don't understand. You can't. Small perturbations multiply and propagate."

"I'm sorry."

"Your deeds have warped countless souls. We prescribe a period of reflection. You need to demonstrate an understanding of the full extent of your actions."

"That's all? That's good! I can do that. I just need access to a loom."

"You will have it in the observatory of Elysium. You are to conduct these exercises in an environment of solitude and confinement."

Gaia drew a deep breath.

"Can I visit my friends here in Lethe. From time to time?"

"No."

"Can they visit me?"

"Perhaps. But only if they can attain Elysium on their own."

"How long am I sentenced?"

"As long as it takes to realize the manifestations of your many and varied actions."

"And who will tell me when I've done enough?"

"No one. It will be obvious. You will become free."

"Please. Can I stay with my friends just a little while longer? I am in the middle of helping them."

"Helping, how?"

"I know it's only small potatoes in your eyes, but Penult tampered with the order. They murdered Miss Urszula's boyfriend out of spite before they sent her to Avernus. We are seeking to re-unite them. To restore some order, so to speak."

The gaze of the Maker called Beth went vacant. She looked like a mannequin, or a corpse, standing there and it creeped me out. After a time, life seeped back into her eyes.

"This incident was indeed trivial."

"Yes, but...."

"And a soul consigned to Avernus should not be liberated. Ever."

Sabonis glared defiantly. "Says who?"

"Ignore him," I said, not that the Maker needed any advice from me.

"Going to Avernus was a mistake," said Gaia. "But she is here now, and so is the one she loves. We only wish to accomplish a reunion. If possible."

Again, Beth went all silent and creepy until their wills had seeped back into the shell they were using to communicate with Gaia.

"You will join Elysium as soon as this task is achieved."

"Yes! Thank you, dear Maker."

"And so ... we will assist you."

***

The whiteness turned black. Again, a chill breeze swirled in around us. Waves crashed within a stone's throw.

"Whoa!" said Sabonis. "Maker, huh? That's a new one on me."

"So what do we do now?" I asked.

"We keep at what we were doing," said Gaia. "I suppose. Until we hear otherwise."

"How will they help?" said Urszula.

"We will learn soon enough. For now, we keep on keeping on."

"I'm gonna go find some dry tinder," said Sabonis. "See if I can get this fire going again."

"I will assist you," said Urszula.

Gaia leaned back and stared up at the orb. Its sphincter-like opening remain clamped shut, emitting only the faintest seam of light.

I nudged beside her and looked up.

"That where you'll be?"

"Yes."

"Who all gets to go?"

"Anyone. It's really just a collection point for souls reclaimed from Lethe. Some move on to higher realms. Most remain to tend the striving flocks here on this island."

"Maybe you could come down and visit that way."

"You heard the Maker. They want me reflecting in solitude."

"How does one get there?"

"Not easily. It requires considerable effort and discipline ... and sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?"

"Your flesh for one. Not to mention your vanity. Your ego. Your sense of self."

"Dang."

"But there are those who game the system. No shortage of tainted souls, from what I hear."

"So there's hope for me."

She smirked.

"You're not like them. You're a good man, James. I always thought you were misplaced."

"What's it like up there?"

"You would hate it. Fleshy and nurturing, I would imagine. Much like my old bedroom."

"I could handle it. If it means we'd get to hang out."

She looked at me funny.

"I would have thought you would be glad to be rid of me."

"Why would you say that?"

She sighed and plopped down onto the cold sand and sat cross-legged, face me. Her soft phosphorescence provided the only light in the immediate vicinity.

"I thought you found me annoying."

I shook my head.

"Nope."

I dug into the side of a dune, covering myself with sand to insulate myself from the chill. I learned right away that cold sand made a shitty blanket.

"I'm gonna miss you when you go."

I could see her face but she could not see mine. She was not smiling.

"We will move on at first light."

***

The orb directly finally opened its slit and sent light sifting down over the misty island. We broke our fast with a broth of seaweed and mussel shells brewed in a crock Sabonis borrowed from a gang of Squatters and shared between us with a single ladle. With the topography again illuminated, we continued on our way.

We passed through the mouth of yet another river valley crowded with unascended souls. This one harbored a community of free Shades who seemed to keep to themselves, away from those of flesh. This ravine was bracketed with rocky buttresses that shouldered their way into the sea.

There was no beach here. We had to climb up the rocks and pick our way along a shattered scarp. I gasped for breath after only a few steps up the side of the bluff.

"Man, am I out of shape."

"Fitness has nothing to do with it," said Gaia, smirking.

"Huh?"

"Tolerance for altitude. It's part of the vetting. The early Makers had a taste for metaphor."

I glanced back at Urszula and Sabonis, both of whom climbed without apparent effort.

"Why aren't they feeling it?"

"Their souls are more advanced than yours."

"Say what?"

"The vetting doesn't lie. But it's nothing you can't achieve with a little bit of effort. You just have to want it."

"Jesus Christ," I said, collapsing onto the ledge, panting.

Gaia stayed with me as Urszula overtook us, scampering nimbly up the rocks. Sabonis took a seat next to me, breathing as easily as a guy on a Sunday stroll.

I gazed out to the next valley up the shore. Beyond it, half buried in fog, was yet another mass of bluffs, more massive and more rugged than the current set.

"Perhaps you're not humble enough. You're too proud. Lethe is a place for letting go. For forgetting. Giving up false ideas about yourself."

"Like what?"

"It's your soul. You tell me."

"Christ, this is gonna be hard."

She smiled sadly.

"Yes it is."

I pulled myself up off the rocks and stumbled after Urszula who was a little mountain goat by comparison. But soon our climbing was done. After a brief traverse across a cliff face, we were heading back down to another beach.

Sabonis pulled some strips of raw jerky from the pocket of his vest and shared them with everyone. I tried not to think about the likely source of this meat. It did not taste like fish, and I had not seen any animals here other than people.

Urszula leapt down to the sand from about ten feet up, but the rest of us were less cavalier with our bodies. We took turns climbing down the ledge one handhold and foothold at a time.

When I got down I collapsed in the sand and curled up on my side. Up on the heights my body had been wracked with an insidious pain that seemed to have seeped into every cell. It was gone now, but I had never felt a pain like that. I never imagined it was possible.

Across the expanse of blackish sand and gravel came a clattering. A figure appeared in the mists about fifty yards off. All of our heads turned, all but Sabonis.'

Out of the fog strode a squat man, naked but for a leather helmet and a belt from which jangled half a dozen black cubes. He carried a staff topped with a long scythe-like blade.

Urszula took a step towards him, putting herself between him and us. She shook out her arms and rose up on her toes

"Urszula! Stay back," said Gaia.

"Collector," said Sabonis. "He won't hurt her. He's only after Shades."

The man sauntered past, nodding his head at the group and smiling as he went by. As he loped along the beach, the fog closed in behind him. From the direction he had disappeared came the murmur of voices.

"More people coming," said Urszula, staring into the mists.

"Beachcombers," said Sabonis. "They walk the strand first thing every morning. I do it, too. It's how you get the best stuff."

A throng appeared, about twenty souls strong and of mixed age and gender. My stomach took a dive when I spotted Beth among them.

"Holy shit! It's her. She's back."

"You do realize what this means," said Gaia.

Beth stopped and pointed in our direction like a nature guide with a bunch of bird watchers. I waited for everything to turn white again, but the fog and damp and dirt and wind stayed put.

A sandy-haired young man with longish hair and the early makings of a beard peeled out of the group and approached us. He gaped back at us, lurching and stumbling as if he were drunk.

Urszula gave out a wordless cry and her heels kicked up sand as she dashed out to meet him. The guy stopped in his tracks, looking both horrified and astonished to see her. He collapsed to his knees and covered his face with his hands.

"Ah! Fuck! They got you too?" He was sobbing as Urszula skidded down on her knees and took him in her arms, smothering him with kisses. The sight bewildered me. I had never seen Urszula behave like this.

Gaia approached Beth cautiously. I kept close, one hand on her back while Sabonis hung back and watched us, leaning against the cliff face.

"Guys, this is Janusz," said Urszula as we sauntered past.

"Hi," I said, meekly.

"I was so much, so much hoping that you had survived," said Jan. "That you had reached your friends in England. Those thoughts kept me going in this place. Thinking you would have a full life. That you might be happy."

"I am happy, you idiot! You act like I have never been dead before."

"But you had a chance to ... a chance to ...."

Shut up and kiss me you fool!

***

Beth stood amidst the flock of onlookers, absurdly pristine amongst the filthy, maimed and disheveled rabble. She/they held out their hand.

"Gaia Vibeke Pounce. It is time."

"Yes. I understand. I just need a moment to say goodbye."

Beth nodded.

"A moment?"

I had no stomach now. It had plunged down to my feet and kept on going. I felt as devoid of hope as I had ever felt since my wanna-kill-myself days in Ft. Pierce. That's one of the problems with being dead. There's little recourse when existence goes from bad to unbearable.

Gaia looked at me and smiled. What was she grinning about? Her expression might have been appropriate on someone being dropped off at home after a first date. As if I would see her in class tomorrow. Except there would be no class. School was canceled. Forever.

"Well, it's certainly been great."

"Hasn't been that great," I blurted.

She paused, looking puzzled. My words hadn't come out right. It just bothered me how casual—all nonchalant and bubbly—she was being about our parting.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said. "I've had a wonderful time getting to know you."

"We never got a chance to do normal stuff."

"Normal? What is normal?"

"I don't know. Hanging out."

"We hung out plenty waiting to go to Penult."

"I know but, there was always bad stuff threatening to happen. Dark clouds and murder all over everything. We couldn't just be normal and relaxed."

"Dark clouds are normal. In life and death, bad things happen. At most, you hope to balance them with some good things."

"I might never see you again. That's a real bad one. I don't know how I'm gonna balance that. And I'm gonna be stuck here forever with ... the likes of him."

I glanced over to Sabonis, who for some reason was trying to build another fire with bits of dry grass and an ember he had carried from his last blaze.

"Is that what you think? That I would just blow you a kiss and disappear from existence. Have you learned nothing in our time together. Did you suspect anything about how I feel being with you? I didn't have to this, James. Any of this. I like being with you. I will be with you again."

"When?"

"That depends. I will do my best to serve my penance, but the decision to set me free is not in my hands. However, it is in your power to come join me in Elysium. All you need to do is climb that mountain."

I looked up through the mists at the blocky and vertiginous summit barely visibly behind its heavy shroud.

"How? I can barely make it off this beach."

"With patience and grit. I will be working up there to satisfy the Powers-that-be. You do the same down here. Find your way up that mountain. The harder we work, the quicker we will meet again."

I knew that I would try. I had never felt sicker in my existence than those few minutes on the lower slopes of the mountain. But I wanted a chance to see Gaia again and soon. She wasn't even gone yet and I already missed her horribly.

Sabonis had finally managed to get a roaring blaze going. He whooped and danced in circles around it like a mad Mohawk warrior. Beth waited patiently, surrounded by a rapt and curious throng, tackling their endless existential questions with a quiet grace. Urszula and Jan stood arm in arm, head to head down at the water's edge.

"We did a good deed, Mr. Moody. And I am glad of it. They seem ecstatic."

"Good to see this Jan guy has gotten over the drama of her being dead."

"Perhaps the happy couple can be convinced to join you and you'll have some company on the slopes. Urszula might teach you a few things about humility and fortitude."

"It's a good place? Elysium?"

"You will hate it. There is nothing natural about it. It is entirely a human construct. But it's a gateway to other realms. Once you make it there, there is a good chance I will be ready to leave. Perhaps we will even have Ezekiel again. I will do everything in my power to make that so."

I glanced up at the sky. Clouds again obscured the upper slopes.

"Why do they have to make it so dang hard to get there?"

"If it were easy, places like Elysium would be bursting at the gills with unfinished souls."

"But ... do you really want to be 'finished'?"

"No soul is ever truly finished. But we could all stand to be a little further along."

"Okay. It's a deal. You promise to wait for me?"

"I'm not going anywhere. And I'll be watching, just like before"

The wind had reversed and was blasting in off the sea, but it wasn't any less chilly than the wind off the hills. There was a storm out there, a strange looking thing like an upside down tornado. It prompted flashbacks to the old Horus.

This place was like a beginner's version of the Deeps. We had the ability to tune out physical discomforts like cold and pain. We probably could have felt comfortable sitting in a patch of thorns. But there was nothing to be done about the emotional torment plaguing me.

"You'd better go," I said.

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"Beth keeps looking this way."

"So let her look. What's the rush?"

"It just hurts, dragging it out. And I don't want you to get in any more trouble."

"I don't know about you, but I am savoring these moments. Beth will understand if I linger a bit."

"I'll miss you. A ton."

"I'm glad."

"We get Zeke back. We'll ditch this place. Go somewhere happening."

"Not too happening, I hope."

"Wales is pretty boring. But I know some nice folks who would put us up. Beautiful scenery. You could work on your sketches."

"Sounds lovely, but life is for the living. I'm afraid Wales is out of the question, Mr. Moody."

"We'll find somewhere good. Or make our own."

A confidence welled up in me. I knew right then I could get through the ordeal to come and make something good out of it. Gaia must have noticed the change, because the quality of her smile shifted—less pity, more conspiratorial flair.

A fog bank rolled in. I sought Gaia's hand and pulled her close to me. She laid her head on my shoulder as we stared out into the nothingness.

I didn't quite understand what was happening. I hadn't really cared for Gaia when we met and despite her infatuation with my 'case,' during much of our time together we had never really clicked. But now that we were parting, being together seemed so natural and inevitable.

I had once bought a pair of shoes that pinched my toes and chafed my ankle bones. I almost dumped them right at the start, but over time they became the most comfortable and indispensable item in my wardrobe. Gaia would not be thrilled to be compared to a pair of old shoes, but the process was similar.

I wanted to kiss her, but held back. I was about to lose her for what might turn out to be years, decades maybe. But why rush things? One thing about being dead is that there is no shortage of time. Only fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Whatever was happening to us was evolving at a pace and subtlety that made sense and was far different from the whirlwind that had engulfed me and Karla in the tunnels of Root. Burned one too many times in my short existence, I needed to go slow this time around.

But clearly something was happening. I could feel the shivery tingles in my core that told me I was falling in love again. So being dead wasn't all bad. Not if a body and soul could feel like this again.

THE END

