Frelsi (Book Two of The Liminality)

“You stay put,” hissed Jessica. “And don’t even squeak or I’ll put a bullet in your ear.”

  “Mark? Everything alright down there?” The stilted cadence and boom of the voice chilled Karla. It was Papa.

  Karla motioned everyone back into the shadows, leaving Mark propped against the wall at the base of the stairs.

  “Let me go see,” said Joshua, clomping down the staircase. “Oh my goodness! I think he’s taken a fall.” He rushed over to his son and knelt beside him, lifting his head. “Markie? Are you alright, boy? What happened?”

  A light flicked on. Joshua noticed they were not alone. “Edmund! They’re here.”

  The stair case thundered as Edmund charged down into the basement. He pumped his shotgun and leveled it at Sturgie, who stood frozen against a stack of folding chairs.

  “Watch out!” said Jessica.

  Alfie swung his pry bar and caught Edmund square in the face, jolting his head back. At the same time Renfrew flung his fake leg, knocking the gun loose from his grip, sending it skittering across the floor.

  Edmund collapsed, a mass of blood pouring from his broken nose, staining the white stripe in his beard.

  Joshua dove for the shotgun. Sturgie tackled him and put him in a headlock. Edmund scrambled for the gun but Jessica snatched it up and handed it to Karla, who immediately trained it on her father.

  Edmund gazed at her with coldly calculating eyes, assessing her spiritually, physically, emotionally; searching for a vulnerability he could exploit.

  “Don’t you dare come at me, Papa. You know I won’t hesitate to pull this trigger.”

  The fear in his eyes told her that he believed her capable.

  “Threatening your own father. You are asking for eternal damnation, my dear.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” said Karla. “It’s actually quite nice on the other side. Better than a life with you.”

  “Joshua was right. You have no hope of salvation. I should have just let you go. But Isobel, she is young … she is still … impressionable.”

  “Forget Isobel. She is lost to you.

  Joshua looked up from his son. “Markie needs help. His eyes are wandering. He’s not making any sense. I think he has a concussion.”

  “Lock him in the boardroom,” said Karla.

  “But he’s badly hurt! He needs medical attention.”

  “A few less brain cells might improve his disposition. Now get up! Both of you.”

  Sturgie dragged Mark into the boardroom and locked the door, while Jessica rifled through Edmund’s pockets and extracted a pair of shotgun shells, which she tossed to Karla.

  Renfrew had finally managed to strap his leg back on over his trousers.

  “Here’s your pistol back, Ren,” said Jessica. “Try and hang onto it this time.”

  A new hymn had started up overhead. The door opened yet again. “Edmund?” A female voice this time. “What’s going on down there?”

  “Speak to her!” hissed Karla, prodding her father with the barrel of the shotgun. “Tell her everything is good.”

  “Um, yes, Angeline, Everything is fine. Mark took a tumble going down the stairs. But we have everything under control.”

  “Oh my. Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  Edmund studied Karla’s eyes. She shook her head vigorously.

  “No,” he said. “There’s no need. Everything is under control.”

  The door shut and muffled the burgeoning hymn.

  “Now walk ahead. Both of you. Into the sub-basement. Show us where you’re keeping Linval and James.”

  Renfrew hobbled across the room. His leg was still not strapped on quite right. He leaned against a stack of folding chairs. “You all go on,” he whispered. “I need to fiddle with this damned thing some more. I broke a strap. I … uh … I’ll cover for you.”

  Edmund flicked on a light, He started down the steps with Joshua at his side. “Slowly, you two. You don’t want to startle me with this shotgun in my hands. It would be a shame if it were to accidentally go off.”

  Edmund shot his daughter a glare.

  The slanting walls down below were just as rough and unfinished, the ceiling arched. Massive stone blocks underlay them, a slight film of moisture covered every stone. To Karla it had always felt more a wild cavern than something a human would construct. Isobel stayed close to her, hanging onto the hem of her coat.

  “God, what is this place?” said Sturgie, reacting to the crude and angular stonework. “A gateway to hell?”

  “Pretty much,” said Karla.

  They passed down the narrow hall. Sturgie had to duck under cross timbers and the bare light bulbs that illuminated the passage. Unfinished crannies were crammed with boxes, their cardboard stained from seepage and fuzzy with mold.

  At the end of the hall, they came to a pair of doors, directly across from each other, each triple bolted from ceiling to floor. Karla gagged at the stench. Something smelled like road kill. Her heart beat out of control as another wave of dread and panic washed over her.

  She pounded on both doors. “James? Linnie?” There came no answer.

  Sturgie undid the bolts on one of the doors and tried the knob. It was still locked.

  Karla handed the key ring to Joshua. “Open them.”

  Joshua’s face blanched, and his lip trembled. He slipped the key into the slot and pushed open the door, revealing an overturned cot, a smashed dinner plate and a withered corpse curled up on the floor in a fetal position—Linval.

  “Noooo!” shouted Sturgie, dropping to his knees.

  Izzie shrieked and burst into tears.

  Alfie spat on Edmund. “You bastards! You murdered him!”

  Joshua made several signs of the cross in quick succession. Eyes down, he pulled a rosary from his shirt pocket. Edmund stared straight ahead, avoiding Karla’s gaze.

  “The other one!” she said, her voice gone shrill. “Open it!” She prodded Joshua with the barrel of the gun.

  Latches undone, the door clicked open. A wash of light from the bare bulb angled into the interior.

  James lay wrapped in a grimy, moth-eaten blanket. His cheeks were sunken and pale, his eyes pitted and shadowed. He looked like a concentration camp victim. He looked fifty years older than he was.

  Karla swooped down and pressed her ear gently against his chest.

  His heart still beat. He breathed.

  “He’s … alive?” said Jessica, her eyes bright with hope.

  “He is,” said Karla, pulling the blanket away. His shirt rode up, revealing an abdomen that was swollen and stiff, ribs covered with bruises. “Help me get him up.”

  Isobel hung back in the hall, crying, one hand covering her nose, the other holding onto Jessica.

  James gasped as Sturgie lifted him off the cot. His eyes popped open. An expression of horror came over him, puzzling and confusing Karla.

  “No!” he said, hoarsely. “I can’t be here right now. I need to go back. They need me.”

  “To hell with them, whoever they are,” said Karla. “We need you more. Walk, James. You’re going to have to help us get you out of here.”

  “No. You don’t understand. “We’re raiding Frelsi. I’m needed.”

  “Forget that horrid place. You’re here with me now. We need to get you out of here.”

  “Karla. You don’t understand. I … can’t.”

  James gritted his jaw, fixed his face into a permanent wince and pushed with his knees.

  “That’s it! You’re doing great. We’re going to get you out of here.”

  “It hurts … so much,” said James, wincing and panting.

  Joshua and Edmund started to follow them down the passage.

  Karla brandished the shotgun. “Back!” she said.

  “Sorry?” said Edmund.

  “Get inside that cell. You two will be keeping Linval company. It will give you a chance to contemplate your deeds.”

  “Karla, please. Don’t lock us in there,” said Edmund. “I had
no idea these boys were still here. Honestly. We just invited them here to ask a few questions. I thought they had been released.” He gave Joshua a glance of mock disapproval.

  “Get in there. Both of you,” growled Karla. “It’s time you had a taste of your own medicine.”

  As they backed into the cell, pleading, she slammed the door and latched it.

  There was a shout and a grunt from the upper basement. Something large and heavy clunked down the stairs. Karla feared it would be Renfrew, but it was one of the rent-a-cops.

  Hat crushed, hair disheveled, the man clutched his arm and groaned, the bone now bent at an unnatural angle. Alfie reached down and relieved him of his night stick and pepper spray.

  “You stay put!” said Alfie, holding the canister an inch from his nose.

  Jessica rushed over and called up the stairs. “You okay, Ren?”

  Renfrew sat on the top step, still struggling to fasten his prosthesis over his trousers.

  “I’m fine. But you’d better get your arses up here quick. I expect the law to be coming down on us soon. Some bitch in a bonnet witnessed our tussle. Unfortunately, she got away.”

  The communal hymn approached its climax. The celebrants strained towards a full-throated crescendo.

  Karla and Sturgie helped James up the stairs. “I’m sorry Karla. I have to go. “I’m … needed … elsewhere.”

  “No James, wait! Don’t you want to stay? Don’t you want to be here … with me? With your friends?”

  But already he was slumping unconscious in her grasp.

  Chapter 43: Breached

  What the hell was I thinking? There I was, flat on my stomach in the dirt, pebbles digging into my cheek, stuck in the middle of a gaggle of sobbing zombies.

  Yet, only moments before I had been back in Scotland, free of that damned cell, with Karla at my side. I could still feel the press of her palm on my back, her fingers squeezing my upper arm, supporting me as we limped towards freedom. And I had tossed it all away. For what?

  Some weird, irrational sense of panic had come over me, an irrepressible sense of unfinished business. It had driven me back to the Liminality, but the anxiety was totally gone now, having vanished the instant I crossed over. I was left with the lingering ghosts of pain and regret.

  Urszula huddled with Trisk and Mr. O, dismounted alongside their mantids. The Old Ones were forming up in two columns along the road. From the looks of it, they were getting ready to go after Frelsi.

  What a sorry lot they were, all slumped and hunched and coughing and sputtering. Swarms of bees tended to them, struggling to reconstitute them to their full vigor. But I knew from Mr. O’s experience that it wouldn’t take much of that bee juice to make them formidable.

  So why was I even here? They seemed to have enough mummies to stage a decent raid. What use did they have for a guy with a sword he could barely lift, whose spells fizzled out as often as not?

  I writhed on the ground, wallowing in my stupidity. I should have stayed back with Karla. What an idiot I was.

  At least there was a bright side. I was out of that cell. My body was in good hands. My friends would see that I got medical attention and soon.

  Urszula spotted me and came bustling over, her eyes wide.

  “You are back? So soon?”

  I rose up on my knees and shrugged.

  She extended her hand. “Come. We are about to move on Frelsi.”

  “Nah. You guys go ahead. I’m not much use to you all.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You know you have special skills. You are special.”

  “Oh Jeez.” I looked away.

  She helped me to my feet. A real smile, unmistakable as such, now graced her lips.

  “You have awakened more than fifty souls. I count thirty-six willing and able to fight. Those too weak, we will leave to protect our rear, if they feel inclined.”

  We walked down a gauntlet of trembling, hacking, wobbling Old Ones. They carried a pathetic array of weaponry: gnarled branches, shovel handles, stiff reeds plucked from the roadside ditch. Of course they were just conduits for their spell craft, though it seemed a bit much to call them scepters.

  The roadside looked like the aftermath of a fire drill in a nursing home. To be fair, these folks looked more weathered than elderly. Some did seem quite frail, despite the steady ministrations of the bees. A strong breeze might have been enough to knock them over.

  I scanned the ground where I had lain. “Have you seen my sword?”

  With a zing of steel, Urszula slid it free from a harness strapped to her back. “Don’t worry. I did not steal it. I was just keeping it safe for you. I didn’t expect you back … so soon.”

  We strolled between Trisk and Mr. O, now astride their mantids, to the head of the column.

  I looked around for her dragonfly. “Where’s … Lalibela?”

  She pointed into the sky over the valley, which was thick with dodging, dog fighting winged creatures. “Patrolling. You and I will go with the Old Ones … on foot.”

  A knot tightened in my gut as it sank in that we were heading to a fight. Both columns of Old Ones lurched into action, following us like a parade of zombies.

  I started to freak out. Conflict had never been my thing. I didn’t even like to argue with people. Hanging out at the park, I had blundered into a fistfight on occasion and managed okay. But it was never anything I instigated, and it was a far cry from attacking a double walled city defended by warriors and magic and monsters.

  “This is a feint, right? We’re just going to threaten them and retreat?”

  “Feint?”

  “Yeah. I mean, you’re not thinking of a full-on attack, are you? We don’t exactly have an army behind us.”

  “They are vulnerable,” said Urszula. “They have committed nearly all of their forces to the attack on Neueden. They are not expecting us. They are exposed.”

  “So what do you plan to do?”

  “Destroy … and kill. All that we can.”

  “But I have friends there!” I thought of Bern and Lille … and Jeffrey … and Mom. And if Karla came back….

  “You don’t understand,” said Urszula. “This is for our survival. You should not have shared your spell craft if you didn’t want it wielded against our enemies.”

  “It’s just that … I have friends here.”

  I skipped forward, trying to get her to look at me, but she kept staring straight ahead.

  “Can I ask you to lay off, like, if I see someone I recognize?”

  “That will be difficult in the heat of battle. And I can’t promise these Old Ones will comply. How many souls have been torn from their Singularity since the harvesting began? Hundreds of thousands, if not millions. One can’t expect them to be as discerning or merciful.”

  “My friends had nothing to do with that!”

  Urszula scowled. “It doesn’t matter. If they are here, they are Frelsians.”

  The Old Ones behind us were already looking more vigorous and alert as a steady stream of bees continued to attend them. I shifted my gaze down the columns, making eye contact with each. They all gazed back with the same calm and cool expression, as if they all shared one set of eyes.

  I marched on with my head down. That sword was really starting to weigh on me.

  A height in the road revealed Frelsi’s gateless front portal. Swarms of frantic Hemis were overturning carts and wagons to seal it. Others struggled to haul launchers and erect launchers and erect them atop the broad outer wall. Their actions seemed confused and chaotic. They didn’t look or act like warriors. They were probably newly initiated Hemis hastily conscripted into defense.

  Urszula veered off the road, up a rugged pitch of scrub and boulders, angling towards the rear of the city. Apparently, we were bypassing the front portal, which came as a bit of a relief.

  The Freesouls gathered on balconies on the edge of the Sanctuary rose in alarm from their chairs as we approached. Some scurried into their towers like country c
lub diners rousted by a thunderstorm.

  Objects came hurtling over the wall and over our heads – bristly cannon balls that burst apart into springy, pencil thick coils. All landed harmlessly in the scrub.

  “Their aim is poor,” said Urszula. “They are firing blind.”

  We moved to within an arm’s length of the wall, exploiting it as cover from the projectiles. They would need to fire their launchers practically straight up now to reach us, a trajectory that would risk bringing their own projectiles down on their heads.

  Around the curve of the wall, a God-awful chorus of screeching and yipping kicked up. Urszula held up her palm to stop the columns.

  “What is it?” I said. “What’s that noise?”

  Before she could speak, a pack of maggot-skinned weasels came bounding around the wall, their bodies undulating in waves of flesh, scaly, clawed legs pummeling the ground. They squealed at the sight of us, raising their lone tusks like lances.

  “Spikers!” said Urszula. The Old Ones rushed up and fanned out around us, raising their motley scepters against the advancing horde.

  My initial instinct was to run, but everyone else kept calm, so I held my ground.

  I held my sword out straight in both hands. It was way heavier than my old samurai blade, and so unsuited for my physique. I should have ditched the thing and woven a new one when I had the chance.

  I didn’t expect to add much to the defense. I thought would just go through the motions, thinking I was way too scared to summon the force that made the sword more than a hunk of sharp metal. But wouldn’t you know, as the shrieking pack closed in on us, something loosened inside my chest.

  I swirled the sword around clumsily and a burst of energy swarmed into my arms, sensing an outlet, following the path of least resistance. A powerful pulse blasted out, knocking me flat on my butt. The shot went wide, slamming into a swath of shrubs that exploded into clouds of fluff.

  The Old Ones’ scepters snapped and popped like dud firecrackers, their emanations weaker than mine but much more precise, striking spikers more often than not. Damage accumulated, crippling beasts, diminishing the onrushing horde. But the creatures kept coming, their brains too small to know fear or futility.

  I narrowed my eyes, mesmerized by this tsunami of spikes and flesh rolling towards us as I waited for the swirling in my chest to rebuild.

  One spiker, an alpha beast of sorts, led the others by at least four lengths. It had already absorbed several hits and evaded many others with its deft maneuvering. Urszula stepped in front of me, determined to nail this creature.