The Deeps (Book Three of The Liminality) Read online

Chapter 5: Caravan

  Rattled and confused, I left the bluffs behind. I half-believed I should have let those spikers impale me. That would have sent me straight to the Deeps. Didn’t I keep telling myself that was where I wanted to be?

  But somehow it seemed important for me to get there on my own terms, preferably with a round-trip ticket, though I wasn’t sure such a passage was possible anymore, even though the Dusters seemed to have managed. I guess I also wasn’t quite ready to cut my ties with that place called Earth, despite what the darkness in my heart tried to sell me.

  A million puddles and rivulets saturated the plains, but though landscape was too porous to harbor any actual lakes or ponds. Green shoots and rosettes were sprouting up everywhere, many with flower buds ready to burst. This place was going to look spectacular once the rains stopped and everything blossomed.

  I traced a meandering path along the drier creases of land that crisscrossed the flats, detouring around the few small pits I encountered. I worked my way towards that heap of wreckage I had spotted earlier.

  It was perched on the rim of one of the larger sinkholes. The whole mess looked like the aftermath of some battle. But it couldn’t have been Dusters. They tended to obliterate objects down to their elemental particles with their spell craft, as Bern and Lille discovered with their first attempt at building a cabin up top. This looked like the work of Frelsians.

  I didn’t remember seeing any man-made structures on the surface before. Before our raid on Frelsi no one would have dared build anything in such an exposed location. This wreckage suggested that it still was not a wise choice.

  As I got closer, I recognized the distinctive alternating arrangement of faux cedar shakes sheathing the flattened walls. Lille and Bern had used that pattern in every cabin I had ever sat with them for tea from Luthersburg to Frelsi.

  My stomach clenched. Suddenly, I worried for Bern. It struck me, though, that even though the parts of this cabin lay in a heap, it was an orderly heap. Things were sorted into piles: thatch here, walls there.

  A thick but leafless tree thrust a limb out over the sinkhole, dangling a system of pulleys and rope. And then, out of the pit clambered Bern, all spry and vigorous apart from his usual limp. He was too absorbed in his work to notice my approach.

  “Hi,” I said, when I was only about ten feet away.

  Bern stumbled back, tripping over a beam, pointing his cane at me like it was a laser cannon, which it was, sometimes.

  “Oh my Lord!” He clasped one hand to his chest and lowered his cane. “Don’t you ever surprise an old man like that! You just might give an old man a boost into the next world.”

  Bern regained his footing and hopped down from a pile of unbundled thatch. A huge grin spread across his face as he came over and hugged me. “Long time no see,” he said. “But that’s good news, right? Life must be treating you well.”

  “Not really,” I said. “I just got deported.”

  “Oh. Well, that was to be expected. But I presume you’re healthy again … in the earthly sense, I mean? Certainly, your soul is still a basket case. Aren’t we all?”

  “Yeah. Well. I’m all patched up. No permanent damage. Just some aches.”

  “So you’re going back home, then?”

  “Home? I’m not sure what that is,” I said. “I don’t think I have one. I almost think of this place as a home.”

  “That’s absurd,” said Bern. “No home of mine has demons that patrol the sky on the backs of insects the size of horses, and carnivorous worms that could best an elephant in a tug-of-war. Not mention, now that it’s wet season, it rains more than Scotland.”

  “Looks like the flowers are about to pop,” I said.

  “Oh yes, I noticed. Too bad Lille isn’t down here to see it.”

  “Have you heard from her?” I said.

  “No. And I don’t expect to, not with the brain-washing they put those Hemi-souls through. Though I suspect she’s a Freesoul by now. They have assassins, you know., for that sort of thing.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “I was there when she told you.”

  “Ah. No matter. I’m a bachelor now. I did just fine down below even before I met her. I’m a contemplative man, you know, and now I have more time than ever to spin my fantasies.”

  “Fantasies? Do you mean stories? I didn’t know you were a writer.”

  “I’m not. I don’t write, per se. I spin fantasies. Carve them into memory. I find paper and print much too fixed a medium.”

  “I’d love to hear them,” I said.

  “You can’t. They’re just for me.”

  “But … doesn’t a storyteller need someone to tell his stories to? Otherwise you’re just a—”

  “What for?” said Bern. “When a tree falls in the woods, does it require a person to witness it to make it real? Why not create for the sake of creation? Why does one need an audience?”

  “Would you share one sometime? I bet they’re ... interesting.”

  Bern looked at me, his face all stiff and somber. I don’t know why it was such a big deal. They were just stories. “Perhaps,” he said, finally. “Maybe once I’m settled, and if you decide to stick around. But I have to warn you, Lille never cared to my tales. Even when she was around, I tended to keep them to myself.”

  He looped a cord around a bundle of thatch and pulled it tight.

  “So what happened to your cabin?” I said. “Who attacked you?”

  “Nobody. This is all my own doing. I’m just relocating. It was getting too soggy down in the pit. I was hoping for the rain to stop before making the move, but fat chance that will happen any time soon. I thought it worth risking the exposure now that I’m on friendly terms with the Dusters. It’s been ages since I’ve heard a Reaper patrol the plains. The Frelsians are buttoned up in their little city on the hill.”

  “Not quite,” I said. “I was just attacked in the hollow. Two spikers … with wings.”

  “What a nasty development,” he said, scratching his chin. “I wondered what all that screeching was about. Perhaps I should reconsider my little project here.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you’re out far enough. Wouldn’t hurt to be a little more vigilant, though. You didn’t even see me coming. I could have spanked you with my sword, and I wasn’t even trying to be sneaky.”

  “I doubt they’re interested in coming after me,” said Bern. “You’re the marked man, after what you did to their place.”

  “You need to take better care too, Bern. This war isn’t over.”

  “Yes, well. Maybe I should build the place a little sturdier this time. Some Reaper-proofing might be in order. First things first, though. I just want to get a roof over my head and get out of the bloody rain. Listen, let me start a fire and I’ll treat you to some tea. How about it?”

  ***

  Bern made a batch of his relatively flavorful but absolutely colorless tea, its taste largely compiled from memory. He still didn’t have Lille’s knack for color or taste, but it was certainly hot and certainly equal to the second dunk of a tea bag.

  We sat under a lean-to we made by propping up one of his disassembled walls. We set it with the open end leeward so it blocked the slanting rain. The wind made it wobble, ever on the verge of collapsing on our backs.

  “You’re not still thinking of heading down to those nasty Deeps, are you?” said Bern.

  “Actually, yeah. I am.”

  “Good God! I was hoping you’d find some sense.”

  “I made a promise,” I said.

  “She couldn’t possibly have meant what she said. She cares too much for you to wish such a fate—”

  “You should have seen her eyes, Bern. She was really scared.”

  “Well, imminent death makes people say things they don’t mean. I’m sure she didn’t intend to take you with her.”

  “But … she’s alone down there.”

  “So? That’s how the universe operates. We all leave each existence alone. Death is not a b
each party. She’s going to have to get used to it sooner or later.”

  I bit my lip hard. “If there’s a way to get to her, I’m gonna find it.”

  “Oh, there’s a way, alright,” said Bern. “You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to find it. Plenty of cretins over the ages have—“

  “Bern. I’m aware of that path. But I have bigger ambitions. I want to bring her back.”

  “But … how?” he sputtered. “That’s absurd.”

  “No it’s not. Look at the Dusters. Where do you think they all came from?”

  “But that … that was a fluke … a temporary flaw in the fabric of the universe that they managed to exploit. That rent has been mended. It was a one time occurrence. It will never happen again.”

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  “What was that?”

  “It happened twice,” I said. “Two waves. First, the Old Ones, of which Yaqob is the last of his breed. And then, Urszula and the smaller group she crossed over with.”

  Bern shook his head. “Well …. I still think that bringing her back might be wishful thinking. From what I hear, that door is closed. And it’s not surprising. How many times can you expect to play Jesus before the powers-that-be stamp their foot down?”

  “One more time, is what I’m hoping,” I said. “If I can just figure out a way to get over there without destroying myself here. Then all would need to do is find a way back.”

  Bern sighed. “Easier said than done. Here, help me get this wall set.”

  I helped him lift the wall vertical, fighting the wind, holding it steady while he augered a stout corner post into the ground with a swirl of his cane.

  “There we go,” said Bern.

  “Uh … are you sure that’s deep enough?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. It’s knitted together with the root matrix. Nothing’s going to knock it down. Don’t let the bedrock fool you. The crust is a sham; all for show. Don’t ask me why. But the Root we love so dearly lurks just below the surface.”

  “Not up in the mountains,” I said. “Those mountains are real.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, wrestling the wall into place. “This place … is a hybrid. Two worlds glommed together. Makes … no sense.”

  I held the wall steady while he grabbed a mallet and hammered in the pegs to affix the wall to the post.

  “One down, three to go.” He selected another stout pole from a pile of posts and beams. “I’m going simple this time. Four corners. One room. It’s all I need, really. I’m going to live like Henry David Thoreau this time around.”

  I noticed a waterlogged violin propped against a stone. “Play your fiddle much?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “Don’t have the time or inclination. Lille used to enjoy hearing me play. Don’t know why. I sounded like a strangled cat. Anyhow, the damned thing’s useless and waterlogged now. It’s coming apart at the seams.”

  He got the second post spinning and plunging into the soil, pegs in mouth, attacking it with his mallet the moment it stopped its descent.

  The flimsy wall, secured at both ends, bowed and flapped in the middle like a sail. Bern limped over to rest of the stack of walls. They were shells, with the appearance of being much thicker than they actually were, like something from a low budget movie set. He selected one that was about six feet wide and eight feet tall.

  “I do appreciate the help,” said Bern. “Between the two of us, we shall make short work of this. I was afraid I might have to spend another night out in the open.”

  “How’s your leg doing, by the way?” I said.

  He sighed again, deeply. “Reverting. Almost back the way it was when I injured it on the other side. The wound is cursed and resistant to permanent repair. Not even the best flash Weaving seems to last. Maybe in Frelsi they could have healed me … but … we all know how that boondoggle went.” He nodded to me. “Now hold this in place, please, while I fetch another post.”

  He attached the second, narrower wall to the second post with more dowels. The cabin now had a corner.

  “One would think our bodies should arrive here with a clean slate. Seems unfair that our infirmities persist between existences. Doesn’t always happen, though. There’s no consistency. I’ve heard of amputees that show up here with their limbs restored. Why some of us are cursed and some carry our earthly punishments into the hereafter is just one of those mysterious ways in how God gets things done.”

  An object appeared on the horizon, in the direction of the hills. “Oh crap. Someone’s coming.” Bern shielded his eyes and stared into the slow but steady rain that continued to fall.

  I went and grabbed my sword from where I had left it by the tea kettle.

  “No worries,” he said. “This one looks like a bug. Not a worm.”

  “A mantid,” I said, judging from its bulk and ungainly flight.

  “That can only be good news,” said Bern. “The Dusters are my friends now. I’m a regular stop on their patrols. Someone or another visits me almost every day. Unlike some people I know. They’re a surly bunch, but they do seem to care for my well-being.”

  The giant bug, buffeted by a strong wind, wobbled from side to side as it descended. Its left wing case had a tear in a very familiar spot. This had to be Seraf, Urszula’s mount and the lithe rider sitting tall in her saddle could only be Urszula.

  Seraf landed hard, planting her tarsi deep in the muck. Urszula passed no greetings, betrayed no hint of being glad to see me. Her long, frizzy hair was braided and bound tightly by metal rings. She squinted so hard I could not make out her eyes.

  “You must leave,” she said. “You are under attack.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” said Bern, looking about. “By whom? From where? The skies are empty.”

  “Fools!” she said. “Look towards the plains.”

  I looked across the pit to find what looked like a circus parade coming our way It was led by horses bedecked with tassels, flanked by packs of dogs. The marchers bore a gaudy array of pennants and banners that fluttered in the wind. A faint tinkling music drifted in and out with the shifting breeze.

  “What in tarnation?”

  Chapter 6: Encounter

  With no warning, I snapped back to that window seat on the British Air flight. My head spun. My stomach did a loop in my belly. I slumped forward and moaned, banging my head against the seat back video monitor.

  I had no idea a transition was coming. Usually there was a tingling aura that warned of its imminence. And there were usually visible signs. I think Bern would have mentioned something if he noticed any translucent spots on my skin. Had it happened more abruptly than usual or had we simply been too distracted to notice anything?

  Ellen put her hand on my shoulder. “James? You okay?”

  I could only grunt and mumble, finding it hard to shape words. I wasn’t ready to come back. Bern needed help. He might be under attack.

  But at least he had Urszula with him. Both could escape on Seraf’s back, if need be.

  “James? Did you hear me? You feeling alright?” She palmed my forehead to check if I had a fever.

  Finally, my consciousness caught up with the rest of me. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine. Just … disoriented. You know. From waking? I came out of a … a deep sleep.”

  Her face was all business, rapt with concern and puzzlement as her eyes flitted back and forth assessing my condition.

  “I saved you a meal,” she said, patting a foil-covered tray on her little fold-down table. “Pasta with pesto. It was either that or the chicken, but airline chicken is usually pretty awful.”

  “Thanks … uh … good choice. But, uh … I’m not hungry right this moment. Maybe … in a minute.”

  “I tried to nudge you when they came by with the cart, but you were really out of it.”

  “Yeah. I’m a … a deep sleeper. I said. “How long was I out?”

  “I don’t know, maybe an hour. More or less.”

  My innards se
ttled down, my organs no longer acting like a sack of drowning rats. But this sense of physical ease conflicted with a spiritual malaise. A deep melancholy sank into every corner of my being. I really didn’t want to be in this world any more. I didn’t belong. There was nothing left here for me.

  That feeling, in turn, conjured a sense of something ripping loose, like a boat yanking free of its mooring. Part of me began to drift away, before snapping back like a broken elastic.

  My soul’s presence here was unstable. These waves that came drifting past, unseen. I sensed they could float me right back to Bern if I could catch them just right and surf. That was quite a revelation for me. I had been aware of these waves before but had never sensed them quite so acutely. The discovery thrilled me, but I had to keep it stifled. I didn’t want to scare them away.

  “Come on,” said Ellen. “You should try and eat something, before it gets cold. Believe me, you don’t want to eat it cold. You might feel better if you ate something.”

  Too late. In that moment of inattention, a wave had latched on and seized me. Entangled in the fabric of Root, my souls was already on its way back.

  ***

  I splashed down on my back in a puddle, staring up at a tufted sky that continued to shed a fine drizzle. Seraf’s segmented underbelly hovered overhead, her wing beats creating a wash and drone not unlike a small helicopter. My first though was that Urszula and Bern were leaving without me, but then there was Bern, leaning over me and reaching down a hand.

  “That was quick,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you again for days.”

  He hauled to my feet, and went back to working on his cabin. He had all four corner posts and three walls up and the frame of the roof was in place. He sat astride a bundle of thatch, cinching tight a loop of twine to pull it together.

  His nonchalance startled me. There was no urgency in his actions.

  “What are you doing? Aren’t you … weren’t we under attack?”

  “Yes, well, it turns out it a … eh … false alarm.”

  “What do you mean?”

  My clothes were still heaped in a pile where I had last vanished. I pulled them on hastily. I was glad to see that none have the fibers had reverted to their natural root-like state as they were often wont to do. Either I was gone too short a time or I was getter better at Weaving objects that persisted.

  “We’re not, actually … under attack.”