In the fading light, as the clouds shift across the gibbous moon, Roan rests peacefully under the soothing scent of the cedar tree that towers over him. He has thought more than once that his friendship with Lumpy was fated. If what Mabatan says is true, then maybe Roan has more than just a friend watching his back. With all that he guesses lies ahead, it's a comforting possibility. He wants to open his eyes now, but he knows he must wait. Listen. Though he is unsure why.
“Do you have a family?” Lumpy asks the girl.
“I did once.”
“You seem young to be on your own.”
“I am not on my own.”
Lumpy, bemused, restates himself. “I don't mean now, I mean before you met us.”
“I have never been alone.”
“You have the crickets.”
“The crickets come and go as they wish. Even still, I have much company. What I touch, what I smell, what I see, what I taste, what I hear, all of this is with me. As long as I use my senses to open my spirit, I have the world... I have the world for now.”
Mabatan is silent a long time, but Lumpy knows better than to interrupt.
“The world will be lost to us if we fail to close the rift, our spirits taken. I have been told this. The gift we have been given will be withdrawn.”
“You mean the earth will die?”
“No. The earth has millions of summers still before it. But she will shrug us off her shoulders and we will be returned to dust.”
Mabatan and Lumpy become as still as the air Roan breathes, and the night is filled with the song of crickets.
The sun rises, casting its bloody palette across the cloud-filled sky. Roan wakes to see Lumpy and Mabatan hunched over a small cooking fire.
“Good morning,” says Mabatan. “We've made a soup. It will comfort you.”
“Feeling better?” asks Lumpy.
“Way better,” Roan replies automatically. But when he tries to stand, he stumbles, falling back on one knee. Lumpy grabs his arm and eases him down onto the thick moss.
“Take it easy,” Lumpy cautions, as Mabatan offers Roan a clay cup of broth. “She found a place where tawny mushrooms grow. Best sick food around.”
The soup's rich fragrance makes Roan's mouth water. He starts to gulp it down.
“Sip slow,” says Mabatan. “You've been two days without food.”
Despite the warning, the soup is quickly gone and Lumpy refills the bowl. Handing it back to Roan, he hesitates before asking a question.
“You were calling out Saint's name.”
Roan shudders. “I saw him.”
Lumpy's face crumples in horror. “He's still alive?”
“No. He's in a place. A terrible place.” Roan turns to Mabatan. “What was it?”
“When the body dies, the mind makes a place for itself. Some know peace and return to oneness. Others do not.”
A strange, excited look crosses Lumpy's face. “And you can visit someone else there, when they're dead?”
“Some can. Not many. Most can only go to the common place. But Roan walks freely.”
Lumpy looks imploringly at Roan.
“It's not like you think, Lumpy. Not like ghosts or spirits. It's not the person, it's a jumbled-up idea of themselves, surrounded by whatever torment they invent. The Lelbit you knew is not there. I don't think you'd want her to be.”
Lumpy's face is tight, eyes red. Realizing the pain that Lumpy's feeling, Roan whispers, “I'm sorry,” as Lumpy, downcast, turns away.
Roan looks inquiringly at Mabatan. “I don't understand what Saint wanted, why he called.”
“If you had stayed, you would know. But instead you escaped and now the thing has yet to be done.”
“What waits to be done?”
“You are called. You must be reborn inside the mind of the dead.”
The expression on her face is so somber, so devoid of humor, Roan can't help but take her words seriously, despite how absurd they sound.
“What do you mean?”
“Were you with him when he died?”
Roan nods.
“He was trying to kill you?”
“He was about to. Lelbit got him instead.”
“It is possible that he is caught in the moment of his death, seeking forever to complete the action that brought him to his fate.”
“I didn't kill him.”
“But you believe you are responsible for his death.”
“So I should go back and let him
kill
me? Why?”
“Then you could enter his mind, discover what he is trying to offer. If you fear this, if you run in terror, the knowledge he wishes to share will be lost.”
“I don't know if I can go back.”
Mabatan shrugs and breaks up the smoldering sticks from the cooking fire. Roan turns to Lumpy for support, but what he encounters is not solace but grim determination.
“How long will they survive, Roan? The riftâMabatan said it will tear them apart.”
Roan glares at Lumpy. “You weren't there. You didn't see what I saw, hear what I heard...” But the hurt look in Lumpy's eyes stops him. They've faced so much together and never backed away. And now, when the need is so great, what is Roan doing but turning away, afraid that if he goes he'll never come back.
“I can't imagine what you went through, but I saw what it did to you. You couldn't go now, even if you wanted to. Not yet. No one's asking that.”
Lumpy's pragmatism immediately lifts Roan's spirits. Right now, he'd rather face anything than return to that horror. But maybe with a little time, he'll feel differently. Or better yet, find another way. “How long before I can try again?”
“You must gather more strength,” the girl replies.
“I'm going to the City.”
A laugh explodes out of Lumpy. “You actually think the City's less risky?”
“It's not about risk. Mabatan says there are things in the Dreamfield that only I can do. But that's not completely true. There is someone else who can match me. My sister.”
Mabatan closes her eyes. After a moment, she nods her head, as if having consulted with someone in her mind. Her eyes snap open. “She will not help you make peace with Saint. But she may help close the rift.”
Lumpy shakes his head, distressed. “You said yourself she's damaged. She's one of the Turned.”
“In all this time, I've only seen her in the Dreamfield. There is blood between us. We love each other. If we actually set our eyes on each other, touch each other, maybe I could win her back.”
Lumpy sighs. “You're serious.” Turning to Mabatan, he shakes his head in mock disbelief. “He's serious. I recognize the symptoms.” But the frown on Lumpy's face becomes increasingly genuine. “I wish you weren't. If you get caught in the City... and how do you expect to get in? They'll be looking for you. I'm your backup and I can't go anywhere near those gates. I'm covered in Mor-Tick scars, in case you forgot.”
Mabatan places a hand on each of them. “I know someone who can take you.”
DEMONS SEEK TO RUPTURE THE HARMONY OF THE CITY. THE MASTERS BATTLE THEM DAILY IN PARADISE. IN ORDER TO ACCOMMODATE THE OVERWHELMING REQUESTS TO JOIN US IN OUR STRUGGLE, ACOLYTE INITIATION HAS BEEN DECLARED ONGOING.
âPROCLAMATION OF MASTER QUERIN
S
TOWE STARES AT
W
ILLUM
sitting sullen in his blue lacquered chair. She will wait him out. Whatever it is that's eating away at him, she suspects it will be aimed at her and that she will resent it.
After an interminable amount of time, and with a great exhalation, he finally says what's on his mind. “You have become addicted to the Dirt.”
“What it allows me to do is beyond the imagination.”
“The price you have paid is past reckoning.”
“Master Darius has made certain requests. You have always advised me to follow his directions, not fight them,” says Stowe. “Are you now saying that he's trying to harm me?”
“I am suggesting that you take a substantial amount more Dirt than you need.”
“A great deal is required for what I'm attempting.”
“That may be what you have been led to believe, but it is not necessarily so.”
“Willum, must we go round and round? These are things beyond our power to change.”
For a brief moment, she is overcome with a longing to blurt it all out, tell Willum what she fears, what she intends. Almost as if he were a friend. But she's not stupid enough to believe in that possibility. Willum, like all the others, wants something from her. What, she cannot guess. He slumps in his chair and gulps his water. She can see he's resigned himself. Kordan he will fight, but when Darius commands, Willum obeys. He is no fool. Come at him the right way and he might even help.
Stowe shifts her chair closer to Willum. “Tell me what you know of the Eaters.”
“A great deal. You must be more specific.”
“I've only heard the official histories. The stories of the Five who discovered the Dirt. How Darius broke from the other four in order to protect it. How their lust for power caused the civil war. And how Darius won that war, leading the City to victory.”
“We have discussed the fact, have we not, that history is written by the victors.”
Leaning closer to Willum, Stowe whispers, “There is more?”
Willum smiles as he pulls back. “There is always more. History says that seventy-five years ago, Darius's air machines eradicated all but four of the renegade armies. These four scattered. One was discovered and eliminated. No trace of the second remains. The descendants of the third were recently crushed by Darius, leaving only two survivors.”
Stowe grows cold as the realization sinks in. She and Roan are those two survivors. They come from Longlight, where the descendants of one renegade army sought to conceal themselves. A strange emotion surges through her. Her face pinches, her eyes sting. Is this grief? She swipes it away like foreign matter. The irritant purged, she locks eyes with Willum.
“Longlight is gone, and if any Eaters lived there, they are now dead. So that leaves the fourth group of renegades. Are they all Eaters?”
“No, not all. But... they are rumored to be powerful in other ways.”
“Are they as dangerous as I've been told?”
Willum's fingertips squeeze his temples, he breathes, then looks in her eyes.
“Darius ensures that only the most rudimentary technology is allowed outside the City gates. Thus, as far as we are aware, they have no weapons other than those they might make themselves. This would limit the effectiveness of any army they might have. But, as you are well aware, the body and the mind are quite lethal tools when one knows how to employ them. And then, there is their belief system.”
“Which is?”
“They believe the Dreamfield empowers the human spirit. Rule the Dreamfield and you control the essence of life itself. That is the theory. The many defenses the Keeper has created have up till now prevented any confrontation. However, Darius believes their construction of the Wall is the first move in a new attempt at a takeover.”
“Are they capable of threatening our defenses?”
“It would not be politic to say such a thing, even if I knew it with any certainty. Naturally, there is conjecture.”
Ah, yes, here is the Willum she needs. Those eyes that see beyond the apparent, the ears that evaluate speculation.
Suddenly Willum is alert; she senses it, too. Kordan. The man loves to make his presence known.
Willum whispers, “Do not underestimate them, Stowe. These are not village idiots.”
“The conjecture?”
“The death of only one of the original Five has ever been confirmed. Roan of the Parting, he was called. Your great-grandfather.”
Stowe is startled by the news. “My great-grandfather was one of the Five?”
“He discovered the Dirt. It was your great-grandfather who led the rebellion. He believed the use of Dirt should be terminated, the substance destroyed. And the others...”
The door opens and Kordan steps in. He is smiling, a rare event, and when he looks at Willum his smile broadens. “I will be taking her now.”
Ignoring Kordan's smirk, Willum addresses Stowe. “Well, then, good luck. Remember, what can be used to attack may also be employed as a defense.”
She sees the day she attacked the clerics reflected in his eyes. He shielded himself. Can she?
“I will see you later at the Masters' banquet.”
“Oh,” says Kordan, the acid dripping off his lips, “I didn't realize you were invited.”
“As Our Stowe's Primary, it is my duty to be on hand.”
“Ah, yes,” Kordan says. “How could I have forgotten.” And grandly sweeping his robes, he pivots back out the door with Stowe.
Amused, she catches Willum's eye. “Thank you. I will be careful.”
The Destination Room is the most advanced of all the travel rooms to be found in the Great Pyramid. Designed for maximum amplification, it is used only for the most important excursions. It is made of clear glass triangles, and sits atop the pyramid's apex. Even the curved beds, perfectly molded to suit the reclining body, are made of glass. This extraordinary environment became a second home to Stowe these past two years, when daily she would set out to search for her brother. Call to him. On occasion bring him visions and dreams. Kordan always at her back, pushing, pushing. Those isolated moments, when she felt the touch of Roan's consciousness, so much like her own, have the same clarity and resonance now as when she first experienced them. He would always escape her, though, always run away. Kordan had said the Eaters interfered, set up barriers between her and Roan. Did Roan sense another presence with her as well? Would he have made contact if they'd both been alone? She was sure she'd heard him call out to her. But that had been so long ago. She has not felt him for... No! He is not dead. He can't be... though he has stopped searching for her.