The Deeps (Book Three of The Liminality) Page 4

  I climbed onto a stack of timbers and looked out over the pit. The caravan was still there, pennants waving in the wind. But they were halted.

  “But … who are they? What do they want?”

  Bern smirked. “It’s an old friend and his entourage.”

  Those gaudy colors. The packs of dogs.

  “Luther?”

  “Who else would travel with a bloody circus?”

  “What’s he doing up here?”

  “A better question might be, what took him so long?”

  People came out of their wagons and stared at us from across the pit. I scanned the crowd, but couldn’t pick out anyone who looked like Luther. But who knew what he looked like these days? He was a master flesh weaver—a man of many manifestations.

  There were no freaks among them, as far as I could tell. Luther often preferred to take on the most bizarre forms. He liked to make himself stand out in a crowd.

  Seraf landed with a heavy thud and tucked her gossamer wings under their cases. Urszula pitched herself out of the saddle and landed nimbly in a patch of moss.

  “I have passed a message to a bee. She is returning to the mesa to muster reinforcements.”

  “I’m telling you, Urszula, it’s not necessary,” said Bern. “This man is just a merry prankster. He’s all bluster. He can be a bit of a bully sometimes, but I doubt he means us any harm.”

  “And what if he is allied with Frelsi?”

  “He’s not. That, I can assure you,” said Bern. “He’s had more than a few unpleasant encounters with Freesouls. I’m fairly certain he views them as his competitors.”

  Urszula gave me that look of haughty disregard that seemed to be her default expression.

  “Um … hi,” I said.

  “Why did you flee?” she said. “Were you scared? Did I scare you?”

  “Scare me? No. I’m not scared of you. I just … I don’t know. I don’t control these transitions. At least … not completely. They just happen. I’m learning, though. I’m getting better at riding the waves.”

  Urszula looked confused. But how could she understand? She had been dead for centuries. She did not oscillate between existences like me and Bern.

  “Yes, well … I’ve never cared much for all this back and forth business,” said Bern. “I’ve decided I’d rather spend the bulk of my time here, Lille or no Lille. I try to maximize my time here. Any travel back is for maintenance purposes only.”

  “They’re moving again,” said Urszula. I noticed she had a scepter with a shaft riddled with dark knots that culminated in a fluted burl resembling a flame. “They’re coming this way.”

  Bern climbed atop a stool and waved a hankie. “Now don’t provoke Luther when he arrives. Show him some deference. He enjoys having his eminence acknowledged. Just a little bit of respect will put him at ease.”

  “I thought you said he was no threat?” said Urszula.

  “With the proper handling, no, he’s not. Just do as I say and go through the motions. It’s not as if you have to believe it.”

  The wind carried the wavering strains of some faint calliope music.

  “Oh my God,” said Bern. “I was being metaphorical but he really is leading a bloody circus parade. I wonder, is he actually aiming for such an effect? Does he realize he is such a clown?”

  The pack of dogs leading the vanguard split into two groups and came arcing around either side of the sinkhole, yipping and baying at us.

  Urszula looked nervous. “I never cared for dogs.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. They won’t bother you. They do exactly what their master tells them.”

  “Look how they move. They’re not even real,” said Urszula. “They are animated by spells.”

  “Woven flesh,” said Bern. “But don’t ask me what he uses as a basis. They’re more than a pile of roots, I’ll tell you that.”

  Luther’s dogs were a strange breed this time—mutts with the shape and color of lanky Yorkies but as big as wolf hounds. Their behavior seemed much more natural than some of his prior models. For one thing, their responses and movements seemed independent. No longer did they move in lock step as if they shared one brain.

  “No Frelsian could craft such a beast,” said Urszula. “Who is this mage? How does he do this?”

  “The man has talents,” said Bern. “If only he would apply them to something useful.”

  The dogs ran circles around us until someone shouted a gruff command and they stopped and sat perfectly erect, shoulder to shoulder, like a curving wall of canine statues.

  The rest of the caravan, on foot and in wagons pulled by some kind of antlered elk, marched and rolled after them, skirting the edge of the sinkhole and stopping just behind the dogs.

  Three men came striding up out of the collection of horses and wagons, passing through a contingent of abnormally muscular soldiers bearing ornate pole axes. Dozens of other souls, civilians I suppose, fanned out to watch the proceedings. They all dressed brightly and exotically—like extras from the Cirque du Soleil.

  The leader among the three—he could only be Luther—dressed like a foppish pirate. He wore an iridescent suit of teal and gold and a wide-brimmed purple hat with a feathery plume. There was a hint of Michael Jackson to his aesthetic sensibility.

  Harvald, his lieutenant, dressed more conservatively in a suit of amber suede and a black head wrap. The two were accompanied by a seven foot plus tall bodyguard whose limbs bulged in proportions too grotesque for nature, more like some low budget video game artist’s vision of a level boss.

  Luther’s own body bore no sign of distortion for a change. He was man-sized and man-shaped—a younger and healthier version of the hunched and wheelchair-bound old man I had met in Switzerland.

  Even his face was genuine, youth-infused and prettified, but recognizably his own visage. In fact, there was no sign of his former younger, hunkier blonde avatar anywhere among his entourage. Maybe he had gotten over his infatuation with the thirty-something physical therapist from whom he had borrowed his name and who had inspired his original avatar.

  In comparison to his usual entrance, the effect was startling. Had Luther been humbled? Was that even possible?

  “Bernard? Is that you?” said Luther, tilting back the brim of his hat. “Hah! So this is where you all ran off to. What the devil are you doing hanging around these wastes? Surely you could have found a better place to settle. Look at this place. There’s a whole world out here.”

  “Yes, well. Don’t you know there’s a war on?”

  “A war? Here?”

  He took in the remnants of the cabin with disdain and panned the surroundings until his gaze settled on me. He didn’t seem to recognize me right away, but my presence obviously disturbed him. Something flashed in his eyes. He remembered me.

  “You! You’re that boy! The one who visited me at the hospice. The one who made off with my grand-daughter.”

  “James,” I said, holding out my hand. “James Moody.”

  He looked at my palm as if it was covered in leprous tubercles.

  “So where is she? Is she here?” He peered through a gap in the wall of the tiny cabin.

  “No,” I said, sighing. “She’s … in the Deeps.”

  Luther acted more appalled than grieved. “How? How did it happen?”

  “She got caught up in this stuff called Fellstraw.”

  “On this side? She died in this realm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s too bad.” He shrugged. “I suppose I should have expected as much. That girl had a knack for trouble. If she weren’t my own grand-daughter I would have never taken her into the ville. She had no business being saved … otherwise.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Bern. “She may have started off slow, but she was a quick learner.”

  “And what about Lille?” said Luther. “Is she off to the Deeps as well?”

  “We’re … uh … separated,” said Bern.

  Luther scrunched
his eyes. “Really? You two? I never would have guessed that was … possible. What did you do to drive her away, you old bugger?” He noticed Urszula glaring at him. He narrowed his gaze at her. “Who is this gray creature who keeps staring at me?”

  “She’s Urszula,” I said. “She’s … from the Deeps.”

  “You don’t say? Well now, that makes for yet another impossibility. I have to say, this is a day for miracles.”

  “So … uh … what … eh … brings you up here?” said Bern.

  Luther took in a long and deep breath before exhaling his answer. “Fresh air, among other things. The Reapers were getting a little too feisty for comfort. Don’t know what irked them, but they’ve been on a bit of a rampage. Wouldn’t respect the boundaries of the ‘Burg the way they used to. So I thought it was time to break camp. Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted.”

  “Well, I don’t quite my roof on just quite yet, but when I do, I can certainly invite you in for some tea,” said Bern.

  “You want a roof? I’ll give you a roof. While we’re at it maybe we can add a villa to this … closet …. you’ve been working on. Harvald, get a crew together and see what you can do for us. A patio with a view of the hills would be nice. Actually, this location may not be so bad after all. Far enough from the hills to get a wide perspective. This might be where we want to put our village. You have excellent taste Bernard.”

  “Well, thank you … but … no thank you. I actually came out here for the privacy.”

  “What are you talking about? Privacy. There’s mile after mile of empty wasteland behind us. You want privacy. Take a walk.”

  “It is not wise for any of you to settle in these flat lands,” said Urszula.

  “Oh? Why’s that?” said Luther.

  “We are at war. You would become a target for the Frelsians.”

  Luther grinned. “So the Frelsians have other enemies. Not just me. That’s good to know.”

  “I can’t promise how my people will react to your presence if you settle here. They know Bern and James. They don’t know you. They may assume you are Frelsians or one of their allies.”

  “Well, you know better. Don’t you? Perhaps you can illuminate them. Provide an introduction. Tell you what. If you have a leader, why don’t you invite him over for tea with us. That will give us a chance to get acquainted.”

  “You want tea?” she said. “With Yaqob?”

  “Why not? It will be like a welcoming committee, but in reverse. A newcomer hosting his neighbors to be. Why can’t that work?”

  “Yaqob. He is not very sociable.”

  “So why don’t we socialize the man? It’s never too late. I don’t care if he died a thousand years ago.”

  Seraf clattered her palps against her mandibles, drawing Luther’s attention. He reached a hand to caress the waxy plate between her bulging, multifaceted eyes. Seraf scuttled back and hissed, drawing up her barbed forelegs defensively.

  “Oh, what a fine beast!” he said. “What a splendid feat of Weaving. A true artist at work. Who did this, may I ask?”

  “Seraf’s not Woven,” I said. “She’s real.”

  “Really?” he said, his voice tinged with awe. He touched a finger to his chin. “How do you suppose she got here? Leakage between existences? But … is she really that big, or are we the ones who are small?”

  “I’ve asked myself that same question,” I said.

  “Oh well. No matter. It all works out the same in the end. Though the plants here seem normal-sized.”

  “Most of them,” I said. “There are some freaky vines growing up on those mesas.”

  “Marvelous. I would love to see them. Would you show me sometime?”

  Some of Luther’s entourage set to work, expanding the cabin. The stacked walls were literally flying together and new structures were being woven on the spot. The humble cabin that Bern had envisioned was now a mere foyer to a sprawling villa with multiple wings, a tiled courtyard and balconies looking out to the foothills. The thickly bundled thatch was expanded to cover a steeply pitched roof.

  And as the first house was completed, more structures began to rise around it, connected by cobbled lanes. A village was literally taking shape before our eyes. Except for the lack of a church, it echoed the Central European character of Luthersburg.

  Bern looked on, stunned and helpless. “Fabulous,” he said. “Just fabulous. But don’t you think it’s a bit much?”

  “Not at all. Look at the weather. If we plan to settle here, my community needs comfortable accommodations.”

  Bern blanched, as he fussed with his teapot.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’m only joking,” said Luther, grinning. “I know you have your hermit-like tendencies, Bernard. The absence of Lille only makes it worse, I’m sure. Please be assured that this is only a temporary encampment. I realize you all probably came here to get away from me. But I actually have eyes for those mountains. I can only imagine the view from up there.”

  “Oh no,” said Urszula. “Not there. That is Frelsi. There is a war on, remember?”

  “Ah, no matter. Bern? How’s that tea coming along?”

  “Ready!” he said, as he set out five small tea cups at the little round table in what was now a courtyard. It was hardly big enough to seat three.

  Luther took a stool and Harvald sat across from him. He patted the stools to either side and motioned for Urszula and me to squeeze in, while Bern came around and poured us each some of his steaming brew. Meanwhile, Luther’s bodyguard and his little security force took positions around the structures that were still rising all around us.

  “The tea’s a bit on the weak side, I’m afraid,” said Bern. “I do apologize.”

  “That Lille could sure brew a killer cup, as I recall,” said Luther.

  “Yes. We know,” said Bern.

  “Your people, Miss Urszula, are you many?” said Luther.

  Urszula seemed reluctant to answer, or to even meet his gaze. “Active? No.”

  “Active? As opposed to what? Ah, do you mean this dormancy business? Are there some among you who have achieved the long sleep?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “And James here happens to have found a way to awaken them,” said Bern.

  “How horrible. Why would he want to go and do that? I have heard it is quite the nirvana. I can only hope that some day my soul is replete enough to sip from that well.”

  “It was an accident,” I said.

  “But it was for the better,” said Urszula.

  “I sense you have leadership qualities, my dear,” said Luther. “Are you perhaps, queen of the gray folk?”

  Urszula turned a slightly darker shade of gray.

  “We have no leaders. We cooperate via anarchy.”

  “Cooperation? Anarchy? That’s an oxymoron. Makes no sense at all. What about this Yaqob fellow? Might he be a leader?”

  “He is a mentor. He may be influential, simply because he is old. But not all of us … follow him … or seek his advice.”

  “Factions! How exciting,” said Luther. “And how do you fit in with all of this? If not a queen, surely you must be some sort of princess.”

  “Please. I am not. I am just … just … a girl.”

  “A girl, she says!” Luther grinned. “How cute and humble. A mere girl, she thinks of herself.”

  “Miss Urszula is a warrior,” said Bern. “You should see her in action. The Royal Marines would be lucky to have more the likes of her.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” I said. “Urszula is every bit as much a leader as much Yaqob.”

  “Then wouldn’t it be fascinating to have them both at the same table. How can we invite him down here?”

  “Yaqob does not deal with the living,” said Urszula.

  “The living, she calls us! As if we have lives.”

  “Well, maybe you can pass a message to this Yaqob that there’s a new man in town and I might have something to offer against these … Frelsians.�
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  “You? What do you possibly have to offer?”

  “Get him down here and we can talk about it. Let’s just say that I have resources. I have intelligence that may be useful to your cause, that is, if you anarchists actually have a cause other than hating the other side ... which … I suppose counts as a cause.”

  “I can ask,” said Urszula. “I cannot guarantee that Yaqob comes. He has a mind of his own.”

  “If not, so be it. Maybe you and I can work out a deal.”

  “Deal? What do you want from me?”

  “Some of those winged beasts of yours might be nice to have around. Certainly better than hoofing it up into the hills.

  “They are not beasts of burden,” said Urszula. “They have minds of their own and choose their own masters.”

  “Whatever.” Luther shrugged. “I just seek a chance to be chosen.” He looked at me and sighed. “So sad about Karla. She was such a clever and vigorous tyke. It’s just too bad she had to end up here in the first place, but what would you expect with a family like that? I’m surprised her little sister didn’t end up in a pod down below.”

  “She did, actually,” I said. “We freed her.”

  “Huh. Imagine that. But not her big sister is dead and in the Deeps. I don’t suppose that helps keep her out of this place.”

  “Not for long,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m going after her. I’m going after Karla.”

  “To the Deeps? Hah! What’s the rush? We’ll all end up there eventually, if the powers-that-be have their way.”

  “Except I’m going to bring her back. And I plan to get there … without the death part.”

  Luther grinned. “Ah, I see. You don’t wish to pay the price of admission. I’m afraid that’s not possible. Existences are like a ratchet. Once you leave one, you can’t go back.”

  “But Urszula did it. And millions before her.”

  “Flukes. A million souls are but a drop in the bucket of eternity. How do you propose to pull off such a feat?”

  “I was hoping Urszula would help. Her people … they got out. I figure, if there’s a way out, then there must be a way in.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” said Urszula.

  “Then how? How does it work?”

  “We tamed the Horus and created a crack in the firmament. A temporary fissure.”

  “What’s … a Horus?”

  “The ruler of the Deeps,” said Urszula. “It wears a dust storm as its cloak. It is a massive entity that reaps souls into the next existence.”