Heights of the Depths (9 page)

“I hope you’re happy,” she said.

“Never,” whispered the Traveler and walked away from her, leaving her alone at the prow.

ii.

She dreams of a far
 
off land, and although she has never seen it before, she knows it as well as she knows the shape and feel of her own body. She is having a memory that is not hers, cannot be hers. It is impossible, and yet it is more real than she herself.

Jepp has never seen a city such as this one before. She is walking through it slowly, and the streets are deserted, but the buildings, gods, the buildings are beyond description. They tower so high that it seems their uppermost pinnacles must assuredly be caressing the very sky.

She is naked as she walks down the street. Her nudity does not bother her. It never has in the past, and the unreality of her surroundings only add to the surreal aspects of the experience. Although she wants to think that this place in which she finds herself cannot possibly be real, she nevertheless comes to the realization—even in her dream—that she does not possess this level of imagination. She could not possibly have fabricated this on her own. She was never clever enough by half to conceive of buildings so tall, especially when common sense would seem to indicate that…once a building gets above a certain height…it would most assuredly have to topple over. Structures such as this should not be able to exist. It was physically impossible.

Wasn’t it?

But because of her lack of imagination, how could she have come up with this when left to her own devices?

Then she hears a distant rumbling. It is not coming from the skies, though, as an oncoming storm might prompt. Nor is it originating from the streets around her, as would result from an oncoming army.

It is coming from below the street. Tunnels, perhaps, such as Trulls built, along which high speed cars called Trullers ran. But the sounds being generated are much louder, suggesting that whatever is causing them is proportionately bigger. What, Jepp wonders, could be so big as to cause such noises?

Hot air is blowing up from below, and she sees large rectangular entranceways into the ground. She has seen hard ground like this, not grass or dirt but instead some sort of gray material that is incredibly solid. “Paved” is the word that now comes into her mind, and “sidewalk,” but she has not heard these words before and so does not comprehend how they could be coming to her now. They are things left over from humans, from that race of which Jepp is a part, but about which she knows little and understands less.

There is movement from the entranceways. It is a human. One. He is dressed head to toe in blue cloth with a scrap of fabric hanging from around his throat, pointing downward like an arrow toward his loins. Perhaps it is symbolic, to remind others that he is a man and has a man’s equipment. Or perhaps he is simply addle minded and could not find his equipment unless he had an article of clothing that reminded him of where it is situated.

Then another man emerges, dressed in different colors but in the same general sort of attire, also with a loin pointer. And then more, some dressed similarly, some not, and now women as well, wearing far more clothing than Jepp has ever seen any female human wearing. It seems, oddly, both constraining and yet liberating.

None of them are moving at normal speeds. Instead everyone is moving very quickly, so much so that it is becoming nothing but a steady blur. She can no longer distinguish one from the other. She cannot determine if she is moving slower or they are moving faster, or whether time has any meaning at all anymore. All she knows is that there are human beings, hundreds of them, thousands of them, perhaps millions. They are coming up from below, and all around her, moving past her in a steady stream of humanity that causes her eyes to well up with tears.

And other objects are moving past her now. They are vehicles that remind her a little of the jumpcar driven by the Bottom Feeders. But again the number of them is staggering, coming in all colors and varieties and moving far more quickly than the clunky jumpcar could ever hope to go. Jepp remains standing in the middle of the street which in turn is in the middle of the city, and she raises her arms and stands there with them stretched toward the sky, thanking the gods for this vision. And she cries out, Oh gods on high, is this a vision of things that have yet to occur, or things that have been but will never come again, or things that were and can be once more? She waits for the gods to reply and at first there is nothing. No sepulchral voice, no guiding spirit, nothing to explain to her the full parameters of what she is seeing or telling her what to do with this information now that it is being presented to her.

Then she sees something.

It should be impossible for her to perceive it because it is simply too far away. And yet she does. There is a tall building, one of the tallest around if not in fact the tallest. There is a huge spike projecting upright from the top, and wrapped around that spike, holding tightly against a steady wind that threatens to dislodge her if she should ease up on her grip, is a female Mandraque. Jepp has no idea how the Mandraque could have wound up in such a position, but the Mandraque does not appear afraid. If anything, she seems intrigued by the position that she’s in, and genuinely eager to discover what’s going to happen next.

They are separated by an incredible distance, by miles of both geography and altitude, and yet the Mandraque is now looking right at her. Again, it should not be possible, and yet it is, and the Mandraque tilts her head in curiosity, apparently as surprised to see Jepp as Jepp is to see her.

Together, says the Mandraque, together we can accomplish this. And here is how. Ludicrously she leans forward slightly as if that will somehow bring them closer and then—

“Wake up! Now!”

Jepp was jolted from her slumber, sitting up so quickly and in such confusion that she banged her head on the low hanging ceiling. She was completely disoriented, thinking at first she had awoken in the tent of the Greatness, and then the jumpcar of the Bottom Feeders.

A hooded figure was leaning in toward her. That was when she remembered where she was and, more importantly, who she was with.

The Traveler was close to her, very close, his black-gloved hand on her shoulder, prodding her to awaken. There was mostly darkness in her room, and yet she could not resist seizing the opportunity. Had she given it a second’s worth of thought, she never would have done so. But she did not; instead she acted entirely on impulse as she reached up and shoved at his hood.

It fell back for just a second, and in the darkness of the room, in the extended shadows, she should not have been able to see him, just as she should not have been able to see that Mandraque female in her dream.

And yet she was able to, thanks to the Traveler himself. When his hood was knocked away, a glow emanated from the Traveler and filled the cramped room. It happened so quickly that Jepp only had the time to get a brief impression rather than a good look. That impression was of silver. Silver suffused with light. And there was beauty. She hadn’t seen the Traveler’s face clearly, and could not have described any details. All she had was an impression of intense beauty combined with astounding sadness.

The Traveler yanked away from her, pulling his hood back into place. Jepp rose from her bed, fascinated, her hands reaching toward him as she said, “Let me see…”

His hand whipped around and caught her in the side of the face. Her skull snapped so quickly that her neck would be sore for hours. Jepp let out a startled cry and fell back onto the bed. The Traveler loomed over her and this time when he spoke, there were no whispers, no brevity of sentences. There was just pure anger and it was all directed at her.

“Are you out of your mind?” he demanded. “Do you have the slightest idea what I can do to you?”

There was a young woman within Jepp who was cowering, who wanted to shrink away and beg forgiveness and ask if there was anything she could do, anything at all, to assuage the wrath of this formidable creature. But then, as much to her own surprise as the Traveler’s, she got to her feet and said defiantly, “Then do it. Do it, if you dare. I’m tired of your talking and your whispering and your…your ominosity! You made a huge mistake kidnapping me. Because being taken away by the Travelers was the absolute worst thing that could happen to anybody. All the others just shake at the very idea of it. And here I am, and I was taken, and I’m still here, and instead of doing anything to me you’re just being threatening! Well your threats aren’t working anymore! Either do something about it or get the hell out of my room!” And she pointed defiantly toward the door.

He took a step toward her and loomed even more. “You have no idea—”

She waved dismissively. “You keep saying that. Do something, don’t do something, but stop threatening me because it’s tiresome.” His silence and the fact that she was still alive and unharmed emboldened her. “You know what the problem is? I don’t have anything. I never have. I own nothing. I’m not allowed property. I have no home. I have no freedom. My life has always been at the disposal of the Twelve Races, so even my life is not my own. And it took your snatching me away from Karsen’s side for me to come to one simple realization: To have nothing is to fear nothing.”

Then Jepp felt as if something was beginning to build up within the small room. Energy, escalating toward a detonation that would wipe her from the face of the world. Once, she would have screamed and begged and pleaded. Now she stood there with her shoulders squared, confident that he would do nothing, uncaring if he did.

Very slowly the energy subsided. The Traveler turned away from her then, paused in the door, and then rumbled, “’Ominosity’ is not even a word.”

“It is now! How’s that for an idea?”

He moved through the door and it slammed shut behind him.

iii.

When the Traveler exited Jepp’s
 room, one of his brethren was standing there waiting for him.

“’Ominosity?’”

“Shut up,” said the Traveler.

“Seriously, Graves: omniosity?”

“I told you to shut up, Trott, and I mean it.”

Graves bolted up the stairs and onto the deck of the ship. Pulling back his hood, he looked to the skies and wondered, as he always did, whether those who had exiled them were looking down upon them. He suspected they were not. He suspected that they were not giving the Banished the slightest thought.

The starlight glittered against his face. It was a sensation he usually enjoyed, although less so now since he had much on his mind.

Trott, as always, made no noise as he came up behind Graves. None of them made any noise when they walked. Graves found that irritating. It made it seem as if they weren’t quite there. When Trott said nothing for a time, Graves finally sighed and said, “We should really just throw her over the side, you know.”

“I know.”

“But we cannot.”

“I know.”

“Except why can’t we?”

“I don’t know.”

Graves looked at Trott with undisguised disdain. “You are being less than helpful.”

“I wasn’t actually trying to be helpful. And in that, I can assume, I have succeeded.”

“Indeed you have.” Graves shook his head. The soft tinkle of bells accompanied the movement. “I hate this, Trott. I truly do.”

“Hate what?”

“This. The entire situation. The knowing but not knowing.”

“It is the way we are and the gift with which we have been endowed.”

“It is a gift that none of us has asked for and that I could, quite frankly, do without.”

“Your preferences in the matter are of little consequence, Graves. You know that. Things are what they are because they must be that way.”

“That’s entirely too circular an answer for me to find even a modicum of solace.”

“I wasn’t saying it to give you solace.”

Despite his generally bad mood, Graves actually snorted in amusement. “That is what I love about you, Trott. You consistently aim your sights low and thus always succeed in your endeavors. It must be nice.”

Trott shrugged. He went over to Graves and draped an arm around his shoulders in commiseration. “It has its moments, I suppose. By contrast, I don’t think you’re truly happy unless you are truly miserable. Neither of us is perfect, but I will take my lack of aspirations over your lack of cheer any time.”

“You are probably right.”

“I generally am.”

Graves leaned his head on Trott’s shoulder and looked out into the night. It was so dark that it was impossible to see where the water met the sky. Although the stars twinkled overhead as a general guide to directions, the small sliver of moon that was out tonight had hidden behind a cloud. They were cloaked in blackness as black as the capes which enveloped them. “What do you think she was dreaming of?” said Graves.

“How would I know? You were the one who chose to awaken her.”

“No. I was the one who was chosen to awaken her, just as such things always happen with us,” Graves reminded him. “I do not understand why this girl is important. I do not understand why her dreams are important. Of what significance can they possibly be?”

“I wish I knew. Sadly, I do not.”

“We will take her to the Overseer as planned,” said Graves with a sigh. “We will take her to him, and he will know why she was brought to him and what to do with her.”

“Do you believe that, Graves? Do you really and truly believe that?”

Slowly Graves shook his head. “Not for a moment.”

“Nor do I.”

“Just my luck,” said Graves, “that we select that, of all things, to be in agreement upon.” He paused and then called to the remaining Traveler who was standing at the wheel of the ship, “Ayrburn! Our good friend Trott here believes we are in a world of trouble, with no clear direction and no obvious end in sight. He believes transporting this girl to the Spires is a fool’s errand and that the Overseer will be of no use at all in determining her fate, ours, or that of the Damned World’s. What say you?”