“That could cause problems.”
“For the temple if they make difficulties. I’ve told them to expect you. There is a potential health crisis that only you can avert.”
“But I’m really finding you a sister?” What had Markeg said?
“If one exists. Announce your findings aloud in my bedroom.”
Ach! The implications had a fiercely chilling effect on a notion that had begun to creep into my imagination.
She gave me her “I’m reading your filthy mind” look and winked.
“Don’t,” I squeaked.
Sisters and whores.
“I’ll be good, my love.” On which note she went off to admonish the children about their behavior in her absence yet one more time. She was at it still when Two Dead turned up, packed, ready, and as grim of aspect as year-old death.
The kids and I watched the carpet depart. Something more than a cold mist but less than a mild drizzle made the morning especially miserable. Two Dead, Mischievous Rain, and the prisoners accompanying them were going to get soaked to the bone. And that would be the least of their troubles.
For some reason I had a feeling that the Taken’s departure was a watershed moment. The thought induced an inexplicable sense of loss, a sense of opportunity squandered, of a chance gone ere ever it was recognized.
Melancholy set in.
16
Long Ago and Far Away: The Far Country
The carpet’s cargo appeared to be mostly tools and the kinds of tools you used to maintain tools. The sorcerer said, “Before anything else we have to have a place where we can get in out of the rain. A place where we can keep everything dry.” He took Bathdek’s hands. “So soft. This might be hard for you at first, dear. But we have to work hard and hurry, for Laissa’s sake.”
He did not explain that.
He had a severe case of selective hearing when Bathdek asked questions. She let the remark slide.
The sorcerer was average in every direction but stamina. He worked tirelessly. First he threw up a temporary shelter that was mostly a shallow cave with lean-tos in front, facing one another. Then he started on a permanent place that would perch like an eagle’s nest atop a jagged granite upthrust that was extremely hard to climb. He used sorcery to move materials and the carpet to move girls. He was as much a genius with his hands and tools as he was with sorcery, which he mixed in flawlessly. Bathdek was amazed at the quickness with which he could fell a pine, strip it of waste, then turn it into lumber for building his new stronghold.
He seemed to need no plan. At the beginning he just studied the granite outcrop from every angle, then started building.
After just a few days Bathdek could see that it would be a sizable little fortress when it was done. Maybe a small wooden castle.
At first she did her best, as part of her survival strategy, but she was a princess. Never, even as pretend, had she done anything resembling work.
She rebelled.
The sorcerer shrugged. “As you wish, Kitten. But in this family if we don’t contribute we don’t eat.” He thrust his chin Laissa’s way.
Laissa worked till her hands were raw, doing donkey’s work. She did whatever Papa asked without complaining.
That astonished Bathdek. Dorotea, the Senjak baby, had been more spoiled than she.
The sorcerer was as good as his word. Bathdek’s rebellion passed quickly.
She noticed that Papa seemed troubled when he watched Laissa. Her eye not trained to it, Bathdek did not understand until they had been in the Ghost Country a month. Their new home was halfway built. Her body was growing accustomed to long days of hard work. And then she did not so much see the change in Laissa as she began to smell it.
Laissa had been getting slower and less responsive but so gradually that it did not stand out. But the smell … Even a bath with her sister in the frigid creek at the bottom of the hill did not help for long.
Bathdek thought about warning Papa that something was wrong but kept quiet. He knew. That was why he was troubled. That was why he was driven.
It was clear, now. Dorotea had been dead when the necromancer collected her. He had wrought a miracle by bringing her back to life. But it was only life of a sort. The reanimated flesh remained dead.
At the rarest high levels of the Domination, with the Dominator, the Ten, the Senjaks, and a core couple dozen others, death had gone down to defeat. But that was only before the fact. It was life prolonged until misadventure sprang a fatal ambush, not life restored.
The closely held secret was one huge reason the Dominator was so hated.
He might be a trial from which the world would never escape.
But He would be a trial no more forever if anyone ever figured out how to kill Him. Unless this necromancer’s work came into His hands. Then not even death itself could relieve the world of its pain.
* * *
Papa said, “You see it all now, don’t you, Kitten?”
“You mean what’s happening to Laissa?”
“Yes. I do.” There was a hint of smug satisfaction there. Bathdek suspected that was because she had not tried to dissemble about her ability to observe and reason. “I’m really starting to worry.”
“Can you take care of her for a few days while I go get some things we need to fix her?”
“Papa, she’s always taken care of me.” Bathdek used that “Papa” without calculation, mostly because it was the only name she knew to call him. She was startled after the fact. She had meant to save that for a moment when she could milk the maximum emotional advantage.
Who was manipulating whom in this insane situation?
And since when did a hostage’s success so vigorously depend upon a kidnapper’s success?
The leverages here were unique.
Laissa did not know that Kitten was her sister. Papa did know, but only in his insane mode, not in his real-world person. There was no way that Bathdek could get out of the Ghost Country on her own, let alone managing that while rescuing her mindless sister. Only Papa knew how to work the flying carpet even if Dorotea did dare flee. Papa had not said so in so many words but it was clear that only by his skills could Dorotea go on.
Papa said, “That’s partly true, Kitten. She does. She’s a good daughter and a good sister and she wants the best for you. But now she’s the one who…”
“I understand. Maybe more than you want. I will do my best for her, forever. She is my sister.”
Papa was pleased. He glowed. “Thank you, Kitten. Thank you.”
Bathdek had amazed herself. Yes, Dorotea was her sister, but in Dusk she would never have delivered such a passionate and genuine statement. In that world sisters were only one’s most intimate and ferocious competitors.
Everything changed that stormy night on a hill near Dusk.
Credence Senjak, who insisted on calling herself Bathdek, had become one member of a unit of three who could not survive without one another. Whatever else her ambition had sought, wherever else her dreams might have soared, this was her life now. Her own choices had brought her here. Railing against the unfairness was pointless on both the practical and the moral levels. For once she faced reality. There was no one else to blame.
And her situation now faced her with roles that she never imagined possible, as a dutiful daughter and caring sister.
And she wanted to be those things. To fading Bathdek’s dismay.
* * *
The necromancer readied the Howler’s carpet for flight. He was nervous. He was headed out into the world. He did not do well with people, usually. And he would have to deal with them without attracting attention. He would have to create a strong, forceful character for the mission.
A mission in a part of the world where it might be impossible to find anyone who spoke a language that he did.
Bathdek stood with her left arm around Laissa’s waist, watching. “Please be careful, Papa.” She did not think she or her sister would survive for long if he did not return because
by the time they could be sure that he was not coming back Dorotea would be past saving and Bathdek had no hope of finding her way out of this wilderness on her own.
Being a powerful sorceress would help only a little.
She could not stop obsessing over the fact that she was an incredibly spoiled city girl who never once had had to lift a finger to care for herself, in a survival sort of way.
This business had shaped her mind for a struggle but had not delivered an education in practical, hands-on skills.
“I will be exceeding careful,” the necromancer promised. “I treasure my girls too much to let myself fail. I’ll be back, hopefully sooner than you expect.” He climbed aboard and made the carpet elevate a foot. “Kitten, I left written instructions about things you can work on while I’m away. Also about taking care of Laissa. Don’t slack off just because I’m not here. And remember that your sister has to come before anything else.”
“I understand, Papa.”
* * *
Bathdek rubbed oil into her sister’s skin. That seemed to help. The oil was strongly scented but not to mask other odors. Whatever produced the scent also kept Laissa’s skin smooth and supple.
Laissa almost purred. She liked this. But she did not say so.
The cave was crowded with all the things that Papa wanted kept safe from the weather. That did not leave much room for people.
“This is ridiculous!” A Senjak daughter, living in a cave! Two of them, in fact, though one could not truly be said to be living.
She stopped there. She was about to throw a tantrum that would do nothing but trouble Laissa. And there was no point rehearsing anything that happened before those hopeless idiots smothered her sister.
No point. No point at all. Laissa remembered none of that. No point thinking about Dorotea anymore. This girl was Laissa. But she was still Bathdek’s sister.
And what about her? She was stuck here, a prisoner of her own intelligence. Yes, she could take out Papa if she awaited her moment. They both knew that, though he might not remember it most of the time. But that act of rebellion would not improve her situation. It would worsen things by shedding the most useful member of the family. She would still be lost at the end of the world. She would still lack the skills to save herself and Laissa. She might as well become Kitten for real.
After reclothing Laissa she quit feeling sorry for herself and got busy eliminating tasks from Papa’s list. He had been quite generous. But with him away she felt free to indulge her skills as a sorceress. That let her accomplish much more than she would have by attacking it as straight physical labor.
17
Once Upon a Time: Shadow of the Moon
The sorcerer began by flitting off to the nearest large town, hoping a stranger would not be an object of too great curiosity. If his luck was in he would find someone with whom he could communicate.
Luck would not bless him this time. The natives were xenophobic. His skin was so pale they thought that he must be a ghost.
He tried another town. That one was worse. He had to use sorcery to save himself, then again to hide himself until night fell and he could get aloft without being seen in flight.
Dread filled him. There was no option. He had to return to the Domination.
Logically, that should not be a problem. The Domination was huge. He just had to stay away from Dusk and make sure he was not seen flying. Only … There might be questions raised about some of the things he needed for Laissa.
He cursed himself for having been so focused on tools that he had failed to load one of the boxes of stuff he needed to keep Laissa going.
Hey. He could go back to the old place. The box was still there. And he could throw together another load of useful stuff. Laissa could remain safe indefinitely.
It was all for Laissa.
Only … Again.
The Howler would, long ago, have extricated himself. There would be a watch on the old place. That was an iron-bound certainty. The lords of Dusk would be in a ferment. A man who could entangle and trap the Howler would remain the object of intense interest until he was caught and domesticated. The Dominator himself would be involved. He would feel threatened.
Damn! Whatever he did now, it would take time. A lot of time, relatively. And Laissa did not have a lot.
Had he done the right thing, leaving her with Kitten? Kitten was not as reliable as he would like. She cared for her sister but he remained unconvinced that her care was all that it should be. Too often, in too many ways and about too many things, he got the sense that she was just pretending.
Still, there was no way he could have brought Laissa and left Kitten. He suspected that Kitten was not a girl who did well by herself.
Odd. He understood that parents never knew their children as well as they desired but there were times when he felt like he did not know his daughters at all. That was partly because there was something wrong inside his head. He was well aware of that but had no idea how to overcome it or even how to manage it.
He could not recall a single detail of his daughters’ childhoods.
He could not recall much of anything when he tried to plumb the deeps of his past. Those rare times when he did remember came only when it felt like there was another person doing the recollecting, living a parallel life inside his body. That person kept a journal that he never reread.
Safe in the dark, he took the carpet as high as he could endure, in hopes of getting lost against the backdrop of stars, then headed west at the most wicked speed that he could manage.
Morning found him racing along above cloud cover. He was pleased. He would not have to go into hiding while the sun was up. And shortly after nightfall he was able to drift down into the city called Lords. In a relatively short time a combination of generosity with coin and bloody terror visited on a couple of people who meant him ill found him happily equipped with everything he had come west to collect. He was up and away again before morning’s light.
He was happy. He could fix Laissa now. He could keep her going until he found a way to beat death permanently.
But he was unhappy, too. What he had done in Lords, and the way he had done it, was going to draw attention. No help for it.
He raced eastward a hundred miles, then found himself a place to hide and sleep while the sun was aloft.
Sleep was slow coming. He hated to waste the time. It was time during which Laissa would continue to fade.
18
In Modern Times: Dark Water Rising
There are more Company brethren now than there were when first we came to Aloe, but, sadly, there are too many fewer of our old fellow travelers. Those whose clay we managed to save and honor now sleep amongst the apple trees on a hillside a half mile southwest of the Company compound. We have a deal with the owner, one of the first friends we made when we came here. We keep thieves away, help with the harvest, and lay our fallen brothers down in the cool, sweet shade. Only a cherry forest might be grander.
I went to the orchard because I was in the grip of a deep melancholy. The days stretched on and still Mischievous Rain did not return. Maybe she never would. So I decided to go honor the fallen instead of curling up in bed feeling sorry for myself.
I fought the melancholy by recording what Outsweeper, the Company’s dedicated grave keeper, had inscribed on the memorial slabs among the trees:
TUDÈLE LAGLEIZE: Unblemished by too pedantic a regard for the truth
SLEEPY EYES: Overcome with ugliness
FANCY PRANCE: Even if I die in the gutter I have to fall forward
GUUST NOLET: Cross-dressing in plain sight
HIKA NOLET: Redheaded cross-dressing demon whisperer
These sisters had been seriously nasty. Hika may have fallen to friendly fire
FLEA HJALTI: Inflexible Irresolution
DROUGHT: Evil is hard work
INGRATH BAT: A cowbird’s egg in a nest of lies
FADE SHULABAT: A Child of Mist and Darkness
MINKUS SCUDD
: Put to death with special indignity
Executed, not slain by enemy action, for criminal stupidity
OTTERS: The proud do not endure
THREE APPLES: We are none of us infallible, not even the youngest among us
WILT: I do not think that he will have been improved by death
COPPERHEAD: He heard the stars
SERGEANT POOR: Getting on with the ass-kicking
MISTRY: Worn weak with lack of wonder
BACHIMEN: He had to blink
* * *
Silent turned up after sick call, while Edmous Black cleaned up. Apprentice Black had done the doctoring while I kibitzed. He was better with animals than with people, but he was adequate with both. Damn! I do hope that he does not turn out to be a Rebel. Or, worse, an operator for Whisper’s villains.
Silent signed, “Ready when you are.”
The cat Ankou, heretofore unnoticed, oozed out of an unnaturally thick shadow. He stretched.
I asked, “You in a hurry?”
Silent signed, “Best to get it done before Mischievous Rain’s absence becomes common knowledge.”
“Right.” I glanced at Ankou. The cat was no longer there. Silent looked, too, and frowned.
Had he seen Ankou at all? Surely he knew the beast was a monster, not a pet.
I said, “The Taken wants her kids to go along. She didn’t say why.”
He bobbed his head. He was aware but did not know why, either.
I delayed movement till the children had had lunch, then headed for town. Ankou ran ahead, scouting, more like a hunting dog than a cat. He failed to chase baby rabbits when he kicked up a clutch. He ignored fleeing voles as well, and went so far as to disdain a challenge from a large orange tomcat.
Ankou for sure had more than murder on his mind.
He disappeared like morning mist as we neared the temple steps.
This was supposed to be the twins’ first town visit but they seemed indifferent, as though they were seeing nothing new.