Penult (Book Four of The Liminality)

  “Giddy-up! Yee-haw.”

  I might as well have been trying to get a boulder to take wing. He remained oblivious to my commands.

  Tigger continued to ignore me, but as soon as Ubaldo let out a piercing shriek, the damned insect responded, buzzing us back over to the others on the plaza. My Duster friends had apparently been getting him trained up while I was away. I wasn’t sure I was capable of replicating Ubaldo’s scream with my reedy voice. This was going to be a problem.

  Tigger set down right next to the three cracker columns. They were laid out on the cobbles like missiles on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. Encased in their shrouds, I had no way of discerning which one was real.

  “Alright people, we’re about ready to roll,” said Olivier. “This is how things are gonna go down. We want three dragonflies to fly point with Iggy on the lead bug. Three others will take up the rear. Beetles with their payloads will fly in the center of the formation. Two robber flies will flank either side in close escort. Yaqob and Ubaldo will roam free to scout ahead and intercept any threats. No matter what happens, no one breaks formation unless they want help, and then it’ll be robber flies out first. If we get attacked by anything we can’t handle, we abort the mission, and head straight to the bogs. Understood?”

  The assembled party offered various grunts of assent. I looked over the group and saw mostly Dusters and only a few familiar faces. There were only two Frelsians joining us and zero Old Ones. I suppose that wasn’t too surprising because Frelsians had little experience with bugs. The Dusters coming along were primarily from the old guard—Yaqob and Urszula’s generation. Ubaldo was one of the few recent immigrants from the Deeps.

  Out of the corner of my eye I watched Karla hop onto one of the robber flies. Since when did she know how to ride a bug? I have to say, those robber flies were impressive creatures. They looked sort of like houseflies, but way more lanky and burly, built for speed and predation.

  Olivier came up beside me and Tigger. “Hey James. No offense, but I want you in the rear group with Zhang’s people.” He clambered up onto a massive metallic-blue scarab that seemed to have a stripped-down easy chair strapped to its thorax. “The Frelsians are still a little shaky with their bugs. It’ll give you guys a chance to much around and practice. Less pressure.”

  “That’s fine!” I said, though it came out louder and more annoyed-sounding than I intended. Olivier gave me a weird look. Of course it made sense to have the more experienced Dusters on the lead dragonflies. I was just feeling agitated.

  Everybody climbed aboard their bugs and made last minute adjustments to their gear. I was not ready for this raid one bit. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I wish I was still in the Orkneys, in Jessica’s aunt’s cottage.

  The three lead dragonflies took to the air first. The robber flies quickly followed. And then Tigger burst off the plaza without me needing to do a thing. While we circled overhead, the beetles opened their wing cases and lifted off the cobbles, swooping down over the cracker columns, latching onto the shrouds with their claws. The crowd on the plaza cheered as they thundered off to join us.

  Each of the bug riders followed Olivier’s instructions to a T. All except me and Tigger, of course. As soon as we got up in the air, Tigger zoomed up over the beetles and took up a spot just behind the tail of the lead dragonfly, an impressive specimen with a huge wing span, a golden green body and eyes of iridescent amber.

  I tried every kind of slap and kick to try and get Tigger to go back, but he paid no attention to me. He had decided on his own that he was going to be second banana to the big green bug and that was that. When the leader’s wing men came over and tried to nudge him aside, he tussled with them, scraping wings, pummeling their heads with his feet.

  I felt deeply embarrassed. I could imagine Olivier rolling his eyes at the sight. Ubaldo came zooming down on his hornet and I thought for sure we were in for a scolding.

  He pulled up next to me, his face calm and unperturbed. “No worries,” he said. “You can stay here. We know your mount is difficult.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded, though there was nothing I could have done about it if he had changed his mind. Tigger was determined to follow the leader.

  Ubaldo leaned slightly to his left and his wasp responded like it was wired to his brain, arcing wide around our flank. And yet Ubaldo was as new to bug riding as me. Not fair. At least, flying up front, it was easier to keep from staring at Karla.

  My feelings about her remained a jumbled mess and I expected things to stay that way. I was pissed at her beyond belief for what she had done. Though, it was tinged with relief that nothing nefarious had happened to her. I was worried about the risk of her coming to Penult, but glad she wouldn’t be in New Axum when it fell. The bottom line was, I still had feelings for her. They weren’t going away anytime soon, but I wasn’t near ready to let her know that.

  We passed over the wilder and un-terraced back reaches of the mountain. Here, overhanging cliffs dropped in one fell swoop to a splintered badland of pointy spires and deep, dry gorges, terrain so treacherous it required no defenders. I wondered, though, what one well-placed cracker column might do to tame it.

  We followed the one river valley that remained under the control of the Dusters. The route was familiar to me. Urszula had taken me this way to Tigger’s bog. Though, when we reached the circle of peaks that cradled those wetlands like the walls of a massive bathtub, we veered eastward, to an area of savanna that reminded me of the pitted plains before crackers had torn them up. Here, too, the land was dotted with pits, portals and vents to the underworld, a place I had no desire ever to return.

  We headed for a range of hills backed by yet more ranges in the distance. Hours, we flew. Tigger had a way of flying that forced me to stay alert at all times. Over and over he would spot something that would interest only a dragonfly and veer off and dive without warning to inspect it, leaving my stomach in the lurch somewhere back in the clouds. Then, just as abruptly, he would dart away from whichever dead tree or rock formation had piqued his curiosity and rejoin the formation. I no more controlled this bug than a sack of rice controlled a donkey.

  Staying alert for all of these herky-jerky changes in direction was exhausting but necessary to keep from tumbling out of that damned saddle. These things had no seatbelts. I wondered if I could rig up some kind of life line or safety tether, whenever, if ever we landed. At least it would give me some peace of mind.

  On and on we flew, over hills and marshes, deserts and forests. I kept hoping we would stop for a rest. Surely these insects needed some refreshment. Their stamina astounded and disappointed me.

  Finally, late in the afternoon, the last range of hills rumpling the horizon gave way to a narrow forested plain fringed by gleaming ocean. Chevrons of breakers converged on a strand of golden sand lining the broad curve of a bay. The lead dragonfly led the descent with Tigger close behind.

  ***

  We touched down lightly on the sand. The beetles behind us scraped trenches with their payloads and struck the beach with a thud. I sat there hunched in the saddle, muscles quivering with exhaustion, still clinging to the handholds. The other riders had already dismounted and were dipping into their saddlebags.

  Yaqob’s scorpion fly hopped over to the surf line to nibble on the remains of some fleshy mollusk that had washed up. The beetles went and huddled over a decaying heap of giant kelp like cows over a bale of hay.

  I took a deep breath and lowered myself to the ground, grateful to feel solid earth beneath my feet. Ubaldo came striding up.

  “Remove your saddle. There is good hunting in the forest. We will let the insects forage before nightfall.”

  “We’re not gonna tether them? How do we get them back?”

  He looked at me like I was a dunce before a trace of sympathy entered his expression. “Don’t worry about yours. He will follow the others. He is a good dragonfly. He is just young and stupid.”


  Yaqob came strolling up. “We can’t camp here. Too exposed. The Seraphim will spot us.”

  “There is forest behind the dunes,” said Ubaldo.

  Olivier came dragging his chair-like saddle through the sand. “We should lay low and keep a watch for the scouts. We should see them patrolling down the shoreline once they return. Once we have a confirmed visual, we can send up a guide to bring them down to us.”

  “And if they never come?” said Ubaldo.

  Yaqob sighed. “If they don’t come, we cross without them.”

  ***

  Our fellow raiders helped haul the crackers under the cover of the glossy-leafed trees that backed the dunes. Their canopies spread wide and dense between their narrow, ribbed trunks, while thickets of shrubs screened us from anyone who might approach on foot.

  Ubaldo went off to take the first watch atop the dunes, digging himself a foxhole concealed with hunks of driftwood and strands of dried seaweed. We expected the scouts to come up from the south where the crossing to Penult was the narrowest. But that was also where the Cherubim came ashore in their oar-driven ships.

  As the sun hunkered low, I wandered the fringes of our camp, keeping my distance from Karla. Maybe I was being immature, but I wasn’t ready to talk to her. I needed some space. It felt weird, avoiding her, after a week of trying to hunt her down across half of Scotland and all of the Singularity.

  She pretended not to notice me, making no attempt to approach or even look my way. Was she respecting my need for space or did she simply not care anymore? When I spotted her joking around with one of the male volunteers, a wave of jealousy roiled my innards.

  My emotions towards her remained too strong, too raw, and I could not handle them any better than I could handle Tigger. It was inevitable that I would be the first to break my self-imposed silent treatment. Maybe she knew that. Maybe she was just being patient and understanding. Maybe she was just a selfish and conniving bitch.

  But I had to stick it out a little longer. I had to send the message that she had been wrong to manipulate me and that these were the consequences.

  As the dusk deepened, our insects settled down for the night. The beetles dug shallow burrows in the sandy loam behind the dunes while the robber flies and dragonflies perched high in the canopy. From all the cricket parts I found strewn beneath their roosts, I could tell their hunts had gone well.

  I found Olivier sitting with Yaqob in a little glade ringed with shrubs and joined them. It was getting so dark I could barely make out their faces, and the canopy of broad-leafed boughs overhead only made things darker. Giant crickets began to creak in the distance, their chirps as loud as chainsaws.

  “When the time comes, I can spell Ubaldo on the watch.”

  “Nah. We’re all set for tonight,” said Olivier. “Why don’t you concentrate on getting some rest? But don’t you fade on us now. We already lost one gal.”

  “Lost?” My heart thumped. “Karla?”

  He shook his head. “One of the Frelsians. “She faded right after we landed. Hemisoul. She knew the risks. Who knows, maybe she’s a short-timer and we’ll still be hanging out when she gets back.”

  The night clamped down. With no moon, and just a smattering of those so-called stars, it became difficult to discern Yaqob and Olivier’s outlines against the shrubs.

  “It’d be nice to have a fire,” I said.

  “No fire,” said Yaqob. “No glow roots. Our enemies’ beachhead lies just beyond the bay.”

  “Just saying. It would be nice.”

  A man came thrashing and stumbling through the underbrush.

  “Yo?” said Olivier. “Who’s there?”

  The man chuckled. “I’m fucking lost.”

  “That you, Jasper?” said Olivier. “Follow my voice.”

  The man called Jasper pushed through a thicket of shrubbery and settled down beside us in the sand. “Hey all. I’m just back from the beach.”

  This was the guy who had been joking with Karla. I recognized his voice.

  “How goes it?” said Yaqob.

  “Well, no sign of any scouts. Spotted a couple falcons cruising way out by the point at sunset. But things are quiet.”

  “Jasper, you ever met James?” said Olivier. “He’s the man-shaped smudge to your right.”

  We tried to shake and missed each other’s hands in the darkness. After a couple of flubs, we successfully completed the ritual.

  “Ah! The James. Nice to meet you finally. I’m a fellow Lutheran, in case you didn’t know. Though, I didn’t follow Luther when he went back under.”

  “Lutheran?”

  “That’s what the Frelsians have taken to calling us underworld types,” said Olivier. “As if they didn’t hail from there, too. Like we’re disciples of Luther or something.”

  “It’s just a shorthand nickname,” said Jasper. “I don’t mind it. I grew up Catholic myself.”

  “Me too,” said Olivier.

  “I’ve … always been an atheist,” I said. “Still am.”

  “Still? After all you’ve seen here?” said Olivier.

  I weighed my response carefully. I didn’t want to offend anyone.

  “To tell you the truth, I can’t make heads or tails out of everything I’ve seen. If there is a creator or creators, they’ve got some serious problems. They’ve given me no grounds for determining they’re someone … or something … worthy of worship.

  “You can’t deny their power,” said Jasper.

  I scratched an unseen circle in the sand with the point of my sword.

  “Why not?”

  “Listen to him! Such a heretic,” said Olivier.

  “The thing is … from what I can tell, there’s nobody in charge of things here. Nobody who cares what happens.”

  “Why should they? We’re just garbage,” said Olivier. “We’re the lost.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, this ain’t exactly Heaven. Our souls are pretty much … damned.”

  “But why? What did we do? We’re not bad people.”

  “We refused a gift, for one thing. We gave up on life, did we not?”

  “I did at one point, but … that was a long time ago. I’ve … changed.”

  “Too late. You can’t return a gift and expect a second chance … unless you steal it back.”

  “You’re saying this is hell?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe something in between. Maybe it’s just the Liminality.”

  “Whatever this place is, who the fuck is minding the shop?”

  “Nobody,” said Olivier.

  “It wasn’t always so,” said Yaqob.

  “Oh?”

  “Something happened. Before my time. Long before. There was a … Caretaker. But something happened and the Caretaker is gone.”

  “Dead?”

  “Gone or lost? How? I don’t know. But the Lords of Penult, the Erelim, they came to fill the void. They believe they follow the Maker’s wishes. They believe Caretaker and the Maker are one and the same. They believe they are blessed. But … they delude themselves. They are no better than us. They are not virtuous, smart or just. They came first to the surface. That is all. They discovered Weaving first. Before us latecomers. Even the Old Ones are latecomers compared to them. But being first makes them believe they are the Chosen and that this is their Promised Land.”

  “But I thought … don’t some souls go straight to Penult … even now?”

  “Petros implied as much,” said Olivier. “I’m not sure I believe it. They’re tapped into some flow, that’s for sure. Otherwise they wouldn’t be wasting so many Cherubim. To be honest, I think they’re parasites. They’ve found a way to move between the lower realms and take what they need. Siphon off souls, modify them to do their dirty work. You saw them in the Deeps.”

  “How many realms are there?”

  “More than what we’ve seen, I’m pretty damn sure,” said Olivier. “Petros wouldn’t say.
Just they not all were as wonderful as this place.”

  “Why so many?”

  “Why did Dante describe so many levels of Hell?” said Olivier. “To punish us, for various crimes and misdemeanors, I guess. Whoever … whatever used to drive it fell asleep at the wheel. So now the lunatics are running the asylum. Pardon me for mixing my metaphors, but that’s just how I see it.”

  “Shit,” I said. “That’s all fucked up.”

  “Yes. It is bad,” said Yaqob. “But … maybe someday … the Maker … or the Caretaker … will return.”

  I stared out into the darkness and thought about all those churches and holy men and women around the globe preaching and practicing their faiths with a level of certainty that seemed outrageously pretentious. The night ahead was only going to get darker and lonelier for me.

  “Sure would be nice to have a fire,” I said.

  “No fire,” said Yaqob. “I told you.”

  “Nope. Sure way to get our asses whooped in the morning.”

  “Just saying it would be nice,” I said.

  “Get some rest,” said Yaqob who thrashed in the sand, burrowing himself a shallow den into the side of a dune. “Soon we fight.”

  ***

  The forest roared with crickets. Yaqob was already snoring. I did not expect to sleep much knowing we had the enemy within walking distance and that we were flying across a strait to attack a hostile island in the morning.

  A cool wind came off the water. The sand felt damp and clammy. I kicked and scuffed around, trying to make myself more comfortable. What I would give to be back in a comfy bed in Stromness. If only I could fade at will. With my luck my next one would hit me in Penult and I’d be stranded there with all those killer angels.

  “Hey James,” whispered Olivier. “What’s the deal with that girl of yours? Why aren’t you with her? Why aren’t you two talking?”

  I reflected a moment before answering.

  “She’s … not my girl.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “She manipulated me. Made me think she was kidnapped … or worse. Just to get me over here.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  I sighed loudly. “We could have had a life together. A good life. But … no. She never even gave it a shot! I was in prison. I get out. We finally get together and … five days later … she leaves me. She’s not kidnapped. Not murdered, thank God. She just ran off without even leaving a note. I mean, what the fuck?”