Heights of the Depths (37 page)

It was not one of the guards.

“Kinklash?” he gasped.

“Let him go,” said Arren Kinklash. His hands were empty, his sword still hanging from his belt. “Right now.”

“This is none of your concern!”

“I’m head of the Five Clans. I have to think that makes it my concern.”

Belosh ran his options through his mind as quickly as he could and came to a decision. Even as he did, he threw the Keeper to the ground and in one motion whipped his sword around with the specific intent of sending Arren’s head flying from his shoulders.

He could not believe how quickly Arren moved. Arren ducked under the sweep and pulled out his own sword. He brought his sword around and down and Belosh barely managed to deflect it. The blades skidded against each other and locked at the hilts, bringing the two Mandraques face to face.

“You have made a serious mistake,” said Belosh with a growl.

“It won’t be the first, or the last.”

“You’re half right.”

Belosh slammed his head forward, catching Arren squarely in the face. Arren staggered and Belosh swung his sword. Arren parried, as much by blind luck as anything else. Belosh half turned and whipped his tail around, sweeping Arren’s feet out from under him. Arren hit the ground hard and Belosh brought his sword up over his head.

“Some leader!” he howled triumphantly.

And suddenly something was snaking around his throat. At first he didn’t know what it was, but then he realized.

It was a tentacle.

He brought his sword back around his head, to hack it free, but the sword glanced off the tentacle without doing the slightest bit of damage. Then there was another tentacle wrapping itself around his legs. He felt a sudden jerk and the last thing he remembered thinking before the blackness claimed him was that his tail was much larger than he thought it was.

iii.

Arren was glad he had
 not eaten recently, because there was every chance that whatever he had consumed would have made an abrupt return to daylight.

Belosh was in two halves, having been ripped apart at the waist. The murdered Mandraque was staring with a rather stupid expression at his lower half, although in fairness Arren wasn’t sure what his own face would have looked like if he had recently been bisected. Then Belosh’s head slumped to one side as his brain apparently finally got around to informing him that he was dead.

Another tentacle snaked into the room at that point, and there was a female Serabim enfolded in it. As opposed to the pure destruction rendered by the other tentacles, this one was as gentle as a passing cloud. The moment the female’s feet touched the floor, she ran straight to the fallen Keeper and embraced him. “Pavan, I was so worried!”

He seemed scarcely able to put words together. “Demali, how…I…where did…how…?”

“The gods were watching out for us.”

“If so, it’s the first time in a long time. Did your father, Seramali, send you—?”

“My father…” She hesitated, seeming to lack the resolve to speak further.

Arren instantly intuited why. The female knew. She had to know. Arren seized the opportunity to make his presence known and his allegiances plain, especially considering that the Zeffer’s tentacles were still twitching around, perhaps looking for another target. “Her father is involved up to his neck.”

Pavan switched his attention to Arren, as if noticing him there for the first time. “Her father—?”

“He engineered your kidnapping.”

“That…that is impossible.” He tried to laugh and looked to Demali to confirm the absurdity of it. When he saw the seriousness of her face and her obvious disinclination to refute it, he was stunned. “How…how do you know this—?”

“Your guards below were probably more forthcoming than Thulsa Odomo would have liked.”

“I suspect there’s more than even they know,” said Demali. She put a large hand upon Pavan’s arm. “Pavan…my father killed Akasha—”

“He—?”

“And your parents. And he…” Her voice caught. “He tried to kill me.”

Pavan tried to speak but nothing was forthcoming. “That’s…no…that…that can’t…”

Demali took him firmly by the shoulders and said, “Pavan, listen carefully to me…”

“My parents…?”

“Listen! You can’t take your time coming to terms with this. Right here, right now, you have to deal with it, because the Zeffer out there is dying.”

“Dying…?”

“Stop echoing my words!” She thumped him on the chest. “The Zeffer is starving. That’s one of the reasons he was left behind. He doesn’t have much longer, I don’t think. He needs you to Commune with him.”

“I can’t. I’m too young to…” His voice trailed off.

“Pavan—”

“My parents? Akasha?”

She nodded.

A change appeared to come over him. If Arren could have seen such a thing, he would have said that the room seemed to darken. Demali tried to help him to his feet, but he shoved her hand away with such force that she was clearly taken aback. The tentacles that had threaded their way through the window had released Belosh’s body, apparently no longer perceiving him as a threat.

Pavan went to the nearest tentacle and, reaching up, stroked it gently.

“Pavan—?” said Demali.

He put out a hand, indicating that she should be quiet. Obediently she lapsed into silence.

iv.

Pavan had so many emotions
 roiling within him that he was having trouble what to focus on first. He felt the smoothness, the gentle warmth of the tentacle beneath his hand. He wanted to sing to the Zeffer, but he could immediately sense that the poor creature was so weak, it would not have the strength to return the song.

Besides, it needed something more than songs at this point. It needed something that only the Keeper could provide.

He knew that, according to all Keeper lore, he was too young. But age was simply an arbitrary demarcation. One was ready when one was ready, and now he had to make himself ready. There was no other option.

He remembered Akasha’s words about taking all of his strongest emotions and bringing them together to provide him strength. He had been so fearful that he would not have sufficient emotions to accomplish that. Now, though, he had nothing but emotions. Anger, love, hurt, betrayal, and a cold burning fury that he would never have thought possible to countenance, much less embrace.

Pavan envisioned all of them within him and mentally drew them together into a white-hot ball that he pictured as lodging somewhere deep within his chest.

No songs now. Not this time.

I am yours and you are mine. Take from me what you need. Take me…

He had thought that he would have a sense of invisible tendrils wrapping themselves around his mind. That was how Riders had described it.

He was wrong.

The invisible tendrils wrapped themselves around his soul.

v.

Pavan was screaming.

The young Serabim twisted and thrust about in the hold of the tentacles and howled a string of words unfamiliar to Arren, incomprehensible. It chilled him to the bone, as if he were hearing language that was spoken before there was language to speak.

Arren, reacting instinctively, came forward with his sword. He wasn’t sure if he’d have any more luck doing damage to the tentacles than Belosh had, but he had to do something.

“Don’t move!” Demali shouted. “Don’t touch him! Don’t come near him!”

Arren yanked his sword away, looking at her in confusion. “Are you sure—?”

“I’m positive. Don’t go anywhere near him. Don’t interfere.” She was moving forward slowly, watching in wonderment.

Pavan had lapsed abruptly into silence. The tentacles were caressing him and, even more insanely, Arren was sure he could see a soft glow emanating from around the Serabim. The tentacles were suspending him above the floor, and now the glow suffused the tentacles as well. Arren shielded his eyes, his sword lowered, unable to grasp what he was watching but equally unable to look away.

The tentacles were holding Pavan in the air, or at least that’s what it appeared to Arren at first. But then slowly, gently, the tentacles unwrapped themselves and Pavan continued to float. He was hovering a foot or so off the floor, his arms relaxed and out to either side, his feet crossed at the ankles. His head was tilted back, and now there was a subtle humming, the origin of which Arren could not determine. It might have been coming from Pavan, or from the Zeffer, or some combination of the two.

“How is he doing that? How is he flying?” he whispered.

Demali shook her head, her eyes wide.

Arren lost track of how long they simply stood that way, watching a congress between Keeper and kept that none of them could even begin to understand…including, perhaps, the Keeper himself. And then, very slowly, Pavan drifted downward until his feet lit upon the ground. The tentacles had withdrawn from the window, but the Zeffer wasn’t going anywhere. It continued to remain there, but clearly far more vigorous than before. Whereas before most of its tentacles were simply hanging there, limply, they were now moving about with great energy, intertwining with each other or whipping around as if looking for something to wrap themselves around.

“Pavan?” Demali said cautiously. “Are you all right…?”

Pavan nodded. “I am…quite well, actually.” His voice sounded deeper, rumbling within his chest. He seemed taller. Older. He turned to Arren and said, “You prevented the Mandraque from slaying me. You have my thanks.”

“With all respect, I need your thanks less than I need your help,” said Arren. “One of your creatures took my sister away. My sister and Nicrominus, the leader of the Firedraques…”

“Yes, of course. An aged Firedraque and a young Mandraque who was not supposed to be there, but was.” His voice sounded almost dream-like. “At the order of the Travelers, they were taken to the Spires. The Overseer had an interest in them.”

“The Spires,” whispered Arren. He placed a hand urgently on Pavan’s arm. “You need to take me there.”

“And what of Perriz?”

“Let it burn. Let it be overrun with Serabim and hostile Mandraques. My sister needs me.”

“She is one individual,” said Pavan. “There are many Mandraques who have sworn loyalty to you, Kinklash, leader of the Five Clans, and they have need of your service.”

“How do you know who I am? Did…” He paused. “Did the Zeffer tell you somehow?”

“No. The dismembered Mandraque identified you as such.”

“Oh. Right.” Arren felt slightly stupid, having forgotten that.

“It’s not just them,” said Demali, her anger palpable. “My father’s machinations have brought us to this point. I would not have any aspect of his plans succeed. None. He must be stopped.”

“And if you,” said Pavan to Arren, “have any interest in our taking you to find your beloved sister, then you will aid us in our endeavors.”

“I just came from Perriz,” said Arren in frustration. “You want me to go back there now to stop an invasion?”

“Stop it, do not stop it, that is entirely up to you,” said Pavan. “But Demali’s father cannot be allowed to see the triumph of his plans.”

“Meaning?”

“He needs to die,” said Pavan. “Even if he is triumphant, at least he will not live to see it.”

“I thought you were a pacifist.”

“I am. And Demali is his daughter. It is unthinkable that she would try to take the life of her own father.”

“Even though he tried to kill her.”

“Even though.”

“Meaning,” said Pavan, “that you must kill him for us. Do that, and we will take you to your sister in the Spires.”

Arren looked from Pavan to Demali and back to Pavan.

“Well,” he said finally, “why are we standing here? Talking is not going to get him any deader.”

the spires

I.

Norda had never seen anything
 like it in her life. Of course, if she had, she might well have forgotten it. But she was reasonably sure that, no, this was the first time ever.

The room was as clammy and damp as any other room in the underground. Anton was next to her, propping himself up on a crutch, his injured leg heavily bandaged. Norda glanced at it once, wondered how he had come to injure himself, and then stopped worrying about it as she became absorbed with her surroundings.

The walls were lined with weapons. They all looked like the one that Anton had been holding, but they were different shapes, different sizes. Some were longer than others. One was shining blue even in the dimness of the room. “Can I—?” She reached for it tentatively and looked to him, her eyes glittering with curiosity.

“I guess. Sure. Just be careful not to aim it at anything.”

“Aim—?”

“Don’t point it at anything.”

“I have to point it at something,” she said reasonably. “I mean, it can’t be pointed at nothing.”

“Fine. Point it at anything except me. It may be loaded.”

“Loaded?”

“With bullets.”

“Ohhhh. Bullets,” she whispered as she held it carefully. Then she mimed the stance that she had seen Anton take when they had first encountered each other. “What are bullets?”

“They’re what the gun shoots. What it fires.”

“I thought it fired invisible arrows.”

He laughed at that, which hurt her feelings slightly, but then Norda decided that it was nice that she was able to amuse him. When he recovered sufficiently, he said, “No. No, it shoots bullets. Here. These.” He reached into a box and pulled one out, holding it up for her to examine. She did so, staring at it in fascination.

“This little thing is what went through me?”

“Yeah, and I’m, y’know…sorry about that.”

She shrugged and doing so caused her shoulder to twinge. She reminded herself not to do that again, and then promptly forgot. “And these are in here?” She held up the gun.

“Yeah. We got all kinds of bullets. Big ones, small ones…even some Teflon coated ones. You’re lucky I didn’t hit you with one of those. They’d’ve torn your arm off. I think that one actually has some loaded in—point it somewhere else!”

Norda had carelessly turned it in his direction. Quickly she aimed it down. Unfortunately it was toward his feet and Anton realized it. Stepping to one side, he took the gun gently from her and said, “Look, maybe we’d better just put it back. Mom would kill me if she knew I brought you here.”

“Would she kill you with one of these?”

“It’s just an expression.”

“I thought this was an expression,” she said, and twisted her face into a demented grin.

He placed the gun carefully on the rack. “You are so strange.”

“You keep saying that.”

“It keeps being true.”

Taking care to make sure that no one had spotted them going in, Anton stuck his head out, looked right and left, and then gestured for her to follow him. She did so and he closed the door and secured it. “Why do you have all of those?” she said.

“If we get attacked, we need some way to protect ourselves.”

“Will they work?”

“I dunno,” he said. “Sure worked on you…again, sorry about that.”

“It probably wasn’t you. It was me. My brother always says that anything can happen when I’m around.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Anton. “You know, if—”

“Oh!” she said abruptly. “I have to go! I have to go home!”

“Home? You mean to the church?”

“Yes!” and she started running through the underground channels. She bounded up a ladder and called behind her, “I have to take care of my dug! He misses me terribly by now! And show him what I gifted myself!”

“Your dug…you mean your dog?” He made it to the bottom of the ladder, but his leg was in such bad shape that he didn’t have a prayer of climbing up after it. He knew that this particular ladder led to the street, and that she would likely have no trouble knocking aside a manhole cover and gaining access to the street. “The dog’s dead!” His voice echoed after her but she didn’t seem to have heard it.

ii.

Even though she emerged on
 the streets nowhere near to where she’d entered the underground world, it took Norda almost no time to get her bearings. She then headed for home at a dead run and was thrilled to see the building towering in front of her, just as she left it. She was glad that was the case, because it wasn’t always so. Sometimes things changed dramatically in her absence. Sometimes they even changed while she was there.

Norda ran in through the door and skidded to a halt. Her nose wrinkled. She heard a steady buzzing. The dug was lying in the middle of the aisle, blood pooled beneath it, and a host of insects buzzing around it.

“Oh. That’s right,” she said wistfully.

She wasn’t especially hungry, and the dug had been lying there too long to be appetizing in any event. But she didn’t like the irritating little insects zipping around it either. She leaned toward the insects and her tongue flicked out a dozen times, expertly snagging a bug with each thrust and even two at the same time in several instances. Once she had disposed of them, she picked up the sticky carcass of the dug and brought it to the nice garden that sat outside. Using her hands, it took her less than half an hour to dig a hole that would be sufficient depth for her former friend. Then she shoved in the carcass, which landed with a hollow thud. It took her far less time to shove the dirt back into place. She smoothed it over with her tail and then patted it a few times affectionately before returning to the inside of the building.

Soon she had clambered back to her thoughtful spot, crouched among the statues. One of them was looking at her oddly, and she realized that it looked a great deal like New Daddy. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed that before. Was it that he had always looked like New Daddy and it simply hadn’t occurred to her? Or was he looking more and more like New Daddy and had developed enough of a resemblance for her to see it?

“So…have new friends, do you?” said Nicrominus.

She reached over and tapped the statue tentatively. “Are you really here, New Daddy? I miss you so much.”

“Of course I’m here. I’m in you. You ate me, remember?”

“Oh. That’s right. I remember that,” she said, even though she did not.

“That’s how it works, you see, Norda. When you eat the heart of others, you take what they were into yourself. Their hopes, dreams, aspirations. Their knowledge and innermost thoughts. That is a good deal of responsibility for one young Mandraque girl to deal with. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“No. I’m not sure.”

“That is a very honest answer.”

“Those are the only kind I know. Should I be sure?”

“No reason to be, I suppose. In fact, your nature would dictate that you would not be sure of anything.”

“My nature?” She stared at him quizzically. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you know what you are, Norda? Haven’t you discerned your true nature? Figured out why the gun worked when you were around but didn’t when you aren’t?” She shook her head. Nicrominus sighed, but did not even come close to losing patience with her. “Norda…the world is a place of order and chaos. One always has to balance out the other. There are those who are pure order. They dream of the world being a certain way and fight to bring stability—orderliness—to it. But they must always be balanced out by those who embrace chaos. And you, my dear, are pure chaos. Anything can happen, and typically does, when you are around. The rules that apply to the rest of us don’t apply to you.”

“Why is that? Why would that be?”

“I honestly don’t know, my dear. The gods have chosen you, I suppose.”

“Is that why I’m…?” Her voice trailed off.

“Why you are…the way you are?” She nodded. “I suppose it is, Norda. Historically, those who are the most beloved of the gods are also the most insane. Whether steeped in the fever of creation or the fire of vision, madness rules those whom the gods love.”

“Then the gods must love me very much,” she said.

“I imagine they do.”

“And do you love me, too?”

“Oh yes,” he assured her.

With a contented sigh, she wrapped her arms around the statue and, as the sun settled down for the night, drifted into a peaceful sleep. Her slumber was filled with cascades of images, none of which she would remember upon awakening.

iii.

Bone weary, soggy, and convinced
 that there would never, ever be a time in her life when she would not feel wet, Jepp hung on to Gorkon as he brought her the rest of the way to the Spires.

It was a large island and she had no idea where she wanted to come to shore. “Pick a place,” she said. “It will all work out no matter where you bring me.”

“I envy you your confidence,” said Gorkon.

“I have to think that if the gods have conspired to bring me this far, it…wait! There!”

“Where?”

She pointed. “There! Do you see it? Right there! The ship!”

“The—?” Then she saw where she was indicating. “I’ll be damned. The Traveler’s vessel. The same one, do you think?”

“No way to be sure, but it certainly looks very much the same.”
“Wait…and you want to go…toward it?”

She looked at him levelly. “I am not afraid of them,” she said simply.

“They could destroy you so easily—”

“I keep hearing that. Yet they did not. And whatever reason they have for wanting me alive is going to be an interesting one, and I want to find out what it is.” She set her jaw. “They are afraid of me, Gorkon, and I would learn why.”

“As you wish.”

He swam toward the dock where the boat was tied off. The anchor was lowered and he brought her over to it. She reached up and grabbed the anchor chain firmly. “Are you sure,” he said, “you wish to reboard the vessel on which you were a prisoner?”

“You still don’t understand, Gorkon. They were far more my prisoner than I was theirs. And even more so now. I know them for what they are. They are not some mysterious, unknowable race, these Travelers. They are Phey, banished to this world just as your kind was. Just as all the Twelve Races were. So what if they’re wearing cloaks and hoods and serving the Overseer? They’re still going to want the same things that the rest of the Twelve Races wants.”

“And what would that be?”

“Why…freedom, of course. Isn’t that what you’d all want? Freedom to live where you want, under your own terms? Freedom not to be prisoners here?”

“Honestly, Jepp?” he said after a moment of thought. “I don’t know what I want anymore. When all I was thinking about was freeing my people from the influence of Klaa, yes, it was very clear. Now? I am…” He smiled sadly. “Adrift.”

Jepp hesitated, and then she reached over while keeping one hand firmly on the anchor chain and hugged Gorkon as hard as she could. He returned the embrace and wished that he could enjoy the warmth of her. Unfortunately his hide was quite thick in order to enable him to withstand the often freezing temperatures of the water, and so all he was truly aware of was the pressure of her body against his.

It was sufficient.

He boosted her up onto the anchor chain and she began to climb it. Then he drifted back and called up to her, “If you need me, come to this place and call for me. I will come.”

“But…won’t you be wanting to get home?”

“Home for me is an elastic concept for the time being. I will be around here for a time, until it suits me to move on, whenever that may be. And if there is an emergency, I will bring my friend.”

“You mean—?”

“Yes.”

“But wouldn’t his presence ensure the destruction of the Spires?”

“Very likely. On the other hand,” he said darkly, “if something should happen to you, then the destruction of the Spires will be the very least that I can do.

Jepp was not entirely sure how to react to that. Finally she said, “Well…let us hope it does not come to that.”

“Indeed.”

And with that, Gorkon allowed himself to slide under the water.

Jepp wasn’t entirely sure that Gorkon had actually left. In fact, she had a feeling that he had not. But there was no point in hanging from the anchor chain and staring down into the water. Instead she hauled herself up the chain, hand over hand, bracing her bare feet against the side of the ship. She shivered slightly, remembering that she had briefly clawed at the prow before skidding under the fearsome waves. Then she steadied herself and continued the climb up. Quietly she eased herself over the railing and landed softly on the deck. She froze there, waiting for some sign of life from below decks.

There was nothing. They had left the vessel. No reason for them not to do so. It wasn’t their home, after all. Their home was somewhere deep in the city of Spires, and she had absolutely no idea where that might be.

She took a moment to look at the skyline of the Spires. It was not as she had seen in her dreams, but that was because she wasn’t standing in exactly the same place. Nevertheless, she knew that it was the same city. For instance, she recognized the same tall spike that she had spotted in one of her dreams. But without the dream convenience of impossible vision, she was unable to spot whether that curious Mandraque female was perched upon it. She didn’t think so, yet she could not be sure.

Jepp realized that her eyelids were becoming incredibly heavy. She had not had a decent night’s sleep since she had been swept overboard. For that matter, she couldn’t remember the last time she had had a single, solid night of uninterrupted slumber. She had either been jolted awake by some sort of catastrophe, or someone making a point of waking her up.

She walked across the deck and descended into the room that had served as her quarters during her stay on the ship. She found it easily enough, and then did some further searching of the vessel. The ship’s stores were exactly as she had left them, including the skins filled with water. She grabbed one and drained it so fast that she wound up getting hiccups. It took her a few minutes of holding her breath for as long as she could before she finally managed to shake them. She went to a second skin, but only sipped a bit of it to quench the last dregs of thirst. Then she ate a couple of the oddly filling breadstuffs and breathed a sigh of relief.