The Spell of Rosette (49 page)

K
reshkali headed down the spiral steps. The way was dark, only the landings illuminated by small lanterns. Annadusa was on the seventh floor, just below the training level. The underground Resistance movement, her new coven, occupied all fourteen storeys now. She stopped on the eighth floor, pausing by the open door to the training space. Like the rise and fall of an ocean swell, students moved with their swords. Some were working the forms, a prescribed dance that incorporated many blocks, cuts and counter-movements. Zero was demonstrating a sequence to a group of new recruits. Others were moving up and down the floor engaged in cutting practice, their swords singing out as they sliced through the air at various angles. Rosette was busy teaching a group to draw and sheath the live blades without slicing their hands off. Before continuing down the steps, Kreshkali bowed quietly to An’ Lawrence and moved on.

Rosette caught her eye but she kept going, not wanting to interrupt. She knew Rosette was brooding underneath her tough exterior. She hadn’t had time to adjust, let alone put anything in perspective. Kreshkali shook her head. She’d just have to leave her to it.

When she knocked on Annadusa’s door, she was directed to hydroponics—a whole level given over to food production. It was Annadusa’s pet project, the source of her coffee beans, among other fruits, herbs and vegetables. She even had chickens there now, thanks to a stealthy trip to Gaela. The birds pecked around in well-ventilated, richly planted coops, none the wiser of their new world.

A blast of golden light and the smell of summer tomatoes, basil and raspberries met her when she reached the hydroponics floor. She took a deep breath. A few gardeners were working between the green foliage that spilled out of rows of planter boxes. The misters were on, making everything sparkle in a prism of coloured light.

‘I love this place,’ she said to Annadusa as she approached. ‘It’s like a piece of Gaela’s heart is growing here.’

The other woman shrugged. ‘I like it a lot better now that we aren’t hand-pollinating every single plant.’

‘The Gaelean bees doing their job?’

‘And then some, but I want to go back for more. There’s so much we can do, now that we have double the water filtration and the hydro-electrics for light.’

‘Wait ’til we get solar power online, and ASSIST off.’

‘And then we’ll have real sunshine and no witch-trackers!’ a young girl said, coming up with a basket of herbs.

Kreshkali smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to that too.’

‘What’s next?’ Annadusa asked. ‘I get the feeling you aren’t down here for lettuce and beans.’

‘We’re ready for you.’

Annadusa handed her trowel to the girl and directed her towards the compost bins, giving her a set of instructions.

‘Lead the way,’ she said to Kreshkali, and they headed up the stairs.

Excitement sparked around them, but neither spoke again until they were on the top floor.

‘This is our bard, Clay,’ she said, introducing him by opening out her arm in his direction.

He smiled and tipped his head as he played a haunting tune.

‘What a wonderful sound,’ she said, beaming. ‘I’m Annadusa.’

Clay nodded and kept playing.

‘Amazing place you have here,’ Jarrod said, getting up from the table. ‘I saw your gardens earlier. You’ve got the touch.’

‘And this is Jarrod,’ Kreshkali said.

Annadusa blinked, giving a little shudder. ‘Jarrod?’ she whispered. ‘The JARROD? I didn’t know…’ She looked at Kreshkali.

‘We made certain nobody did.’

‘Jarrod! You’ll be wanting to meet my son,’ she said, closing the distance between them. She gathered him into her like a mother hen. ‘But I’d better warn you,’ she said, turning to look back at Kreshkali. ‘I haven’t had a word from him in twenty years.’

‘Does this look familiar?’ Kreshkali asked as she slid another set of blueprints across the table. They’d been sitting there for over an hour, debating various strategies, coming to no agreement.

Annadusa studied the printouts, moving a candle closer to read some fine print. ‘Like I said, I’ve never been inside. They took Grayson on when he was twelve and that was thirty-five years ago. We communicated for years until the messages from him started to dwindle, then they stopped altogether.’ She sighed. ‘My last contact was almost two decades ago. There’s been nothing since.’

‘Would he still remember his purpose?’ An’ Lawrence asked. He and Rosette had returned from the
training session more relaxed. They seemed encouraged by Annadusa’s presence.

‘It’s embedded in his blood, like all of us.’ Annadusa smiled at Kreshkali when she looked so surprised. ‘Your very-great grandfather had a bit of a field day with the DNA splicing, didn’t you know?’

‘A zealous man,’ Kreshkali said.

‘If my Grayson is alive, he’ll remember.’

‘Could they have discovered him?’ Rosette queried after a moment’s silence. ‘Realised he was with the Resistance?’

No-one responded.

‘That’s it.’ Jarrod stood and rolled up the plans.

‘What’s
it?
’ Rosette tilted her head towards him.

‘I’m going in.’

‘In where?’

‘Into ASSIST.’

‘How?’ The question came as a chorus, everyone staring at him.

Kreshkali touched his arm. ‘Forget for a moment about the “how” and explain the “why”. Have you forgotten what will happen if the worm…’

‘I haven’t forgotten. Don’t worry about that. It’s ever present on my mind. That’s why we can’t wait any longer. We need to do a little reconnaissance.’

‘A little what?’ The query again was unanimous.

‘I’m going to check the place out, see if Grayson is still there and make contact. Quick in, quick out.’

‘I can visualise the “quick in”, but how do you think you’re going to get out, quick or otherwise?’

‘Walk, I imagine. Or maybe run.’

‘No way, Jarrod!’ Annadusa pushed back her chair and shook her head. ‘It’s too dangerous. The worm will spot you the moment you tap into the system. Besides, you can’t just stroll up to the gates of ASSIST and ask for a guided tour.’

Jarrod raised his eyebrows as he slipped a rubber band over the tube of blueprints with a snap. ‘Watch me.’

An hour later, Jarrod ran the fibre-optic thread up the manhole and angled it towards the security checkpoint as a brown delivery truck arrived.

‘This one will do,’ he said. ‘You ready?’

‘Always,’ Kreshkali smiled. ‘You?’

‘Not quite. I can’t see his face.’ He continued peering into the eyepiece, adjusting the knobs forward and back.

‘You’ll see plenty of it in a moment.’

Jarrod turned to her. The spiky blonde hair was gone. It was grey and matted, tangled strands obscuring her face. She stooped her shoulders. Her eyes were vague. Her skin looked yellow and cracked; open sores covered blue-veined arms. She scratched her head and smiled through missing teeth.

‘Sacred demons, Kali! That’s one hell of a glamour.’

‘Just keep your eye on the truck driver. You’ll get a full frontal view in a moment, I promise.’ She squeezed his hand and rushed down the sewer.

What a woman,
Jarrod thought to himself as he returned to the fibre-optics. Within moments, Kreshkali appeared in front of the gate, between it and the delivery truck. She looked a hoary, bent figure, cranky and disoriented, waving a cane about and stumbling into the mud-filled potholes. It took both the driver and the security guard to remove her from blocking the way.

Perfect.

Jarrod got more than an adequate image of his target. ‘I’m ready,’ he said, turning behind him. ‘Do your thing, my lovelies.’ He winked at Rosette and her familiar before pressing his head into the eyepiece
again. He sent his visual image of the delivery man to Drayco.

Got it.
The temple cat purred into his mind.

Rosette didn’t respond. She sat with her familiar, propped up against the opposite sewer wall, nestled in a thick grunnie pelt, deep in meditation.

Moments later, Jarrod watched as the driver gripped his stomach. His face blanched white, and he moved off to the far side of the vehicle and retched.

‘I won’t be long.’

Jarrod was down the sewer and up the adjacent manhole, except he didn’t look like Jarrod any more. He’d morphed his Tulpa-body into the image of the driver who’d suddenly become ill.

‘You okay there?’ the security guard asked him as he appeared around the truck. ‘The old hag could have been diseased by the look of her. What was that stench?’

‘I’m all right.’ Jarrod wiped his mouth as he hopped into the driver’s seat. He leaned back, taking a nanosecond to scan the controls.

It’s a Falcon,
he chuckled to himself.
My favourite.

The guard opened the gate and waved him through.

Jarrod revved the engine, released the emergency brake and drove into the ASSIST stronghold.

‘Sit down, you two! The pacing’s driving me bats,’ Kreshkali growled.

Rosette ignored her and continued striding up and down the length of the studio, her fists alternately knotting and flexing. Drayco was at her side, his tail lashing with each rise and dip of his shoulderblades.

An’ Lawrence shifted in his chair. ‘Rosette,’ he called. ‘Come train?’

She looked at him like he’d just asked her to take out the garbage. ‘What time is it?’ she snapped.

‘Nearly midnight.’

She exhaled. ‘Right. Training sounds good.’ She turned to Kreshkali. ‘Come get me if you hear anything?’

‘You’ll likely hear before me.’ She nodded towards Drayco.

The two grabbed their swords and left the room, both temple cats following.

Annadusa let out a long, slow whistle. ‘That girl’s like a caged animal.’

‘That girl’s got a lot on her mind,’ Kreshkali answered. Her smile fell. ‘I doubt she’ll settle until he returns.’

‘It’s been hours. How long can it take to…’

Kreshkali held up her hand. ‘It takes as long as it does,’ she replied. ‘Don’t get me dwelling on it too!’

Annadusa cleared her throat. ‘Can you show me that Draconic horary chart? I’d like to see exactly how you found me.’

Kreshkali brightened. ‘It’s from a very old Lilly text. What I had to do to get it…’

Annadusa offered a quizzical look.

‘Never mind. Look at this.’ She flipped open the text. It smelled of must and leaf, like mouldy hay. She brushed away the blue powder and smiled.

‘The key to horary astrology, no matter what zodiac you’re using, is clearly identifying the rulerships associated with the question.’

The women studied the chart in detail, going over the angular aspects, checking the ephemeris for the approaching contacts of the Moon and the Arabic Part of Fortune’s relationship to the Sun. The candles hadn’t burned much lower before they heard a tap on the door.

‘Enter.’

Clay stuck his head in, his tangles of red hair obscuring his face. ‘They’re coming!’ he said. ‘He’s back.’

‘Followed?’

‘Zero is checking, but I don’t think so.’

The women were on their feet as the door swung wide. An’ Lawrence came through first, followed by Drayco and Scylla who leapt around Jarrod.

Kreshkali pulled out a chair, hugging him tight before sitting him down. ‘We were having some concerns,’ she whispered into his ear.

‘I know.’ He kissed her cheeks. ‘Me too.’

‘Hungry?’ Rosette asked, her face animated for the first time since her arrival. She brought plates and cups to the table.

‘Starving!’

‘I made enough pasta to feed an army,’ she said.

Jarrod looked at them all in turn. ‘That’s exactly what we’re going to need—an army.’

‘What do you mean, he’s tattooing DNA?’ An’ Lawrence asked.

‘I mean just that.’ Jarrod picked up the last piece of bread and wiped his plate with it. He popped the crust into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before washing it down with mulled wine brought over from Morzone.

‘Explain it again?’

He wiped his mouth. ‘You know that the work on skin, tattooing body art of any kind, has been banned by the Allied States. They cut them off if they find them.’

Rosette rubbed her left arm where the temple cat stood guard. ‘They’d have to come through my sword first…’

Jarrod leaned over and kissed her neck. ‘Most people on Earth don’t have your sword skills, love.’

‘Why stop tattooing? What possible good does it serve?’ Clay asked.

‘The tattoo ban is another means of control, another way of disconnecting people from their clans, their totems, their living myths and their sense of purpose,’ Kreshkali said.

‘Grayson’s gone round it, though. Right under their totalitarian noses.’

‘How?’

Everyone leaned towards Jarrod, waiting for his response.

‘He gets a shipment of blood once a month, for research purposes. Some of the samples are taken from those in the Resistance.’

‘There’s a Resistance?’ Kreshkali asked, her eyes widening.

‘Other than our coven here? Yes! It’s small and comprised mostly of good intentions. They lack training, but they don’t lack spirit.’

‘And they smuggle their blood into ASSIST?’ she asked, urging him to continue.

‘They do. Grayson uses an electron microscope—the only one still functioning in the Allied States—and inserts codes for dermal images in the DNA. The serum is packed into injection units and smuggled back out.’

‘But it’s too late, then,’ Kreshkali said, her brows knitted. ‘It wouldn’t appear on their skin even if the altered DNA is picked up.’

‘You’re right. It doesn’t appear on them, but it is passed onto their children, and their children’s children. He’s been doing it for decades now. New totems are already starting to run in family lines, and because they’re present from birth and on the certificates, no-one’s being charged. And they aren’t being removed. Families are able to identify each other, even if the Allied States separate them. People are getting back a sense of meaning and connection to their inner powers.’

Kreshkali whistled. ‘Interesting concept. The parents choose the tattoo?’

‘The DNA chooses,’ Jarrod said, ‘from an infinite variety of possibilities. Grayson cuts the image codes with enzymes and then it recombines at conception, creating something unique, and of course permanent. It arises from the subcutaneous layer of skin, well below the traditionally tattooed dermal layer.’