Root (24 page)

I shrugged. “Don’t we all?”

“
But this time, you were very
serious.”

“
But I was before, too.”

“
But not like this. This time, you
make your wish for death become too clear.”

“
Sorry, I couldn’t help
overhearing,” said Bern. “But Karla’s absolutely right. It’s best
to keep things murky. That’s something you’ll need to learn, if you
intend to stick around this place.”

“
You see,” said Lille. “When you
make your intentions obvious, it tends to excite the Reapers.” She
hissed through her teeth. “And you don’t want that.”

“
Ambiguity is your friend,” said
Bern. “Let death attract you, but don’t get too close. Be like a
clever moth. Keep circling that candle.”

“
I’ll … keep that in mind,” I
said.

“
How you feel now?” said Karla. “Are
you strong?”

“
Stronger, anyhow,” I
said.

“
I will teach you how to prevent
this,” she said. “So this does not happen again.”

“
Take her up on it, son,” said Bern.
“We need you here with us, not in the belly of some mole
cow.”

A small crowd was gathered at the center of
the plaza. Some faces I remembered from the last time I had been
here. Others were new.

The stone pillar and gargoyles that had
dominated the middle of the platform were gone, replaced by a tall
oak, probably woven from the same material that had comprised them.
The tree seemed to sprout straight out of the stone.

Luther paced back and forth, wearing a jacket
with red and gold epaulets that would have looked at home on
Michael Jackson. He held a shepherd’s crook tucked over his
shoulder. He had reverted to a human shape with almost sane
proportions, though his physique was a mite too buff for good
taste. His pecs and biceps threatened to burst the seams of his
white dress shirt. A tiny bow tie looked lost against a stout neck
bulging with supernumerary cords and sinews.

“
Well, well, here come the
ne’er-do-wells!” he said, wheeling to face us “Late, as usual. Out
in the tunnels again I see, tampering with the offerings. No wonder
the Reapers are restless.” His roving eyes homed in on me. “What
happened? Wonder boy lose his touch?”

A man—a black man—the first I had seen in
Luthersburg, sat at the base of the tree, his shirt torn to shreds,
his hands chained together over his head and behind the bole. His
ankles were tucked and secured in a pair of rough-hewn notches
between two massive rail ties. Metal spikes pinned the assemblage
together and into the faux stone of the central
platform.

Harvald stood over him rolling a small
baton-like club in his hands. The man’s face displayed no signs of
distress. He sported bright, curious eyes and a faint smile. He had
the bored air of a father doing his best to remain polite at a
family picnic he would rather not attend—this despite the nasty
lumps and welts on his head and back where Harvald had apparently
struck him repeatedly.

“
Oh my,” said Bern. “Who do we have
here?”

“
A man,” said Astrid.

“
Obviously,” said Lille.

“
An interloper,” said Luther. “I
caught him trespassing.”

“
Why the chains, Luther?” said
Lille. “Oh, and that nasty bump on his brow. You’ve been hitting
him. Why?”

“
He deserved it,” said Luther. “I
didn’t like his attitude.”

The captive’s eyes met mine and his gaze was
so intense, I couldn’t hold it. I had to blink and look
away.

“
To better his treatment, he needs
to talk,” said Luther. “But no, he keeps looking up his nose at me
with this … audacity … this air of superiority.”

“
What do you want him to say?” said
Lille.

“
Simple. He needs to tell us who he
is, where he came from and what he wants. Look at his eyes. The way
he looks at me. This is not just any negro. This is an old soul
here. This man has experienced Root. Look at that disdain! We need
to know his designs. He obviously has hostile intentions in his
heart.”

The man smirked, and as soon as he did,
Harvald rapped his ear with the baton. The man hardly flinched at
the blow, which only seemed to inflame Harvald more. He cocked his
arm to strike again, but Lille seized the baton.

“
Enough!” she said. “Give him space!
You ask him to speak but then you attack him when he so much as
blinks. Give him a chance to state his case.”

“
He’s had plenty of chances,” said
Luther. “But alright, let’s try again. Speak man,
speak.”

The man glanced up. A faint smile creased his
face. “I have nothing to say.”

“
See!” said Luther. “Don’t go making
me into the monster here. I am not the trespasser.”

“
Please,” said Lille. “Who are you?
Why did you come?”

“
I just came here to see if you all
were ready … for us. It’s what I do.”

Luther guffawed. “Ah! He is an angel come to
vet us, to open the gates of Heaven for the worthy.” He slipped his
crook under the man’s chin and lifted gently. “Am I right? Are you
an emissary, sent by the Lord?”

“
No,” he said, maintaining his calm
smile.

“
From where then, Hell?”

“
I am from Frelsi. A community of
free souls. We have no binds to any world but this.”

“
Free? You mean dead?
Preposterous.”

The man just stared back with his indelible,
inscrutable, unflappable smile.

“
What makes your community any
better than ours?”

“
We are not bound to flesh and we
rule by consensus. We believe in anarchy and equity.”

“
Nonsense! People need leaders to
get things done. This place would be chaos without my vision. Look
around you. Behold my creations!”

“
Quaint,” said the man. “But it’s
mostly façade. You people basically live in caves.”

“
Caves? I’ll give you caves!”
Harvald whacked the back of his shoulder with his baton.

“
Stop it, Harvald!” said
Lille.

Luther scowled. “We’re not done
interrogating!”

“
Come, let the man go. He’s done no
harm,” said Bern.

Luther stood over his prisoner and pointed at
his bony finger down at his face. “How … did you find us?” he
hissed.

“
It wasn’t difficult. We see you
about the tunnels.”

“
See!” said Luther, erupting. He
wheeled about, eyes accusing. “See what your wanderings cause? I
bet they want our space.”

“
No,” said the man, still smiling.
“Space is not limiting here.”

“
Souls, then. You’ve come to recruit
… or enslave.”

“
Those who belong with us will find
us. You, however, would not be welcome.”

“
Not welcome,” said Luther. “Did you
hear that? This trespasser has the gall to say we are not welcome.
Well sir,
you
are
not welcome here in Luthersburg, and yet you trespass.” Luther
turned to us. “Well, I say that deserves fifty lashes! Fifty days
in the dungeon. What say you all?”

“
Set him free,” said Bern. “For
goodness sakes, the man was simply curious. How is that a
crime?”

“
This man is a violator! He must
pay,” said Luther, glaring at Bern. He glanced over at the captive,
who remained as calm as ever. “You! Stop looking at me like
that!”

The man’s gaze did not waver.

“
I said stop! STOP! That’s it! I’m
sealing your eyes shut!”

“
Luther, no!” said Karla.

Luther fanned his fingers at the captive and
held then outstretched until they trembled with strain.

Nothing happened.

“
Don’t bother,” said the captive,
sighing. “You can’t unweave me. Alright, I’m tired of this. It’s
best I leave. I’ve seen all I need to see.”

“
Hah!” said Luther. “You will leave
only when I say you—”

The links of the chain fastening the man to
the tree turned into little silvery moths and fluttered away. The
heavy beams holding his legs transformed into thousands of ants
that scurried off and dispersed across the square. Astrid squealed
and skittered out of their way.

The man got up and strode across the plaza. As
he walked, his complexion faded and his body shifted, hips
widening, waist narrowing. His hair lengthened. His features became
finer, more delicate. A bosom budded beneath his shirt. He became a
her.

Those looking on gasped.

“
Wait! Tell us your name,” called
Lille.

“
Victoria,” she said, without
looking back.

Luther reared his head, arched his back and
flared his fingers. Stalks of rye grass grew along a row of
curbing, their plump seed heads morphing into viper skulls. With a
swish of his hand, they collapsed into coils, detached their tails
and slithered after her.

Victoria sank into the cobbles step by step,
as if descending a staircase only she could see. The snakes
converged and struck at her face and torso. One by one, each
sizzled off into vapor like raindrops on a hot grill. She vanished
beneath the square.

Luther rushed over to the spot where she had
disappeared, tapping gingerly with his foot, searching for weak
spots or hollows. “Petty trickery,” he said, turning to us. He
pulled on his jacket and stomped away. Three steps along, he
stopped and turned to face us. “From now on, no one leaves the
‘Burg. Never. Not for any reason.”

Chapter 22:
Surfing

Layered sheets of charcoal and ash swept in to
blot away the snowy puffs that only moments ago had sailed like
clipper ships across a crisp, blue artificial sky. The murk and
smudge smothered the sunbeams and shadows that had dappled the
square and made the cheerful pastels of the stucco façades seem
dirty and blighted.

“
You should see the weather when
he’s mad,” said Bern.

He and Lille said goodbye and strolled off
hand in hand to a small cottage that made the only break in an
otherwise solid wall of townhouses, shops and churches. The alleys
flanking it, bricked off, led nowhere.

Luther’s comeuppance made me see the ‘Burg in
a much less flattering light. What Victoria had said was basically
true. The place was just a bunch of caves with prettified fronts. I
had yet to see a building that went more than one room
deep.

This made Luther much less than the god-like
figure I made him out to be in my first encounters. The ‘Burg was
just a playground and Luther a big kid bullying toddlers until a
grownup came by to put him in his place.

I couldn’t imagine the sorts of marvels folks
like Victoria could create from the fabric of this world. In my
eyes, Root had just become a bigger and more exciting
place.

I followed Karla back through the rose garden
and into the salmon-colored stucco façade of the townhouse with the
sitting room. Her invitation was unspoken but understood. Where
else would I go? That chamber was home.

But then I remembered Luther’s edict. “Your
place—is that considered part of the ‘Burg?”

She wrinkled her nose and smoothed her hair
down. “Who cares?”

“
Well, because Luther said we
couldn’t—“

“
Ah, don’t listen to him. He is
nothing but bluster. This lady, Victoria, she hurts his pride. He
is just acting out to save face. Always he threatens, but does
nothing.”

We pushed through the shaggy corridor until we
reached her dome. Patches of shell pulsed with soft, diffused
light. Blips like fireflies glided along a network of slender
strands threading between the bumps and spines. It looked like a
toadstool decorated for Christmas.

Karla touched her fingers to the wall and
cracks appeared in the seamless surface, outlining the hatch. She
pulled on a loop of root and opened it.

The interior brightened as we
entered.

I collapsed among the futons and pillows
heaped in the middle of the floor, lying back with my hands tucked
behind my head. Rays filtering through the stained glass skylight
danced on the wall.

“
That window … it’s almost looks
like the actual sun is shining behind it. That’s pretty cool. How
did you manage that?”

“
Ah, it is nothing,” she said,
fluffing and stacking the pillows beside me. “It is not as nice as
the real one,”

“
Real one?”

“
I tell you. This is a famous art
from Bernini. I make a copy from my memory, but my memory and my
skill is not perfect.”

“
Are you kidding? It looks
great.”

“
Thank you. But you should see the
real one someday. It is from San Pietro Basilica. Made of stone,
not glass you realize. Alabaster. The Piazza San Pietro, it is only
a few block away from our flat. When I would go for mass, I would
always watch this dove, how it changes in the light. In church, I
am always this way, thinking my own thoughts, never paying
attention to the priest.”