Chapter 81: Sita Surveys the Landscape

Sun December 6, 2074 6:22pm: Nulle Part, Strangetown



Sita was not an itinerant soldier but a sentinel, and she could not keep marching forever. Upon every horizon, etherial cisterns glimmered and taunted. Sita's hair was fixed away from her face, hardened by no more than the memory of sweat. Her eyes did not water from dust clouds that never settled, nor did they close with ease. Strangetown was an empty kiln that hissed all around her like an hourglass or a striking snake.



"Coyote!" Sita jumped at the sound of Orion's voice so close behind her, delivering such a gleeful warning. Her eyes darted about the parameter. "That's what the tribesman used to call him! Coyote Tvaud, the Desert Wolf." Orion leaned in close over Sita's shoulder. She could not feel the heat of his breath in the grip of the desert wind but she could smell it-- base animal protein and the filth of distances. "If not for that blind, limping puppy you and I would not be standing here today. It was he who saved the life of our ancestor, Jira Muenda, and it is for him that we are both named." Sita tried to stop walking but Orion pushed her gruffly along. Part of her wanted to ask him what he was on about. Part of her was not certain that she cared. Still another part of her knew how he liked to hear himself talk.



"And Coyote is dead, you know. They sifted the bones out of Blue Lake back when you were still just an egg in a petri dish." Orion sidled up to her so that she might feel the full effect of his expression, which was less a smile than an upturned scowl. "I bet you were too cute for words back then. Really wish I'd thought to take a few home videos but alas, I was indisposed."  A bank of clouds passed over the sun and the hard lines of his face shifted. His eyes lit like embers in the gloaming. Orion Specter was a grotesque. He coughed into the back of his hand. His elbow collided with Sita's shoulder as his arm shot up to cover his mouth. The fit lasted for a few brief seconds, during which Sita listened to the web of mucus collected in his chest. Whatever was wrong with her captor, it seemed to be getting worse. When the coughing subsided, he grabbed her by the back of the neck and shoved her forward once more.



"This is nice isn't it? Just the two of us out for a breezy autumn stroll like father and unholy abomination." His voice was becoming increasing hoarse. Fatigue assailed Sita throughout. Her knees buckled beneath her. Orion took a fistful of her collar, pushing her ahead. "But what piques my curiosity-- What really tickles my proverbial pickle, is the need to know why you were made at all. And by whom? Surely, your creation was beyond the feeble intellects of Drs. Beaker and Beaker. What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? Et cetera." Orion coughed only once. Sita picked up her feet as best she could but kept her silence. Even if she wanted to hold a conversation with this jackal, her sun-blistered lips and arid mouth were sealed shut.

"I get the sense that there are at least two of you. Your psyche is as tight as a drum and I can't hear your thoughts, but when I look you in the eye you feel... Incomplete, no?" Sita did not know what he was trying to lead her into but he could talk forever and never oblige her to respond. Even now, she thought that she could smell Sutekh's blood baked into the fibers of his clothing. "Male, I think. Your counterpart would be male. A brother. Stop me when I stray from the truth." Sita had no intention of doing any such thing. Orion grabbed her arm and wheeled about until they were facing one another. He bent down to look into her face. Sita's jaw clenched and unclenched. If she could have been granted one wish in that moment, it would have been for the ability to spit in his face.



"You play defense and he plays offense, is this not true?" Sita could see down the front of Orion's institutional clothes, to his pronounced clavicle and sunken chest. She wondered what paper clip and ball of twine had been keeping him together for all of this time. He should have collapsed days ago. Orion gripped her by both arms, shaking her as he spoke. "Who is the opposition?" Sita lowered her eyelids. She might have fallen asleep standing at this point. "What are you meant to fight?" Sita began to tip forward. Orion supported her weight. His eyebrows lowered and his nostrils flared menacingly. He was losing patience with her. If he took his hands away, she would fall but her exhaustion was such that it did not matter what he did. Nothing mattered.

A thought occurred to Sita as she nodded in and out of sleep. She had introduced herself to him as Spawn 002. Of course there were at least two of her. This tiny lie of his spoke volumes, even more than the frustration on his face. The Daemon Lotan was stumped. So long as he could not garner any information from her, she could not be manipulated.



"Want to know what I think?" Orion crept closer to her, sliding his scorched feet through the sand. "I think you look an awful lot like that Goth bitch and the resemblance is not accidental. I think that Mortimer Goth was both hammer and chain." His tone was increasing in pitch, wearing thin. Whatever he wanted from her, he was at his wits' end. Sita surveyed his peeling skin, his bloodshot eyes, the cracked landscape of his face. He could talk forever, moving like he knew no fatigue or thirst but the evidence spoke for its self. Orion was a life in decline. "Kvornan Tricou." The name emerged as a low growl. Sita looked up at him wearily. It was more of a response than she should have granted him.



Orion spun around, laughing in triumph. Sita's eyes had revealed a certain truth after all. The daemon shouted into the sky, soliciting an audience of the clouds.

"Of course! Of course this science fair project is meant to kill the Sheut! Everything comes down to him for you feckless apes! I wonder, what will you do with yourselves after he's dead? Play tiddlywinks in the parlor and reminiscence? Holy hell!" Orion turned on the spot.



"Allow me to let you in on a little secret, just between pals: Kvornan Tricou is not some dark and spectral omega. He's nothing but a sniveling brat who has been confined to the dinner table until he eats his vegetables. Now, I know what you might be thinking, 'But Orion, he doesn't want to serve! He wants his own free will! He chose vampirism and suicide and murder and--' Blah, blah, blah who gives a shit? He's Proximus Deus and if he wants a choice, it's because they're prepared to give him one. Either he serves in heaven or he reigns elsewhere." Orion swiveled his hips away from her to cough into the crook of his elbow. Sita thought she saw spots of blood mixed in with his saliva.

"Or at least that's just what I think," he said. Orion yanked her forward by the wrist. "Come along, Sita Tvaud! Mustn't be late for our appointment with your rescue party."

Chapter 69: Sita Dampens the Ink

Weds, December 2, 2074 3:16 am: Facility Eleven; Idylewilde, Strangetown



The military base in Idylewilde existed only as interior space like an oubliette or a womb. It was a self-contained universe-- A snow globe draped in mortar. Sita Tvaud was bred and raised here-- a child of science and atrocity and hush money. At twenty-three, she had scarcely left the facility. Countless hours were spent watching one copper door oxidize while guarding another. Her world was four feet in front of her, five inches behind and sixty feet on either side.



Until recently, Sita had been a warden for the women's camp on the premises, in charge of a hundred or so illegals. Her present reassignment was somewhat of a promotion but Sita was finding it to be almost torturous for the boredom involved. The sector was so remote that if not for the hiss of the steam tunnels, she might have assumed that she was going deaf. This was what it felt like to be in perfect stasis. Sita was restless from skin to pith.

Footsteps sounded at the far end of the corridor. Voices. Sita turned to her partner who did not move but whose eyes appeared fixed in concentration. No one was meant to be on this floor of the compound. Sita clamped her hands behind her back and stood at attention, listening.



There were two distinct sets of boots, landing in time with one another. RDI agents. Sita knew by the collision of buckles with leather and hard vinyl. Her heart leapt into her throat, thinking for a brief instant that one of them might be her brother, returned from his assignment. But the footfalls were too light and too slow to be Hyperion. Sita then caught the agents at the cusp of her field of vision as they rounded the corner.



"Do you feel that?" The blond grabbed his forehead, then slid his hand down his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. "It's like a pick-axe tunneling through my fucking skull."

Sita knew what he was referring to. Her partner Sutekh complained of the occasional peculiar migraine that struck at constant intervals with precision of a metronome.

"You need to stop drinking on the job, Crius." The dark one scanned the hallway as he spoke, seeming to second guess his own skepticism.

"No, it's... Something is wrong up here." The blond breathed heavily through his nose. When the pair finally noticed Sita and Sutekh, they barely broke their stride. The blond smiled at her, all slime and scales. A crocodile. Sita moved to shield the door.



"I warn you to keep your distance, officers. This sector is under quarantine. Research personnel only," she said. The blond took a step towards her.

"We have clearances from the Magister Templi to patrol these corridors until further notice. You got a problem, take it up with him." Sita cocked her head to the side, surveying the officer. She was annoyed with his attitude and discovering a perverse enjoyment in her own annoyance. At this point, she would put up with any little vexation just to feel something. The blond nodded his head towards the door behind them.

"The fuck you people keep locked up in there, anyway?" His tone was rhetorical but Sita rose her eyebrows and responded.

"Unless you want to find out first hand, I suggest that you carry on patrolling, officer."



The blond's face went blank as if he were taking the time to evaluate Sita and her threat. The thought made her feel dreadful but she may have been just bored enough to toss this imbecile into the lion's den. Maybe his friend as well. If two trees fall in the forest and no one is there to hear them, they will not make a sound. This is an absolute.

The creature behind the door had not moved for nearly eighteen years but Sita did not doubt the damage that it could still perform even and most especially in its dormancy. The headaches alone served as clues that there was activity beyond the door that could only be perceived by the particularly sensitive. Sita was not sensitive. She was not built to be. This is why she had Sutekh. His receptivity acted as her lantern in the dark, alerting her to coming danger. The black-haired agent tapped the blond on the arm.

"We need to finish up here," he said. The blond nodded in agreement but seemed somehow disoriented. Sita supposed that the headaches were worsening. She turned to Sutekh. He appeared to be immune. As the two men departed from the scene, the blond took several long stares behind him. It was enough for Sita to infer that he was under attack, specifically. The creature's energy was discriminating, not flooding like other beings'. It knew direction and precision. There was little wonder that Moritmer Goth had attempted to weaponize it. Sita flexed her fingers, curling and uncurling her fists. She was death by design.



The door at the end of the corridor closed behind the two agents and everything was still. Sutekh leaned his head against the door.

"You shouldn't provoke them," he said quietly. Sita sniffed in disdain.

"Why not? I eat boys like that for breakfast."

"We need to remain as innocuous as possible."

"Su, if they were looking for someone innocuous to guard this door then they would have posted Hyperion here and sent me to Riverblossom." This was not entirely true. Sita's twin brother came and went as he pleased. Sita was kept under lock and key because she looked far too much like their mother, who had been a famous beauty. The sight of her would have been a shock for a lot of people. "In fact, if Hyperion were to--" Sita paused. At first, she did not know what it was that silenced her but after a few seconds of biting her tongue, it became clear. The steam that she had been hearing for days passing through the tunnels below her had ceased. If that was not peculiar enough, in its place was a soft squeaking sound like the far-off torturing of mice.



"What is that?" she whispered.

"Shh!" Sita and Sutekh turned to face one another as they each independently came to the same conclusion. There was some mild shuffling and more squeaking, though louder this time. Sutekh hurried to place his palm on the door and undo the magic that kept it fixed. The sounds were coming from within the room.



The door gave way with a powerful jolt that threw Sutekh a little ways backward. Sita caught him by his shoulders as he staggered and pulled him forward into the cell.

A purple glow permeated the space and leaked no farther than the entry. There were no light fixtures in the room, no source of illumination. At the center of it all was the prisoner, thin and brittle as a cornhusk doll. His lank black hair fell into his eyes. His chest rattled with each intake of breath. Was this the monster that she had been warned about? He looked as though a gentle breeze could blow him away.



The creature hazarded a few steps towards Sita and her partner, dragging an IV drip along with him. The wheels on the IV revealed themselves to be the source of the squeaking as they turned over the filthy tiled floor. The creature held out the pole for their inspection.

"If this is what passes for a continental breakfast at this establishment then you will have to forgive me if I do not seem overly impressed," the creature growled. Sutekh stood gaping. Perhaps he had never expected to find himself here, face to face with something like Orion Specter. The creature locked eyes with Sita and came closer, IV drip in tow.



"You look familiar," he said slowly. "Have I frightened you before?"

Sita tried to moisten her lips with her tongue but it did no good as her entire mouth had gone dry. There was something both stately and formidable about the man who peered at her from behind the IV pole like a king who could not be bothered to move his scepter to the side.



"My name is Colonel Sita Tvaud. I am Spawn Number 002 and I'm..." Sita could not finish her sentence. She was what? An amateur gardener? A bird-watching enthusiast? A test tube miracle created from genetic samples taken from Orion himself?

The creature's eyes glittered with a renewed sense of life and wonderment. It was like seeing pigment long bereft of its fluidity again dampened, born again as ink. Orion knew who she was. It was written all over his face. And the knowledge seemed to ignite some semblance of his former self within him.



"Well played, Dr. Beaker." The creature's tone was low as though he were speaking more to himself than to anyone else. He ran his hand up and down the metal post absently. "Well played," he repeated.

Chapter 61: Selket Tears The Fabric

Sun, November 29, 2074 7:37 pm- Ethelden Palace- Amhurst, Veronaville



Selket learned to navigate passages by tracing handprints along the wall, heeding individual currents of breath, listening for expired voices. The narrow halls that lead to Ahriman's study were heavily trafficked by Magi and students. All Selket needed was to follow the displaced pebbles at her feet. The names of each passing visitor were etched into the dust. With her eyes shut tight, there was no place that she could not find by trailing after those who had been before her.

But tonight, Selket was seeking out one former presence in particular and most exceptionally, she came up with nothing. There was not a whisper of the palace Subaltern. The sickly young woman kept close enough counsel with the Sheut to know what sorts of magic existed in the world. And for that reason she touched nothing, breathed little, faded into obscurity as needed. That had been Selket's first clue. If Imina Brylowe left a scarf in this study, then she meant to leave a scarf.



"Peace be with you, Mistress Redding." Selket opened her eyes. The room was bathed in light, sweetened by a pale smoke. Sand hissed as it slipped through the neck of an hourglass. Ahriman inclined his head towards her. "This is rather unexpected," he said placidly.

"But welcome, I hope." As she spoke, her voice trailed. Slowly, she looked to her left, feeling as though she were being watched.



The atmosphere was so congested with energy that Selket had not initially noticed Magus Rodin seated at the far end of the room. His copper eyes openly traced the contours of her body, appraising her as he might have done to a rooster before a cock fight. Selket turned her head away from him, pretending to take interest in the objects littered throughout the room. Rodin should have been divested weeks ago. But Selket rarely argued with Ahriman's judgement, even when she thought it to be impolitic.

"May I offer you a seat?" Ahriman asked. His voice was soft. His eyes, serene. Selket fidgeted, briefly torn between what she wanted and what she ought.

"Thank you but might we speak in private?" she said, passing a glance over her shoulder at Rodin. The Magus threw back his head and addressed Ahriman alone.

"Magister Templi, I don't think it terribly appropriate to let a woman-"



"Please," Ahriman interrupted, making a swooping gesture towards the door. Magus Rodin paused before gathering his satchel with a huff. As he exited the study, his robes brushed against Selket's shoulder. It was almost as though he meant to emphasize the bareness of her arms. But she knew that he wasn't quite so clever as that. Selket gathered her skirts and moved towards the desk.



"That boy is a hypocritical ass," she blurted, landing heavily on the cushion adjacent Ahriman. He raised his eyebrows only slightly.

"Selket..." he whispered. She leaned forward over the desk, pausing when Ahriman's posture stiffened. She had never known him to back away from anything as he did her proximity, curling in upon himself like a centipede. She clutched the edge of the desk, lowering her voice to a hiss.

"Why is he still here? You can't seriously intend to stuff him beneath your skirts and pray that the vampire Sheut doesn't reach him there," she chastised. Ahriman winced. If he were furious enough, the vampire would go through Ahriman to get to Rodin and not think twice.

"Well what would you have me do? Cast him to the wolves? He's my nephew." Selket waved her hands impatiently at the question.

"Send him to the colonies or something. Have him study at the monastery. Out of sight, out of mind."

"And if Imina chooses to go with him? We would be inviting the Sheut's anger. It's a risk, Selket. And a terrible one."

"So don't give her the choice!" The bookcases behind Ahriman quaked. In her annoyance, Selket had not meant to do that. She slumped low over the desk.



Hell rot Rodin Chi'en. If Ahriman wasn't careful, he would be hurt or worse-- scrutinized. And that was the last thing that either of them needed.

"Send him in secret. Send him while the vampire is away. Don't even give him time to pack. Just get him out. I know that you feel obligated to the boy but for the love of God, where are your limits? He's an idiot and a fornicator. He brought this upon himself. The fact that you did not simply dismiss him out of hand has people talking. If the vampire discovers that he is still a Magus, it will be an insult. Best case scenario would be that he lets Rodin alone but keeps a close eye on you. We walk a fine line, Magister Templi. And you bring too much attention to yourself by getting involved." Ahriman massaged his temples with his fingertips. To her, it seemed a sign of indecision. But she would press and press until his resolve gave way. She would not allow a fool like Rodin to bring down the greatest leader that the resistance had ever seen.



"I... Rodin cannot be replaced. None of the students are ready to be Magi. Most of them will never be ready. This problem is not a Gordian knot, Selket. We are, as they say, screwed," he murmured.

Selket knitted her brow, casting her eyes down into the grain of the wood beneath her hands. She was beginning to see the framework of God's great design, the extraordinary plexus of causal relations that snaked through eternity with gaping mouths seeking their own tails. Rodin was expendable because he needed to be.



"No," she said. "There is someone. He would need training but only a few months' worth. I think he would take Rodin's mantel if you offered it. But you will want to meet with him regardless. He is... exceptional. His name is Jack Dalton. He's a teenaged numbers runner for Addison London. I met with him. He has a field of magical energy that borders on divine. And he knows how to use it."Ahriman's face fell into disbelief.

"Come again?"

"I think he might be Orion Specter's son."

A palpable silence blanketed the room. Ahriman's usual sense of composure and decorum withered. Perhaps he thought that she had taken leave of her senses. Selket grabbed his hands.



"No matter what you think of me or what I've done-- No matter if you're stupid enough to keep Rodin Chi'en in your employ-- We need this boy on our side. He understands his magic intuitively. I've never seen anything like it. If we don't get to him first someone else will. Do you trust me?" Ahriman relaxed against the back of his chair. She had only ever asked that question of him once before and the answer had been yes then, even against all logic. Ahriman nodded.

"Rodin leaves tonight."

November 27, 2054 1:04 am- Vajra Maximum Security Penitentiary- Mantua, Veronaville (Twenty Years earlier)



"Hello, Magus." The room shook to the timbre of the prisoner's greeting. Selket froze, taken aback by this manifestation of his vigor. She had expected to find him more than half dead, bloated and festering like some tempest-tossed corpse. But as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, it became glaring apparent that he was nothing of the sort.



Selket stepped forward tentatively, her face falling into shadow. It was remarkable, really. The man that she had seen on the floor of this cell two weeks prior had been just a stone's throw away from the grave. She was certain that no one had been attempting to correct the situation and yet there he sat, healthy and even relatively clean.



"I do wish you would pick up the phone and give me a ring before popping 'round like this. If I'd known that I was having guests, I might have stuffed a roast in the oven. Fancy a G and T? I'll go get the pinocle deck." Selket's English was not colloquial enough to have understood about a third of what Orion was saying and she suspected that he knew as much. She shook her head and exhaled.

"I've come to ask you a favor," she said in her language. The daemon smiled, almost expectantly.

"Ask away."

"Tell me the truth about your purpose here."



Orion rose to his full height, at once magnificent and monstrous. Selket reminded herself that what she asked was no small token. She did not know what his orders from Deus Rex were. She did however know that whatever the task, they had enlisted a creature who was quite literally the father of lies. The truth was guarded.

Orion walked towards her and she held her ground. Smirking lasciviously, he wrapped his fingers around the bars.

"What will you give me in return?"



"I have the ability to let you out. And if you care about your mission, you will answer me honestly."

"Sorry, love. I only trade like for like. If you want me to reveal a truth to you, I must receive a truth in return. Else I will discover naught."

"I have nothing to hide."

"Oh don't you?"



Selket bowed her head, understanding what he wanted-- A truth that was in proportion to her with what his truth was to him. Orion reached for her face and she pushed him away.

"Don't touch me," she snapped.

"I could go back to sleep, if you like."

"You're vile."

"Am I to take that as a yes?"



Orion pivoted slightly and Selket grabbed at his sleeve. Her hand trembled, more from the thought of what she would have to do than from the act of touching him. The former Magister Templi recognized her potential and ordered her face covered before she learned to walk. She herself was not entirely certain of what she looked like beneath the veil. Her mother tied it each morning, painted and masked her. Selket was only ever handed a mirror after the chore was complete.

"This game is starting to bore me, Magus." Orion tugged his sleeve from her grasp. Selket pressed her forehead against the bars.

"How can I trust you?" she whispered.

"You can't."



She pulled away from the bars and ran her palms over her head. In one fell swoop, the many pins and scarves that held her together packed themselves neatly into the interior pockets of her robe. The paint washed from her face. Her hair tumbled down in smooth sheets.

She could not trust Orion but if the safety of the Ib was truly at stake then her choices were few. She was prepared to let him go if only he told her what she wanted to hear. She was prepared to be either right or wrong in doing so. She was prepared to defend her actions. In a few moments, there would be no going back.



Orion looked her in the eyes, far more directly than he had done a moment before. He was trying to make her feel vulnerable and it was working. The focus of his energy shifted. She did not know what to make of it.

"I underestimated you, Magus. I didn't think that you would do that," he said.

"Our bargain?"



"I was sent to put events into motion that would lead to the destruction of a vampire who threatens the sanctity of the Ib."

"The Sheut of Proximus Deus, you mean?"

"Ah. Yes. That. Maybe," he chuckled, inclining his head to the side. Selket rolled her eyes. Evidently, her collateral was spent. She ran her hands up the flaking bars, searching for an opening. Ahriman's matrix of enchantments was daunting but if she knew him, which she did, then the structure would not be without its weak points.

"Stand back," she cautioned. Orion leaned away but otherwise did not budge.



"Such talent. And you tuck it away from prying eyes just as proficiently as you cover your pretty face. You have surpassed him in your abilities, you know. He fears this from you. He is not stupid."

Selket's nostrils flared but she did not allow the daemon to distract her from her work. The strength of the encasement on the jail cell alone proved Ahriman's competence. Selket's careful ability to slip between the sinews and tear its fabric from the inside proved her mastery.



"We have a lot in common you and I," Orion rasped. "We exist behind great barriers of mystery." The bars sparked visibly. Selket let go by reflex. She had made a misstep. She began again, running her palms over imperceptible locks.

"I am a Magus," she said, drawing a firm, distinguishing line between herself and the man behind the iron. He smirked in response.

"Yes. And 'in your heart is a secret knowledge and on your tongue, an encrypted word.' My sister wrote many of the tomes you study. I could recite them for you verbatim. But even on a more basic level-- We ask ourselves the same questions, do we not? Our magic is but a mediocre imitation of His genius. It then becomes a debate of authenticity-- genuine achievement versus clever posturing. And if what we do is the latter with no chance of achieving the former then we are liars by our very nature." Here he paused to take a wheezing breath. Selket could hear the phlegm dividing in his chest. The bars rattled as the encasement bent to her will. Selket pursed her lips.

"I have no interest in your sophistry."

"Just making small talk." The doors gave way with a heavy clank and Orion skipped backwards as the magical barrier shattered.



With one final push, the door swung inward. For a moment, they only stared at each other across a threshold of open air. Selket knew from Ahriman that the man Orion Specter had spent his entire life in cages. She wondered how much of that was hardwired into the mind of the daemon who now stood before her-- If he was so accustomed to boundaries that he would not attempt to transverse them even in their absence.

Selket stepped into the gateway, thinking that she would need to pull him from the cell but he charged directly for her.



She ran backwards for a few paces but he caught her, seizing her by the arms. Her stomach lurched when she realized that she was outmatched both physically and magically. He could lay her to waste right there.

"Now here's where the fun begins. You've just off-set a silent alarm. The guards will be here in less than three minutes. I am going to leave by way of the southwest passage and stow away on the 2:10 train to Kings Contrivance with a final destination of Millhaven, Pleasantview. You will know all of this but you will tell the officers under threat of torture that you sent me on the ferry to Kent. The coast guard will overtake the ferry. I will be halfway to Lanceshire. And you may want to get used to this whole bare-faced thing you have going on here because the Magister Templi is going to be pissed. Luckily though, it's a good look for you. Really brings out your eyes. And your nose. And your lips.

Where was I? Oh, right. Divestment. You'll be divested. Ahriman will tell everyone you're a fornicator since no one really knows that I'm here or what-all I am in any case and that will serve as his justification. He will feel comfortable in his lie because you're going to tell him that you came back to see me because you were fascinated by my very existence and when he senses little bits of my energy tangled up in yours, he's going to assume that you're a fornicator anyway. Then you're going to say that you let me out because it would have been cruel to let me die. Are you with me so far?"



Orion grabbed her waist with one hand and her wrist with the other. Her body involuntarily lurched to meet his. For an instant, she was swept into the folds of his life force, not lost but enveloped entirely. From this vantage point, she could see the entire anatomy of his soul. There was the smokeless flame and here were its crimson wings.

"This is my contribution but you don't get to keep it. It's unstable." With that, he delivered a jolt of energy so strong that she seized. White hot tendrils of electricity surged through her, wiping her mind clear of all thought.



Orion pulled her in close. As her sense of reality returned, she became very acutely aware of her own heartbeat and the fact that he was controlling it. He had dangled her at the cusp of death and was now reeling her back in. Even as her body stopped shaking and the pressure in her head equalized, her awareness broke away. Selket was an outside observer to everything that she might have previously deemed self. Her consciousness was a double-sided mirror. She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to free herself of sensations that went beyond the realm of normal human experience.

"I don't understand." She had not meant to say it aloud. Orion stroked her hair and whispered in her ear.

"You are not here for you have risen."

Chapter 57: The Sheut Sees Beyond The Noise

Fri November 27, 2074 4:01 am- 88 Wilkins Ave. Camden, Pleasantview



In the beginning, there was nought and the nought was called God, uniform in its perfection. Today this nought stands like the silver coat backing a mirror- Known but essentially unknowable. And the Sheut passed through it, a man stepping into his own reflection, an insect beating a path beneath the thrones of Titans.

Music. The chime of silverware. Hushed laughter. When the Sheut opened his eyes to the light, his wings brushed against the oak wall of an upscale restaurant.



Ermengarde's psyche hummed with the gentle din of polite conversation and of a woman singing through the overhead speakers. I don't want you but I hate to lose you. You got me in between the devil and the deep blue sea.

The restaurant was packed with well-dressed patrons, swiveling their liquor and crossing their legs disinterestedly. At first, the Sheut did not understand how one little girl could accommodate so many entities but as they turned one by one to look at him, he knew.



It was as though some ghastly hand had rubbed their features clean away like the rain might have done to an old penny. These people were figments- False energies conjured up as a sort of battering ram to crash through Ermengarde's already paper-thin psyche. Beyond the veil of noise, the Sheut could make out the depressions where their faces should have been. They were not real. But their master was. And he was necessarily seated some place in that room. The Sheut's gaze filtered through the crowd.



Deep down, he had always known that something like this would happen. His situation with Elise was so unusual and so precarious that by its very nature, it was bound to attract unwanted attention. There were creatures in the universe that served only chaos. If they thought that they could alter the course of the history by destroying the Ib through those she loved, they would.



I forgive you 'cause I can't forget you. You got me in between the devil and the deep blue sea. The Sheut hated that song. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply. The room fell instantly still.



"I am Kvornan, Sheut of the Fifth Age and your presence here contradicts the mandate of our will. Who answers for this trespass?"

Nothing stirred at first. And then slowly, the army of figments parted, leaning away from their center like tree branches in the wind.



There was a man at the heart of the crowd, stony and calculating. He looked the Sheut dead in the eyes as if to say, I dare you and the Sheut unfurled his wings in warning. Somewhere in the universe, time was lost and gained. The Sheut bared his fangs.

"Where is the child," he growled. Taking sudden amusement in the situation, the man tilted back his head and chuckled. The figments began socializing anew as if the Sheut had never been.



"Waiter!" the man shouted. "There appears to be a fly in my soup."

His words were followed by an abrupt silence. The record stopped. Everyone vanished. The presence had seemingly fled. All that remained was the Sheut, stewing in his unheeded majesty. It was farcical, really.

The Sheut took a few swift steps through the empty room. Ermengarde might have been somewhere unreachable by now. He prayed that she was not. He looked about the room for an exit and when he found it, something darted near the corner of his eye.



He paused in mid-stride. Before him was a child of thirteen or so, barring the doorway like some kind of giggling sentinel. He paused as the Sheut had paused. He dropped his arms when the Sheut dropped his arms. He tilted his head and stood with the dignity of a king when the Sheut merely stood.



"Who in the hell are you?" the Sheut breathed. The boy began giggling anew. He tossed his long black hair over his shoulder, revealing a gracefully pointed ear.

"No. Who in the hell are you?" he parroted.



Alexei had once described to the Sheut his experience of working as a newspaper printer in the late 1980's- How he learned to read from right to left. How habit taught him to think backwards. When Alexei Garrison closed his eyes at night, he saw the image of his bedroom in reverse. Life is a wall of mirrors. And this was the view from behind the glass.



The boy's laughter quieted. Candlelight flickered across his face, revealing his eyes to be a clear, silvery violet. The Sheut stood bereft of his body but he could almost feel his heart palpitating. He took one step forward and the boy took a step back.

"Don't go," the Sheut whispered.

"Betcha can't catch me," the boy replied. The Sheut moved towards the boy at a cautious, delicate pace and the boy moved backwards at the same pace; a man chasing his own reflection. Before he knew it, the Sheut was through the kitchen door, standing in an open-air colonnade, naked to the night sky.



The boy was gone. Birds were singing their last atop trees thick with moss. The Sheut could sense a presence nearby but it was not the man from the restaurant. It was a gentler, feebler energy. He pressed ahead, beneath the crumbling stone arches and the swaying vines. His pace slowed as he approached the garden wall where the object of all his searching recoiled from his light.



"Am I dead," Ermengarde asked. The Sheut raised his eyebrows involuntarily, curious as to why this would have been her first thought. Perhaps the living all knew him by sight. He pursed his lips and shook his head sympathetically.

"No," he said simply.



The Sheut waded towards her through the grass and she sucked in her breath, recoiling further still.

"It's ok. I'm here to bring you back," he assured her.

"But the people with no faces-"

"They're gone. It's just you and me now." Ermengarde's fretful pout softened but her body still tensed. The Sheut halted just in front of her on the cobblestone path.



"Are you ok," the Sheut asked. Ermengarde nodded but said nothing. Her eyes widened and her lips parted, wordlessly conveying her astonishment. He did not know what he looked like to her but he wished that he could put her more at ease. Crouching down to her level, he examined her energy. She was addled and a little distraught but otherwise fine. He sighed in relief and stroked her cheek in gratitude to whatever force had preserved her.



"Do you think they'll come back?" Ermengarde asked.

"I won't let them. Come, you've been very brave and now it's time to go." As he said the words, he felt like he had said them a million times, in a million guises, to a million little girls. You've been brave... Time to go. Ermengarde's smile was sad and quivering. The Sheut opened his arms to her and she fell into them, gracelessly. He caught her by the waist.



"Gosh, you're pretty. What's your name?" she said. The Sheut lifted her up into his arms.

"I'm called Kvornan." He gently brushed her hair from her eyes and flattened her skirts even though both were only a temporary condition of the dream-state. Ermengarde scrunched up her face in confusion.

"Can I just call you Forn?" she asked. The Sheut chuckled.

"Yes but only you may. No one else." Ermengarde threaded her fingers through his hair and leaned her head against his. She was tired, he could see that now.

"It's ok. I have a hard name too. It's Ermengarde," she said, almost confidentially. The Sheut gave her the most befuddled look that he could muster.

"Herman Gourd?" he asked.

"No, Ermengarde."



"Irwin Lard?" Ermengarde laughed giddily.

"No, Ermengarde!"

"Sherwin Card?"

"Ermengarde!"



"I'm just teasing. I know your name. It's Earwig Garden, isn't it?"

"Nooo! It's Ermengarde! E- R- M- E- N-"



The world was fading. Soon, Ermengarde Mindelsohn would awaken in her bed to find a pale young man asleep in a chair beside her. And for the first time in months, she would feel safe.