As I carried him, another bee came out of nowhere and landed on his chest even as I carried him, ejecting another dollop of nectar and paste into his mouth. A whole train of bees followed, force-feeding him until his face was sticky with nectar.
His flesh was filling out, his skin swelled before my eyes, creases filling, wrinkles smoothing, like those instant grow pills that expanded into spongy alligators when you tossed one in a glass of water.
He was getting heavier and stronger every second. Before we even reached my shelter, he wriggled out of my arms and insisted on walking.
I led him over to my makeshift bed. He seemed grateful, lying back against the heap of ferns as the bees undaunted, continued to service him.
I went back out and sat on the wall to fret and berate myself. I couldn’t be messing around with this Weaving stuff, especially when other souls were involved. I had disappointed Mr. O, and even though he was not the Mr. O I knew in Florida, it bothered me just the same.
I considered using that sword to awaken another mummy. Maybe that would at least give him someone to talk to and keep him company. But it would be just my luck to choose someone he didn’t like and then I would have two miserable zombies on my hands instead of just one. I held off playing matchmaker for now.
***
About an hour later, Seraf came back to the upper terrace accompanied by another pair of those ubiquitous bees. She stood and posed on a pedestal like a statue, shreds of leafhopper entrails smeared on her palps.
Both bees came and danced for me, oblivious to my ignorance of bee speak, but I gathered that they wanted me to have another go at getting into Seraf’s saddle.
I kept the sword tucked behind a strap against my back so as not to antagonize her this time, and took an oblique approach, not walking directly at her. But it didn’t work. She wheeled around to face me. I was just orbiting the pedestal, moving at tangents.
Mr. O was standing at the entrance to my shelter, his tears gone dry, his frozen smile shifted into a sober frown. He shook his head slightly and walked straight up to Seraf, palms lifted, chattering softly as if he were cooing nonsense to a baby.
Seraf lowered her forelegs and dipped down submissively. He reached over and scratched the back of her leathery neck. She waggled her mouthparts, and ejected the husk of a bug she had been sucking on.
The bees came over and did their little dance for him. He watched them intently and seemed astonished by what they had to tell him. He took a deep, rattling breath and reached out his hand to me. I hesitated at first, but reassured by his kindly expression, I let him take me hand, and he led me to Seraf, the bees flanking us to either side.
Mr. O looked at me, and motioned for me to help him up into the saddle. So I gave him a boost and pulled myself up after him.
As soon as I had swung my leg over her back, her wing cases rose up and she exploded into flight, swooping over the lower terrace and over the brink. The bees joined us over the barrens, flanking us like fighter planes escorting Air Force One.
I glanced back at Mr. O and caught him in a brighter than usual smile, that instantly collapsed into the bittersweet melancholy that seemed to be its natural resting state.
***
Controlling Seraf was a joy, at least when she was feeling receptive to my control. A double kick with my heels told her to descend. A single kick to either side was a sideways dive. A double slap of her reins meant climb.
She was smart enough to know when I had screwed up and would ignore a dive command that would have us slamming into the side of a cliff. She also knew her limits and would to rest whenever she found her energy giving out.
Our bee escort landed beside us wherever and whenever we stopped. New bees kept showing up, sharing dances with each other before buzzing off again. The bees found us no matter where we stopped. I supposed that they kept in constant communication with their hive. Someone had to be tracking us.
When we got within sight of the mesas, I noticed that Seraf was drifting in their direction. I don’t know if the bees or Urszula had told her to take me there or if it was just instinct driving her home. I wanted nothing to do with that place and if that was where she was headed, I wanted off.
I banged my heel and slapped the reins, trying to get her to turn away, or at least have her drop to the riverbed where I could get off. It was a constant battle. She would obey me initially only to drift towards the mesas again.
Mr. O didn’t help with all his chattering and patting. He was probably overriding my instructions, egging her on to take him back to his fellow Dusters on the mesa.
I twisted around in the saddle and tried pantomiming that I didn’t want to go there. I kept pointing at the ground. From the blankness in his eyes, it was clear my message was not getting through.
And then he got all excited and he pointed up into the sky at about 10 o’clock. A dragonfly was hurtling on a course to intercept our path. A long, rippling mane trailed behind its lithe, gray rider.
Other specks patrolled the sky, about a dozen mantids and a half dozen dragonflies—more than I had ever seen in the air at one time. I wondered what was going on.
Without me having to do anything, Seraf slowed to a hover and descended to the graveled flats of the dry riverbed in wide, looping spirals. Urszula came screaming in on Lalibela’s back and pulled up abruptly and landed softly just when I thought they would crash. A maneuver like that would have sent my stomach spewing and all the blood surging out of my brain.
Urszula gave me one of her more potent, eviscerating glares. “What the fuck took you so long? “
And then she noticed Mr. O. Her eyebrows slanted in puzzlement. “Who the fuck is he?”
Chapter 41: Assault
Rain, the first real precipitation I had felt in this world, spattered my face and beaded on Seraf’s waxy shell, but the skies overhead were clear. I noticed a cloudburst over the mesas. A stiff wind had flung some of its moisture over the valley. When the wind shifted, the rain ceased abruptly, as if someone had turned a valve.
“Who is this man?” said Urszula, all anxious and agitated. “Why is he riding with you?”
“He’s … uh … from that place you left me. I don’t know his real name. I’ve been calling him Mr. O.”
Mr. O broke into Duster speak and the two of them argued. For the next two minutes I don’t think I heard a single vowel spoken. Mr. O held out his arm and showed her the moss that clung to his elbows, the mineral stains crusting his side. He continued to explain to a disbelieving Urszula. Flabbergasted, she cut him off and turned to me.
“Is he for real?” said Urszula. “Am I to believe him?”
“Why? What did he say?”
“He says you woke him from the long sleep.”
“Um, yeah. I guess I did. But I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”
“But how? Our best shamans have tried for years to revive the Old Ones. Yaqob himself has tried many times and failed.”
“I don’t know. I was just messing around. I was lonely. After you left, I needed someone to talk to. And he reminded me of this guy I used to know. And so, I took this new sword and….” I reached back and pulled it out of the crude back harness.
Seraf hissed and raised her forelegs defensively.
“Where did you get that?” said Urszula, astonished.
“Found it … in the ruins.”
She came and took it from me, examining the blade carefully.
“This comes from the Deeps,” she said. “Crafted by the first rebels.”
“Rebels?”
“Neueden’s founders,” she said. “Metalwork is a challenge there. Nothing binds together. All crumbles into dust. Making weapons of this quality requires potent spell craft.”
“Can you please tell him I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to bring him back here. He was pretty upset.”
“What do you expect? You uprooted him. Tore him from his world without warning. Maybe he left loved ones behind, if such a thing is possible fo
r his kind.”
“His kind? Isn’t he your kind?”
“Not anymore,” said Urszula. “Existence evolves. He comes from a different plane. You would find it very strange.”
A Reaper howled across the river. At least a dozen other bellowed in response. That got my heart thumping like a flat tire.
“What the heck’s going on over there?” I said.
Her eyes went beady and hard. “Frelsians. They are coming for us.”
“What do you mean?”
“They are staging for an attack on Neueden, the fourth. Maybe the timing is coincidence, but maybe it is retribution for our little raid. They aim to clear the mesas …to exterminate us.”
“You mean I caused this? It’s all because you rescued me? Dang it, Urszula, you never should have—”
Her flat gaze did not waver.
“It was inevitable. They have been preparing for a long time. They would have come for us eventually. We just forced their hand. Better we face them now. They will only get stronger with time.”
Mantids and their riders had taken up positions along the riverbank, each separated from the next by the length of a football field or more. Dragonflies soared overhead in a long ellipse down the length of the valley.
“There’s so few of you,” I said. “Where is everybody?”
“You see all who were willing to defend,” said Urszula. “Our insect allies will assist. The bees will help however they can, but their priority lies in protecting the hive. The ants will fight till the death because they have no choice. Their queen is too large to leave her chamber. Their alates are taking take flight to start new colonies deeper within the table lands … just in case.”
“But … where’s Yaqob?”
“Leading the relocation,” said Urszula. “He is too close to the long sleep to risk a return to the Deeps.”
The growing herd of Reapers squabbled across the river. The wind peeled billows of dust off the valley walls.
“Maybe you should have gone with him.”
“Someone needs to cover the retreat,” said Urszula. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. Remember, our spell craft is superior.” She clapped her hands and clicked her tongue at Lalibela. The dragonfly took to the air and descended beside her.
“Come,” she said. “I have a promise to keep.”
***
I was too frazzled and distracted to even question where she intended to bring me. As if I didn’t have enough problems already, here I was in the middle of a war.
We flew in a wide arc along the mesa where most of the other mantids had been gathered for the evacuation. Refugees outnumbered fighters by at least ten to one.
At the mesa’s base, winged ants—alates—emerged onto their mounds from deep within their colonies, mingling with the workers that had emerged to assist them and to perhaps be part of this momentous occasion, if ants did that such a thing. Other than the odd sentry here and there, the soldier caste was strangely absent. I wondered if Yaqob had commandeered the rest for his own security.
“That girl … er … woman … the one who got hurt in the rescue … is she okay?”
“Octavia?” said Urszula. “She is here. Among those who chose to fight.”
“Really?”
“Not completely healed, but strong enough to ride and wield her scepter. She will recover, if she survives the battle to come.”
As we crossed the river and swung around the left flank of the defense, the scale of the force arrayed against the Dusters became apparent. Along the far channel, at the base of the foothills, a log row of armored Reapers were lined up, screened by thickets of dense scrub. Frelsian soldiers scrambled onto the decks and manned their harpoon launchers as we passed.
More Reapers careened down the slopes, kicking up clouds of dust, not bothering with any existing trails. Columns of Hemi infantry shuffled down the furrows the Reapers had etched into the hillside. There were hundreds if not thousands of Hemis preparing an assault against a thin line of maybe thirty Dusters at most.
Writhing swarms of a Reaper variant I had not yet seen were tethered together on the flanks and tended by nervous handlers. They had long, quadrupedal bodies and glossy, translucent hides the color of pus. In place of jaws they had long, hard mosquito-like snouts that extended straight out from their heads. They raised their snouts to us in unison, tracking us as we passed overhead, like iron filings responding to a magnet.
“My God, what the hell are those things?”
“Spikers,” said Urszula, as if that explanation sufficed.
Spell craft or not, I saw the makings of a rout. This wasn’t a defense, it was suicide. All to allow Yaqob time to make good his escape. I didn’t understand what he had done to incur such loyalty, besides becoming old.
“You all should have gone off with Yaqob,” I said. “There’s no way you can hold off that army.”
“We know our limits,” said Urszula. “We only need to slow them. We will inflict as much damage as possible, and then withdraw.”
“To where?”
“Wherever my brothers and sisters choose to settle next. The table lands are vast. The bees tell of many with good forage, untouched by any human soul. I’m sure Yaqob is already planning Neueden the fifth.” She sighed deeply. “But that will not stop the Frelsians. They will not be satisfied until we are all exterminated. We have no part in their vision of … Heaven. In their eyes, we are vermin.”
Not vermin. Demons,” I said.
She jerked and slapped Lalibela’s reins. The dragonfly diverted from the battle lines and darted towards the high peaks.
“Um … where exactly are you taking me?”
“I promised to return you to the heights. It is safe there now. Patrols will be sparse at the glaciers. The Frelsians have concentrated their forces here.”
“Wait! You don’t need to take me now. I mean … not with all this going down.”
“I made a promise.”
“I know, but … now there’s this war. You’re needed here … aren’t you?”
“Didn’t you tell me you were at death’s door … at imminent risk of the Deeps? Didn’t you tell me you were at death’s door?”
“I … uh … I don’t care anymore. I think it’s too late for me. I’m too damaged.”
“So what are you saying? You wish to return and fight with us?”
“Fight? Uh … I’m not much of a fighter. Don’t think I’d be much help to your cause.” I took a long, deep breath. “But … uh … sure. What the hell. Maybe I can do something with this sword.”
Ursula’s cheeks tightened and retracted. I couldn’t see her face, but I could picture her beaming that wicked, fanged smile of hers. She didn’t share it often and never for long. But it was obvious my decision pleased her.
Why? I don’t know. I could be yanked to the Deeps before anytime now, before the fighting began. I would have thought I’d be more of a burden to her than an asset.
She twisted and slapped the reins again and Lalibela curled back around the lines and headed back across the river.
“The Deeps,” I said. “Is it really as bad as it sounds?”
“Worse,” she said. “But don’t worry. You might have company.”
***
Urszula and I took turns scouting the battle lines with the other dragonfly riders, keeping an eye on the enemy’s movements. These forays inevitably drew harpoons, some of which seemed to have minds of their own, chasing us as we maneuvered to evade them.
Thankfully, Lalibela had a sixth sense for knowing when she was being followed. No harpoon, no matter how clever, had a chance against her quick and nimble reflexes. I couldn’t afford to relax my grip on Urszula for a second or risk being hurled off the saddle. I wished I had the time to Weave myself a seatbelt.
Below us, the mantid riders waited with their mounts on the ground, conserving their energy. As we swooped low, I spotted Mr. O beside Seraf, rummaging through a heap of driftwood.
“What the hec
k is he doing?”
“Searching for a suitable scepter, I would imagine,” said Urszula. “That is far from the ideal place, but what choice does he have? We have no time to take him to the high forests.”
“What’s his real name, anyway? I’ve been calling him Mr. O.”
“He may not have a name. Not anymore. Or, at least he does not remember it. He told me, that in the place his soul resided, names are useless. Souls there have no sense of self.”
“Where … exactly … did he come from?”
“The place … also has no name. I didn’t understand entirely, but there is no there, there. This place occupies no space. It is a singularity. Souls have no boundaries. There is one entity. Each is blended with the whole. By bringing him back, you created a wound.”
“As if I didn’t feel bad enough already.”
“No worries,” said Urszula. “What you did was a tiny pin prick compared to the Frelsians and their harvesting. And he … Mr. O … understands he is needed here. But he is unhappy with us. He blames us for the Frelsians … for letting them grow too strong. By coming here, maybe he has a chance to help his brethren.”
We coasted along the foothills, catching a thermal updraft along a line of cliffs, drawing the ire of a rank of winged Reapers that had to be restrained from leaping after us.
They were wiry, muscular creatures with snake-like heads. Their wings, shaped like double diamonds, were unlike any earthly creature I had ever seen. Narrow, surfboard-like fighting platforms were affixed to their backs.
One cocky and snarling beast broke loose from its tether and dove off the cliff without a rider. It was ungainly in flight, entirely dependent on updrafts to stay aloft, like a pterodactyl. One flutter of Lalibela’s wings lifted us out of its reach and it dropped like a leaf, gliding into the valley bottom.
As we made our way back to the security of our skirmish line, the next dragonfly in line for patrol broke formation and came winging out over the Frelsian lines. We passed directly across from the hollow with the pond where I had transformed that bush into a weeping willow.
With my eyes, I retraced my path around the buttress up into the vale where Urszula had found me. Farther up the slopes were the ruins of Frelsi’s sister city—the second Neueden. A large section of plazas and terraces had now been stripped of vegetation and were dotted with the Frelsians mushroom huts.