The Deeps (Book Three of The Liminality)

  We struggled to stand our glow as the yellow glow washed over us. I felt my soul pry loose from my flesh. Each of us became blurred by the shadows seeping from our skin. Karla clenched me tighter. She tried finding my eyes, but I must have had two sets to choose from, one pair just a hollow shell and the other the dark void of my true self.

  The core slammed into Olivier’s dome and it imploded with a sound too deep and vast for earthly thunder. Maybe on Jupiter such a sound was common, but I had never heard anything like it, and never wish to again.

  The dust storm’s droning winds began to wind down as if some massive turbine had lost all power. The dust it had carried aloft congealed and combined into clods of clay that fell like hailstones, pummeling the ground, piling around us in heaps.

  The sheath of cloud that had shrouded the Horus collapsed, exposing its naked core, a stationary shaft of yellow light, as thick as a skyscraper extending out of sight into the pink heavens.

  Ripples of light shuttled along its length, disturbing the purity of its golden tone. Green highlights spread and spawned threads of blue and purple that eradicated every trace of gold.

  We watched with awe this vertical, changeable rainbow. But our souls continued to loosen from our flesh as the shaft drifted into, humming with a rounded, ululating tone, soothing as a lullaby.

  In my heart, I felt certain I was glimpsing Heaven, or at least some part of it. I was consumed with an unexplainable elation. This was a beautiful strangeness, an unknown I did not fear, a familiar unfamiliar.

  ”Come!” said Olivier, who had already shed the remains of his body, and had become entirely a creature of shadow. “Into the rift! Don’t know how long it will last. The beast might only be stunned.”

  He rose up on legs of shadow miraculously restored, walked into the yellow light and vanished. A cry went up among the dropouts, emerging from their ruined bodies like insects from exuvia. Freed souls began to run into the rift.

  “Ah, what the fuck?” said Brian, erect but still dragging his partially shed corpse. “Can’t be any worse than this.”

  Amy disengaged from our little gaggle and joined him.

  Karla and I were a tangle of souls and flesh all pinned together by the arrow, its shaft unbreakable, the barbed head, inextricable. We shuffled and dragged ourselves into the ecstatic and jostling horde that were coming to the shaft from all directions.

  Blue light flooded over us. Shimmering within its depths came glimpses of other lands, living landscapes of forests and meadows and ponds. Karla and I gripped each and stepped into it together. The ground gave way beneath us as if we had dropped into a chasm. We were whisked into the core. Blinding, burning pain bloomed where each of Junger’s arrows had impaled me.

  Karla screamed.

  Chapter 45: Homecoming

  Lille sighed. “Well, it was certainly a nice change of pace while it lasted. But there’s more than meets the eye to those Frelsian folks. They’re not nearly as polite as they make themselves out to be.”

  Three days now since Lille had graced his new cabin. Bern still could not stop basking in the miracle of her presence.

  Her hair was shorn short as part of the humiliation Luther had so unnecessarily inflicted on the refugees who had made their way down out of the hills. Convinced they were spies or saboteurs he had them locked away in the depths of his new city until his advisers convinced that defectors and dissidents were a resource not a threat.

  As she rattled on over tea about Sanctuary society and politics, Bern registered only the occasional sentence, his eyes fixated on this apparition before him, this mythical creature he was sure he would never glimpse again.

  Lille’s flesh-weaving had regressed a bit so that her burn scars were again visible. Bern was happy to see it, actually. Those scars were part of her. They were what made her his Lille. but on the positive side, most of her neuronal manipulations had reverted. Her sass had returned with a vengeance, though her wits remained perhaps a tad more dulled and slower than before the Frelsians had laid their hands on her, but it was only a matter of time before she regained her senses. Thankfully, the craft of flesh weaving was entirely reversible when neglected.

  The window of neglect that enabled her old self to take root again coincided with the aftermath of James’ raid on the Sanctuary. With half of Frelsi destroyed, the populace and their overseers became consumed with rebuilding and the rehabilitation of Hemisouls became a lesser priority.

  This allowed her personality to revert to enough of its former self to realize it was no place she had wanted to be, especially not without Bern. So she had wandered away from a Sanctuary-sponsored nature walk and continued down the mountain, through the battlefields with corpses still unreclaimed, swam across the river still burgeoning with flood waters though the rains had nearly ceased.

  And now here she was, in Bern’s new cabin, across a swath of pitted plain from Luther’s new village built now on an artificial hill looking like a cross between Montmartre and Mont Saint-Michel. They were enjoying they’re third cup of tea that day while their bodyguard Quentin patrolled the garden with a pair of pruners and a battle axe.

  Lille went on endlessly about Sanctuary intrigue, the political maneuvering, trysts and betrayals as they happened both before the raid and after the turmoil that had perturbed the social equilibrium and interrupted the regularity of her schedule of beauty treatments and brainwashing sessions.

  Bern registered only about one out of every three words as he basked in the sight of the most significant and magnificent soul in his existence. His soul mate returned. He had honestly never expected to see her again for eternity.

  She was dead now. Her soul free thanks to the services of an assassin/facilitator. It made Bern anxious now to realize that now there was no chance his soul would end up with hers once his living body died in prison. There were ways to remedy that, but not without the assistance of Frelsi.

  It took a few moments to realize that Lille had stopped talking. In fact, she was now frowning at him.

  “Blah-blah-blah. Are you even listening to me, Bern? The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. Isn’t that right, Bern?”

  Bern noted the twist in her lip and recognized from experience the imminence of danger. Luckily, he had chosen the right moments to be attentive.

  “Utter nonsense. I happen to know it falls mainly in the mountains. The Pyrenees, to be precise.”

  “Hmm. That was a test. I could have sworn you weren’t listening to a word I was saying.”

  “On the contrary dear. Your stories … they are fascinating. The things that go on up in those hills. It’s hard to believe.”

  “You were looking at me like I was a piece of meat.”

  “What? Not at all. I was simply fawning.”

  “To be exact, you were looking at me like I was a Tuscan Porterhouse steak with red wine and peppercorn jus.”

  “My favorite.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  A tremor rumbled through the cottage rattling tea cups, rippling the walls.

  Quentin barged in, bits of vine clinging to his curly mane. “Sir! Ma’am! There’s something going down across the plain.”

  “Frelsians?” Bern rose from the table abruptly, jostling and spilling both teacups;

  “No. It’s some kind of beam … from Heaven.”

  They rushed to the door, Lille instinctively taking his elbow to brace his every gimpy stride.

  In the near distance, less than a kilometer away, an enormous bluish shaft of light rose out of the ground and soared into the shelf of clouds that still lingered even as the rainy season had begun to fade.

  “What the … bloody hell?”

  “It looks like a rainbow,” said Lille. Except it’s not a bow and it’s mostly blue.”

  “It hasn’t rained days. And the sun’s not even out.”

  A gate creaked open in the outer bastions of Luthersburg, which had acquired not only a hill but a moat deep and wide. Horses with so
me distinctly characteristics pulled a carriage across a draw bridge. A squadron of cavalry mounted on similarly doggish horses came pouring out behind it, the riders heavily armored and wielding not sabers but cylinders resembling bazookas.

  The party swung down the dirt track that led right up to Bern’s cabin and the lead carriage rolled to a stop right next to them as the cavalry filtered ahead to form a protective screen.

  The door of the sleek carriage popped open and Luther stepped out, his height only slightly exaggerated today, his flesh woven into something a little more mature than usual.

  “Bernard! How goes it? You’ve been keeping yourself scarce lately.”

  “Yes, well. You know how I don’t care that much for all the commotion.”

  “The ‘Burg is booming these days that’s for sure. In fact, we’re thinking of expanding into the hills. A mountain retreat. You could be the mayor if you please.”

  “Thanks but no thanks. I’m happy where I am. And besides Lille and I have lots of catching up to do.”

  Lille had graced Luther with even a glance and Luther for his part did not even acknowledge her existence. She and her fellow refugees had been thrown into cells and interrogated when they first came down from Frelsi and Lille had yet to forgive the affront.

  A Duster that Bern didn’t recognize emerged from behind Luther and climbed to the roof of the carriage for a better view of the spectacle before them.

  People were emerging from the base of the glowing shaft. Some of them staggered a few steps and collapsed. One stood tall, surveyed the surrounded and came striding straight for Bern’s cabin which stood halfway between the shaft and Luther’s fairytale village.

  “Dusters!” said Luther. “A whole new crop of them! It’s like … a second coming.”

  “Third, actually,” mumbled Bern. “That puts the Dusters two up on Jesus by my count.”

  “Please don’t blaspheme in public, dear,” said Lille. “Some souls take these things seriously.”

  “Oh, how marvelous!” said Luther. “Yaqob will be ecstatic. It bolsters our ranks just when the Frelsians are becoming more adventurous.”

  “I can’t imagine the Frelsians will be too thrilled.”

  Lille touched Bern’s elbow.

  “Bern … do you suppose … that one … the bold one … is that James?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  The one confident figure among the crowds now spilling from the base of the shaft came striding towards them, a certain jauntiness to his gait that seemed out of character for James.

  “Olivier! Oh my God, that’s my long lost Olivier!”

  Luther went charging off down the road, accompanied by his four dogs.

  “Who is Olivier?” said Lille.

  “Long lost friend of Luther’s,” said Bern. “An adventurer,. Lost to the Deeps apparently.”

  “Him? The one who created Luthersburg?”

  “Well, he only created the cavern, but yes, that’s the one.”

  “Oh my Lord. Now we have two maniacs to deal with.”

  “Now, now dear. Luther’s gotten much better since he’s been on the surface. Come. Let’s go find James. I have a feeling the boy has something to do with this latest breakout.

  ***

  Bern and Lille searched the stunned faces that stumbling about, sucking in air like they were learning how to breathe again.

  “Excuse me, did you happen to run into a fellow by the name of James Moody?”

  It was a long shot, he knew. And his questions invariably drew blank stares.

  They worked their way back to Luther’s carriage as the refugees gathered in knots and clumps along the plains, marveling in the ponds and streams, drinking from them, splashing, caressing the newly sprouted grass and clover.

  “Luther is going to have his hands full. Where’s he gonna put them all?”

  “But they’re gray-skinned Bern. Surely they’re the Duster’s responsibility.”

  “They’re just people, Lille, like you and me. It’s an artificial distinction. I don’t see why we can’t all just live together.”

  “Yes … I suppose. It’s just … in Frelsi … I couldn’t imagine such a thing.”

  Olivier was climbing into the carriage with Luther.

  “Quick! Let’s nab them before they slip away.” They rushed over hand in hand, arriving just as Luther’s footman started to close the door.

  “Wait! Please excuse me sir, but may we ask you a question?”

  This Olivier person had eyes too intense to linger one’s gaze on too long. Bern had the distinct feeling that to do so would either set him ablaze or turn him to stone.

  “Certainly.” He draped his arm over the carriage door and waited patiently. He clenched and fanned his fingers over and over.

  “Make it quick Bernard,” said Luther with some annoyance. “Olivier and I have a lot of catching up to do ourselves.”

  “We’re looking for a friend. A very special young man by the name of James. James Moody. Did you happen to see him on the other side?”

  “Yes. I know James,” said Olivier. “I was just with him. He helped me out quite a bit. In fact, he made this rift possible.”

  “Well … would you happen to know if he’s still there … and if he plans on … coming home?”

  “Is he not here? He should be here. As far as I know … he entered the rift with me … he was right beside me when I did. But … if he’s not here … there’s no telling where he ended up.”

  “But you saw him … you saw him enter? You’re certain.”

  “He was right behind me. He was with a girl … name of Karla. He was quite taken with her, apparently.”

  “Karla!” said Lille, piping up excitedly. “She is well?”

  “She is dead … like me. But yes, she was with him and they both entered the influence of the rift. They passed through before me, in fact.”

  Luther sighed impatiently. “Listen Bernard, if you’re so worried about the boy, why don’t you go for check for yourself? The rift is there and it is open.”

  “But no guarantee it would lead him back to the Deeps,” said Olivier. “It depends on his natural tendencies. The rift spans all realms as far I can tell.”

  An annoyed Luther leaned over Olivier and slammed the carriage door shut. The dog-horses barked and took off in a trot for the city.

  Lille squeezed Bern’s hand and held it against her bosom.

  “Well … at least they were together,” said Lille. “That’s all that matters … in the end. Isn’t that right, Bern?”

  Bern took her hand and gave her what he thought was a grin, but he could only imagine what it looked like given the strange brew of positive and negative emotions that was swirling through him.

  A squadron of mounted dragonflies arrived on the scene, landing gently on the flats while their riders dismounted and went bounding over to aide their newly arrived comrades and assist those who continued to straggle through the rift.

  “Let’s go home, dear. There is much weaving to be done. These folks are going to need some help with blankets and shelter.”

  “Do you suppose they might like some tea as well?”

  Chapter 46: Pain

  Hellish, this blast of heat that engulfed her, inflaming her skin, assaulting her senses inside and out. Karla felt an urgent need to inflate her lungs beyond the habitual sort of breathing many denizens of Deeps opted to do.

  But there were colors all around her now. The pink had drained from the sky, replaced by a misty blue. A sea of green and growing things swarmed the hills around them.

  She choked on the steamy air, coughing and sputtering. James gently patted her back.

  “Don’t worry. It gets better. You just need to adjust.”

  “Where are we? Is this … Heaven?”

  “Nah,” said James, his face expressionless, almost grim. “It’s Dartmouth.”

  They lay sprawled in the wreckage of some sort of heavily-damaged athletic facility. Lights blue a
nd red flashed all around them. Radios chattered with numbers and jargon.

  Men carrying clear shields and bulky suits maneuvered carefully through heaps of twisted medal littering a football field. Other groups of men, in helmets with tinted face plates and all black body armor waited beyond a perimeter marked by yellow plastic ribbon. A row of emergency vehicles, the source of the flashing lights, waited on the street behind them.

  James crawled over to the prone figure of a young woman, dark smears streaking her dirty blonde hair.

  “What happened to her?” said Karla, alarmed.

  “She was a friend of mine,” said James, as he brushed the hair out of the woman’s eyes. “We were deported together.”

  “Deported? So this is—?”

  “New Hampshire,” said James. “America.”

  “But … who did all this?”

  “It’s complicated,” said James. “It was partly a drug cartel, and partly a Frelsian assassin named Wendell … and me.”

  “So this is why you had to go back.”

  James pulled open the door of a partially toppled shack riddled with bullet holes, every window shattered. He crawled inside and retrieved a plastic sack containing various items of clothing, all littered with broken glass.

  “Here. Put some of these on. You may be warm now, but it wears off quick. Better you look presentable for jail.”

  “Jail? But what did I do?”

  “You’re here. An EU citizen in America illegally. At the scene of a crime. I’m surprised they haven’t tackled us already. They must be afraid of bombs or something.”

  Already, the air seemed not quite as warm. She smelled lilacs. A tremor shuddered through her. A revelation.

  “James. Don’t you realize what this means? I’m … we’re alive!” She chuckled. “I’ve come back to life. Reincarnated … as myself!”

  “Yeah. So?” That face. So glum.

  “This is impossible.”

  He sniffed. “You should know better than that.”

  He reached down and adjusted the young woman’s head so it was a little less grotesquely askew and aligned in a position that would have been more comfortable, if comfort had mattered to her anymore. Her death had really gotten to James. This … stranger. How long could they have known each other?

  “What was her name?” said Karla, pulling on a pair of dark green sweat pants she had found in the bag of clothes.