cogito

Scene from Early Eternity

In the afterlife we wandered unbounded by time or space and took in all the wonder in the universe and beyond. It was unspeakably amazing, enough to burst your heart with joy had you still had a heart. But, what can I say? The adaptability of our souls is boundless too and soon we fell into familiar habits of listlessness and searching for what else, something else, something more.

Most evenings – though evening was a very different notion there that I’ll not bother trying to explain to you – a lot of us gathered at Adam’s, a favorite bar. We’d drink a little or a lot and shoot the breeze about this or that, the wonder of it all, what comes next now. We’d sit in small groups, some alone on the periphery, and while away the lack of time, pushing futilely forward toward the other end of all this endlessness.

One guy sat mostly alone all the time, incredibly drunk and blue. Everyone knew him as Willie, and everyone knew that he was the guy who created the universe. You could forget about asking him all the questions you might have, though. He was never in any condition to answer, poor haunted bastard. He was the only one of us who never left Adam’s. I guess he had no interest in the wonder of it all.

The topic came up more often as the evenings came, one after the other. You’d get a little bit of a buzz on and then someone would say, “So, what do you think they mean when they say, ‘forever’?” Everyone was worried about it. Forever is a damn long time in all this timelessness. “We’re off the clock,” people joked, though fewer people laughed at it each time.

As for me, I tried not to worry about it. I tried to just enjoy the next sight, the next idea, the next evening, the next drink. “It could be worse, you know. It could be a hell of a lot worse than endless wonder,” I said.

One evening as I was leaving he stumbled out of the shadows by the door and grabbed my lapels, tottering unstably against me and peering shakily into my eyes. “So, whaddya think?” he slurred up pungently.

“A-about what, Willie?” I stammered.

He just looked with wavering intensity into my eyes and said nothing. I could feel his resolve disintegrating as his hands slipped from my lapels. Soon he dropped his gaze and started to turn away. “About what. Yeah,” he mumbled with a wheezy chuckle.

“It’s quite nice,” I blurted, but he just kept staggering toward his stool. “Very… wondrous.”

Transplant Rambling Blues

Stepping off the bus, a wild-eyed farm animal in this cosmopolitan jungle, I was immediately stabbed in the gut of my heart by the thug mugger of this city's beauty, a metaphor in case that isn't clear. Later on, under the influence of a nightclub's violent musical assault, she asked me above her cleavage if I felt at home here yet, if I felt like this city was my home. After a long pause, I told the place where she had been standing that I was terrified of becoming so numb to humanity that I did not feel overwhelmed by this place. She didn't understand, having walked away, and I was left dancing badly by myself. Sometimes, in the park, I tell the trees that I've met their distant cousins, far away in a place where trees plant people and tend to them but people often cannot survive in great numbers because the climate is more suitable for plants and wildlife. I like to imagine seeing coyotes on the horizon in this place. I like to imagine horizons. When, defeated and relieved, I get back on that bus to the real world, my greatest fear is that the people back home won't recognize me, won't let me back in. "You've changed," they'll say. "That city has ruined you." Maybe someone can take me up by Eagle Pond and fell me into a dirt grave, like we did with horses back on the farm. Meanwhile I'm on a subway and a man who smells like vomit it asking me if I trust the church. I'm pretending not to hear him, pretending not to smell him, pretending not to taste him in the roof of my mouth. I don't want him to feel despair, but I want him to disappear from my world. We want these cruelties sometimes, in a city like this. Far above this clackety train car buildings thrive in the city soil, pushing their penthouses up to drink in the sun of this new morning, people crawling all over them like bugs. "We pollinate the buildings like bees," I say, laughing, but the man is gone.

Jumper

She lives near the top floor of the tall high-rise, in an apartment her friend once described derisively as "post-pubescent and pre-informed", words she now has tattooed in Victorian script above her left shoulder blade. The homeless man who watches her come and go from the post of his eternal vigil beside the mail drop box thinks of her as Asian, though she is half Puerto Rican and half American mixto. Her window high above the street is always open, symbolizing the endless opportunity funded for her by her wealthy parents, with whom she never speaks. "I am an artist," she lies, when people ask her what she does. Sometimes she throws pieces of bread out through the open window at the unsuspecting world below, but this wouldn't impress anyone as much as a fantasy of art might. Her only art is standing naked with her eyes closed and her arms upraised in front of the blast of harsh, angry guitar raging from her expensive music system, art her neighbors all hate because they only get to hear it, not see it. The music rouses something less dead in her soul, something almost alive, almost vital. It gives her the scraps of resolve she needs to throw on something revealing and head out past the homeless man to abuse herself around town, to let others have a go at her, to crawl home to the elevator that loves her. For her life is an apartment in an empty world, where she's not an artist, not even Asian. Death is like bread falling naked to the ravenous masses below, guitar music fading away far above.

Kindling

Suddenly, in my mind, you are a fire. Lying back and looking up at you I see it in the way you move almost silently, only the occasional soft breath sound, something between a moan and a sigh, as I watch you through careful, distant eyes. It's a thing I do, forcing myself to think deliberate thoughts while you kindle from a smolder to something more. "You are a flame and I am a wick," I joke to myself, being careful not to dispel the delicate balance with a laugh or smile. Interruption, the sudden evaporation of so much good in the world, would be a tragedy for me. Breathing in deeply I trace with my eyes up the faint line in the center of your stomach, loitering casually around your breasts and up your neck to your lips, barely parted, and then to your eyes. They are gypsy dark in the dim light, and I cannot tell if they are closed or if they are opened slightly, watching me. I imagine taking you in my arms, risking your capricious but gentle fire, and holding you close to my chest. You are wilder than I am and more beautiful. You frighten me and excite me and I feel, briefly, as though my pleasure and joy is just the grace of your playful, powerful whim. You bring me to the end of the strength of my will and I begin to lose control. Then your rhythms, the pulse of your legs and the quickening of your breath, whisper sweet things I am waiting to hear. Closing my eyes I feel my silly, empty thoughts burn away as I am overcome and consumed by you.

What It's Like

It's like a dream, the dream where I call after you and you don't stop, though I know you hear. It's like waking up with a nail driven through your chest and thinking, "But, I don't even believe in the hammer." It's like your hands drop everything they carry because your mind insists there is nothing you can lift or grasp for long. Have you ever been there, insisting your eyes are wide open when you've glued them shut? Do you describe with conviction the world you imagine as though you can see through your own eyelids?

Perhaps we should go away somewhere. Pack up everything we don't need and bring it with us. Leave the practical world to get by. I'll sit on the beach with you, though you know I hate the sand, and you can face me. We'll only tell each other the truth, nothing between us but the warm, salty breeze blowing in off the ocean. The sun will set and the moon will rise. The tide will ebb and flow. Can you hear the birds? Where have you gone?

Sometimes the familiar comfort of being unwell draws us into its cottony grey. I'm learning, that's all, to recognize the pandering lies of my own mind. I have wellness in my hands, holding on tight.

Here There Is No Sky

At first it was considered by most to be a sort of honor, the notion of being the center of everything. At first it seemed to mean that we were important. Over the centuries, however, the perception changed. Most people began to think of it as a sort of cruel joke.

I'm talking, of course, about the revelations of space travel.

At first space travel was a fiction for humanity.

Then technology progressed and space travel became a feeble reality, and it stayed this way for almost a hundred years, puttering around in Earth's orbit or to the moon or to the nearest planets.

Then, after a few depressing failures to send humans to neighboring planets, space travel was abandoned. People decided it was too expensive and yielded no material benefit.

Almost a hundred years after that, however, revolutionary advances in energy production technology made far-reaching space travel truly feasible. Then it became a mighty movement. Ships were built and people were trained and hopes were high and humanity exploded out in every direction.

Then, as the ships pushed farther and farther away, it didn't take long for the shock of all ages to set in. People argued about it for a bit, but it was too obvious to refute.

After that space travel became a cynical distraction, a trifling reminder of the empty mystery of our position in the universe.

Earth, the most important place. But why?

"Like ancient Hollywood movie sets," was how people described what they found. "Real from one perspective, but fake from any other." Everything faced Earth. Everything happened toward Earth. Once you left the perspective of Earth far enough, it was undeniable. All of these things that seemed interesting and alive and three dimensional from far away just became, when you got closer to them, a farce, an act played out for the benefit of one spectator.

Earth.

At first the religions seized on it as some sort of vindication. It did smack of higher intelligence, of an obvious order to things, of architecture. But where was the architect? Over the ensuing centuries of silence, the arbitrary senselessness of it all became the unspoken bother and anxiety of all of humanity. People began to feel a sort of cosmic paranoia, as though we were being watched by persons who refused to show their faces. "Maybe something happened to them," some conjectured. Cults grew up to mourn the accidental death of the gods. "Their plans were so carefully laid, and now nothing will ever come of them." They said. "We thank you for your intentions," they prayed.

Slowly, cynicism turned to the determined optimism of a new kind of human rebellion. People began migrating to "Out of Focus" stations scattered around the universe. Most of these were situated behind large objects, where Earth wasn't even visible. First generation humans in these settlements always had the same complaint: they all missed the sky. "From here the sky is so empty," they would say, staring up into someone else's sky, having no sky of their own. Later generations, of course, were not bothered by this. Instead an odd, irrational creed arose among them. "Here," they would say, "there is no architect but us. Here there is no Earth. Here there is no sky."

Aphter: Epilogue

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Epilogue

After several days inside my new head, I was almost used to myself again. Almost.

I was almost used to the strange discomfort of floating memories. I had never really noticed before how memories are chained together, how you can move freely from a memory to the situation in which you gained that memory to the next situation. Even if you don't traverse the pathway, it's there. You could, at least in general, figure out where a memory came from. You could answer the question, "Why do I know this?" It's a thing I had always taken for granted, until my brain was invaded by all these memories, by all this information, that had no business there. Now I looked memories up in my own brain like in a telephone book or a dictionary. I just thought about a person, or saw them, and my brain rushed to all the details about them.

Well, not all the details. I didn't really know people, I just knew about them. I knew where they lived, where they came from, who their family members were, things like that. I could make small talk with everyone in this damn ghost town.

It wasn't all bad. There was something intriguing about getting to know strangers you already knew so much about. It was like filling in the blanks. At first people reacted strangely to me, but word spread pretty quickly in this town. By now it seemed everyone knew there was a new Sheriff. No one ever called me Al anymore, except Freddie and Dad. They knew.

In the past few days I had also almost gotten used to the constant chatter in my head of these damned birds. They were everywhere, watching everything. They reported in to each other constantly, keeping the whole group informed of what was happening all over town. And I got to listen in. I had my own, personal bird brain. "Alan Wayne Hall," they called me. "There is a disturbance at the house of Saul Moorin, Alan Wayne Hall. Please intervene." "You should greet newcomer Tingxiao Yang, Alan Wayne Hall." "The knights are harassing Romeo di Marti again, Alan Wayne Hall." Never a break from the birds calling my name, but I had learned to listen in the back of my head. I was sorting it all out. I was almost used to is all.

Almost.

"You are required at Lifegate, Alan Wayne Hall."

"What was that?," I thought to myself. "Lifegate? What is Lifegate? Oh, right. Lifegate. Hmmm. Interesting."

It took a while to walk to Lifegate from the Twilight Zone. I didn't take the train because I could tell there was no real urgency. I wanted to see some of the places I knew about in my head, to connect more memories to something real and tangible. They were more palatable that way.

When I got near the Center, I entered the small, stone house that had sat empty for as long as anyone could remember. People called it "Gatehouse," though no one knew why. No one except me, that is. I had talked to Dad and Freddie and they both told me that all that disconnected knowledge goes away when you lost the job. I looked forward to that day.

I opened the back bedroom closet in Gatehouse and bent to lift the trap door in the floor. Propping, the trap door open, I lowered myself through the opening and, with my feet, found the top of the ladder on the wall below. I hopped down to the ladder and climbed down into the strangely familiar tunnel for the first time in my life. I knew the tunnel was about three hundred yards long and turned three times on the way to Lifegate. I felt my way along the wall in the dark. When I got close, I could hear people speaking softly up ahead.

"Hello?" I called into the darkness.

"We are hear, Alan Wayne Hall," came the unmistakable voice of a Dark Angel.

"And who are we?" I asked, but there was no reply. I made my way forward cautiously and came, at last, to the end of the dark passage.

"Be careful," said the Dark Angel, "the ceiling here is very low."

I reached slowly above my head and could feel the stone of the passage just a couple of inches above me. "You must be very crowded down here," I said to the Dark Angel.

"I am fine," he said. His voice was right beside my ear. He must have been on his knees. "You are the Keystone," he said. "You hold the keys to life and death."

"Right," I said. "You want me to open the gate?"

"Yes, please."

"Really? I seem to recall that this gate is never used," I said. "Are you sure?"

"It has been used before, but not many times," said the Dark Angel. "Please, Alan Wayne Hall, open the Lifegate."

"You're the boss," I said. I reached above my head and placed my hands flat upon the stone. In the way I knew though I knew not how I knew, I willed the stone away. Suddenly, there was a flood of light in the passage. I reached into my pocket for my shades and threw them on. "The Lightstone," I said, looking up into it.

"We are directly beneath it," said the Dark Angel. "Open the Lifegate."

I reached above me again and placed my hands on the cool, stone. I felt almost alive, like the surface was slithering away from my grasp. Again I willed, and the stone bulged and buckled inward above me, creating a dark circle just over out heads. I turned toward the Dark Angel and noticed for the first time the man standing beside him.

"Oh," I said. "It's you."

Here Ends Aphter, Part I: The Maker Song

Aphter: 58

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58

I sat at the bar at Joe's sipping slowly from a cold, dark Guinness in a pint glass. There was a ZZ Top song playing over the sound system - I couldn't tell which one - and the place was pretty full, as it always was on Friday nights. I've never been a heavy drinker, but I've always found something comforting about a loud, dim, smokey bar. It was settling to my nerves, and I really needed to unwind.

Back when he was alive, before the cancer, Dad used to bring me to places like this all the time, even when I was too young to get in. He'd always get me in one way or another. Dad had never been here to Joe's, since we had never lived in Texas when Dad was alive. Back then we spent a lot of time up around New England. Dad loved rough bars on the coast, the kind where you could count on a good brawl between a couple of stevedores or fishermen, maybe even a whole group. The accents were different. The music was different. Still, a rough, little bar is the same all over. Dad would have liked Joe's.

I could see the front door from where I sat and I watched it closely. Dad had taught me to always position myself in a public place so that I could see as many of the main entrances and exits as possible. These days, without him on my ass all the time, I wasn't so strict about that kind of thing. Still, the training was always there in the back of my mind. Tonight, though, I chose this spot so I could watch for Sam. It was getting pretty late, and I had pretty much given up on her. She hated me. I didn't really blame her. I should have been more careful.

"Hey," she said, walking up behind me.

"Sam?" I said with surprise, turning to look at her. "When did you get here?"

"I was here when you walked in," she said. "I was sitting back there." She nodded toward the shadowy booths near the back.

"Oh," I said. "I've been waiting for you. I didn't see you."

"I didn't want you to see me," she said. She slid into the chair beside me. I could see she had already had a couple of drinks. She stared straight ahead, looking at the bottles arranged along the wall behind the bar.

"So, how are you sleeping?" I asked, leaning way forward in an attempt to get her to look at me.

"I'm not," she said.

"Still?"

She didn't answer.

"How's Cami?" I sighed and sat back. She wasn't going to look at me.

"She's still too scared to stay in her room. We're sleeping on a mattress in the living room. Well, not sleeping. Watching television all night."

"Oh," I said. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

"I know," she said.

"But you still hate me." I took a big draw from my stout and winced at the bitter bite of it.

She turned toward me then. "You look like hell, Simon." She was right. I hadn't been shaving or taking care of myself much since getting back from Aphter a few days ago. My door at home was still just propped up. I felt like shit. I felt confused.

"Amy called me today," I said. "She's doing great. She seems to think the whole thing was a great adventure. What a kid she is."

"She's great," Sam said. "I'm glad she's not all freaked out. How's her mom?"

"Okay, I guess. She's working again. Amy's back in school. I guess they're going to be okay." I smiled at her briefly and then looked away.

"You probably saved their life, Simon," she said.

"Well, it's my job," I said. "I'm just so sorry that..."

"Hey," she said. "It's not your fault." She looked up at me with the beginnings of tears in her eyes. "Look, I'm really fucked up right now. I have all this fear, you know?"

"I know."

"No. You don't," she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "You saved us, Simon. I mean, I know you accidentally dragged me and Cami into this, but you also saved us. I mean..." she stopped to wipe her nose with a cocktail napkin.

"It's okay," I said.

"No, you listen to me," she said. "You're a great guy, Simon. I mean, how does a guy come out of something like that feeling bad about himself? You're the hero, Simon. You are. You are not the bad guy, here. I don't want my fucked up fear make you hate yourself, Simon. I don't hate you. I'm not even mad at you. I just wish none of this had ever happened, you know? But you were just trying to help, you know?" She leaned against me. "I know that, Simon. You were just trying to help. That's what you do, right? You just try to help, right?"

"Look, Sam..."

"Do you know how great that is, Simon? Do you know how many of the men in this bar are total assholes, Simon?"

"Well, I don't think they're total assholes," I said. "I mean, some..."

"They are, Simon. Lots of them are. Maybe most of them are. But not you. I really, really, really want you to know what a great guy you are, Simon. That's what I was thinking while I was watching you this evening. I was sitting over there thinking, 'Look at him, sitting there. He hates himself, and he's easily the best guy in the whole damn place.'"

I didn't know what to say.

"I just wanted to tell you that," she said. "I couldn't leave without telling you that."

"Thanks," I said, and I meant it.

"Now pay my tab and let's go." She slid off her stool and stood behind me.

"Go where?" I asked, reaching for my wallet.

"Cami and I need to sleep tonight, so you're staying on our couch."

"Oh," I smiled. "Well, I can't sleep with the television on."

"You're not there to sleep. You're there to watch television while we sleep."

"Oh," I said. "It's a deal."

Epilogue

Test. Please ignore.

This is a test. That's all, just a test. The end.

Aphter: 57

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57

Simon seemed like a nice guy. He was tall, with longish, dark hair. He was broad but slender, not a hulk like his father. Still, I wouldn't want to tangle with him. He looked like he could hold his own. He had a quieter nature than David, too, not so severe. When I first met him, I jokingly apologized for having his car towed, and he just laughed. "I was supposed to come and see you at the station," he said, "but you didn't come in that morning."

"Yeah, I was a little busy," I laughed. It was a strange thing to joke about, I guess. While he was at the station picking up his car I was, apparently, lying in a freezer across town. And now Betty suspected Simon of putting me there. Poor bastard. I wouldn't want Betty on my case like that.

"Look, I work for them, they don't work for me," said Sheriff Freddie. "I don't know what to tell you." We were standing outside looking at the damage to the outer wall. Inuichuk, David, Simon, Dad and I were there, along with a few other knights. The Sheriff had just arrived.

"This is a violation of our rights!" David yelled at the Sheriff. He hadn't stopped fuming since the intrusion more than an hour ago. If I understood the story, everyone seemed to think that one of the Ravens had broken into the castle or whatever the hell they called the place and carried of Joseph Mollel from his cell. I had to admit, I was happy for the guy. Something about these knights bugged me.

"You can scream at me all you want, David, if it helps you cope. Nevertheless, there's not a thing I can do about this," the Sheriff said, smiling at David. "Let's remember that we are all friends here."

"Why would the Ravens do this?" asked Simon, standing beside his father and addressing the Sheriff.

"I'm sure I don't understand much of what these birds do," answered the Sheriff. "I trust them, however. I'm sure it will work out in the end."

"If you knew something, would you tell us?" Inuichuk asked.

"I've got no reason to lie to you, Inuichuk," Freddie replied. "I make it my business to know as little as possible." He smiled.

I liked Freddie. He seemed to me to have the perfect temperament for a peace officer, a thing I had come to appreciate in my time on the force. A lot of people back on the force pined for the old days when the authorities seemed to wield absolute power. Me? I didn't trust unchecked power. I learned that from my dad, though I wondered now if he had forgotten that lesson. It bothered me that he had given up being Sheriff here to join these knights. I just didn't seem like the dad I remembered. It had been a long time, though. I hadn't had much of a chance to talk to him about it.

One thing was certain, there was no way I was going to join these guys. I wasn't sure how to tell them, I was a little nervous about how they would take it, but I knew that I could not join. I just wanted a quiet life for a change. No duties. No responsibilities. No authority. Maybe I could hook up with a nice girl, like Naomi. I didn't have a lot of hope that a great girl like her wasn't attached to some lucky guy already, but I liked to imagine asking her to dinner, getting to know her, seeing what developed.

The knights and the Sheriff exchanged a few more words, but I stopped paying attention. Pretty soon the group broke up. Simon said his goodbyes, even nodding over to me, and walked off. He was heading back to Earth, to the living world. I envied him a little, but not as much as I would have a few days before. I was starting to see how life here could be pretty nice, if I could just avoid the nutball knights. David and the other Knights headed back into their fortress. Dad was going with them, and he turned and motioned for me to follow. I mimed a yawn to tell him I was sleepy and made a thumb motion back toward his place not far from here. He got the message and nodded goodbye, and I turned to go before anyone changed their mind.

"So, Al, how are you getting settled?" It was Sheriff Freddie walking up behind me.

"Pretty good," I said. "I'm staying with Dad for now and figuring out my next move." He walked beside me as I headed for Dad's place.

"Thinking of joining up?" he asked, motioning toward the knight's fortress behind us.

"You know," I said, "not really. I'm not sure they'll take it well when I refuse, though."

"Oh, don't worry about it," he smiled. "They get very serious and loud, but they're not bad people."

"You think I should join?" I asked, surprised.

"Oh, hell no," he said. "Stay away from those nuts. They may not be bad people, but they're all fucking loonies, if you ask me."

I laughed, feeling more at ease with that answer. "That's my impression too," I said. "To tell you the truth, I'm looking forward to a quiet life."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'd like to meet a girl, maybe spend a little time getting to know her."

"A girl," he said. He sounded a little distant.

"Right," I continued. "Hey, what do you know about Naomi, the greeter girl?" I turned but he had stopped a couple of steps back. "Is everything okay?"

There was a Raven sitting on his shoulder. I didn't think it had been there before. As I thought this, another Raven came and perched on his other shoulder. It cawed loudly, and Freddie winced at the noise in his ear.

"What's wrong?" I asked, taking a step toward him. As I said it, two more Ravens flew in from the left and landed on the ground between us. Three more flew in from the right and did the same. Hearing flapping and cawing behind me, I turned. There were at least a dozen Raven behind me and to the sides. I was completely surrounded. "What the hell?" I said. I remembered that hole in the building back there and my hair started to stand on edge. I looked at Freddie.

"I'm so sorry, Al," he said. There were tears in his eyes.

"What...," I started, but then I stopped. One of the Ravens, directly between Freddie and me, began to unfold before my eyes. With a strange, ruffling sound he grew and grew, towering over us. With in a few seconds there was, standing between the two of us, a gigantic, black shape like a man with massive wings. He was so pitch black, I couldn't make out his features. He was like a silhouette in front of a bright light. I could only make out his huge body and wings and the pure white glow of his eyes.

Suddenly Freddie screamed and fell to his knees, agony on his face. At the sound, the Ravens all around began to circle in a black cloud around us, all but the one huge shape. Dark Angel, that's what someone had said earlier. Dark Angel.

"Sheriff!" I started to move toward him, but the Dark Angel put a hand on my head and pushed me down to my knees. The Sheriff screamed out again, his face a mask of pain. Then, from nowhere, two bright spots of light appeared in front of him. They looked like they had come right out of his chest. He collapsed to the ground, panting.

"What's happening?" I yelled, and I struggled in vain against the hand holding me down. The two lights moved slowly toward me.

"The keys of life and death," said the Dark Angel in a deep, raspy voice.

"What?" I was terrified. The lights came closer, and the hand pulled me up straight. The cloud of Ravens weaved all around and cawed madly. The sound of their wings was deafening.

Then, the lights touched my chest, and my mind exploded. So many names. So many lives. So many voices. So many faces. So many names. So many lives. So many voices. So many faces. I knew I had gone completely mad. I was possessed by all of humanity. No. Not all, only the dead. I was possessed by the resting dead. I knew each of them. Their names. Their families. Their voices. Their faces. I knew them all.

"You are the keystone," said the angel's voice. "You hold the keys."

I collapsed then, overwhelmed by the voices within. As I slept, my mind went to work. My mind grew. New connections were made. New pathways were opened. New patterns and structures were built to deal with more information than I had ever imagined. By the time I awoke, blinking, sweat-soaked and dazed, lying face down on the ground, I had it all worked out. I knew how to know these things. It was all in there.

"How are you feeling?" I knew the voice. Farrokh Bulsara, though he went by Freddie Mercury. Born on Zanzibar in Africa. Musician, singer and composer. Died in 1991 of complications from AIDS.

"You sang for Queen," I said, trying to sit up.

"I know," he said, smiling. "Let me help you." He wrapped an arm around me as I pulled to me feet and helped stabilize me for a second. "Are you well?" he asked.

It was strange, knowing so much about him. "What happened?" I asked. I looked around. The Ravens were all gone.

"Don't you know?"

I thought about it for a minute and it came to me. My heart sank a little. "I'm Sheriff."

"I'm afraid so," he said. "Sorry. I know it's not what you wanted."

I shook my head in disbelief. "But, why?" I stared intently at him. "Why me?"

"Who knows?" he said. "Damn birds do what they want. Can't say I'm sorry to be done with the job, to tell you the truth."

"Is it hard?" I asked.

"You don't sleep. You don't rest. You're always on the job. No breaks. No vacations. No end until the damn birds pick someone else. Hard?" he said. "It's a piece of cake."

I smiled at Freddie. "So, what will you do, Sheriff?" I asked him.

"Call me Freddie," he said with an ironic grin. "First, Sheriff, I'm going to go take a fucking nap. Then, when I wake up, I'm going to take another one. Then, after, that," he started walking away, "I'm going to do whatever the hell I want to do. Good luck." And then he was gone.

58

Aphter: 56

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56

The unrest was already starting to get to me by the time I finished my report. I had been in Aphter for almost twenty-four hours, going over the details with Dad at his place.

"I have to tell you, Simon," Inuichuk said, "I feel as though too much has been shared with too many during this ordeal. We weaken ourselves when we are too open outside of our order."

I looked around the round table at those in the room, one of the smaller meeting rooms in Knight's Hall. Dad was sitting to my right and Inuichuk across from me. To my left was Sheriff Wayne and beside him was Al Hall, the Detective killed by the Fates at Il Forno. Inuichuk had invited Al to join and allowed him to be here even though he had not yet accepted the invitation because these matters involved both him and his father. Sheriff Wayne was still pretty drained from his long ghosting, but the week since his return had already restored him enough to join us.

"I assure you, Lord, that I shared only with people I felt I could trust and I shared no more than was necessary."

Inuichuk stared down at the table in silence, wearing his dissatisfaction in the lines of his forehead. "So," he said finally, "the Dread k'mek is still at large. His cohorts, both the Fates and the humans, are gone, though I cannot imagine to where the Fates have gone. I've never known of a Fate Rest. David?"

"No," Dad said. "But, who knows?"

"We should have captures and held that Dread," Inuichuk said, glancing at me. "We cannot know what Joseph may have told him."

"I'm sorry," I said. "When I awoke from the daze of the song, the Dread was gone."

At this Inuichuk exhaled deeply and looked up at this ceiling. "I do not like this song," he said. "It sounds powerful and dangerous."

"Well, it seems only to affect Fates," I said.

"It rendered you helpless and dazed, did it not?" he asked, frowning.

"For a moment, yes."

"That is powerful," he said.

"Well, he's easily distracted," Dad teased. "I'm sure it wouldn't affect a normal person."

Inuichuk was not amused. "I want you to keep an eye on this girl, Simon," he said. "When she is older, convince her to join us. I don't like that kind of power unless it's on our side."

"I intend to keep in touch with her," I said. "I'm pretty sure none of the other Fates know about her, but, if they find out, she'll never have peace."

"And you will convince her to join us?" he asked, not being deflected.

"I can try, when she's older," I said.

"Fair enough," he clapped his hands. "Now," he said, "what about your legal troubles? Do you need legal council? Do you expect to be charged with a crime?"

"I don't know," I said. "I think I'm okay for now, but I'll take a phone number for a lawyer if you've got one. This Sergeant Morris is no dummy. She knows I'm not telling her everything."

"Betty's a bulldog," Al said. "She won't be easy to fool with some cover story. I'd be as truthful with her as you can."

"Well, they found Romeo's prints on the gun," I said, looking at Al. "Still, I can't explain the coma thing. The cops want someone to prosecute."

"Police Officers," Sheriff Wayne snapped.

"Detectives, actually," Al said, smiling at his dad. "But that's okay."

"For now, I'm not supposed to leave town," I said. "So, I should get back soon."

"Yes," Inuichuk said. "We don't need any more attention. Let things die down and stay low for a while."

"Gladly," I answered.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash somewhere nearby in Knight's Hall. Dad, Inuichuk and I jumped to our feet.

"What the hell?" Dad said, and he ran to the door and pulled it open. Knights were running down the hallway. "What happened?" Dad yelled after them.

"Dark Angel!" one yelled back. "Heading for the Block!"

"What did he say?" Inuichuk asked, reaching the door.

"Ravens!" Dad answered. "In the Block! Simon, come on!"

"What's happening?" Al asked as I ran to follow Dad and Inuichuk into the hall.

"Intruders!" I yelled back, but I didn't stick around to explain. Al stayed behind with his dad. I ran down to the room I knew was the entry to Block, arriving with a small group of Knights. Together we followed Dad and Inuichuk down the stairs. Having already been without rest for almost a day, the physical effort was draining, and there was no adrenaline reaction to help out. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I could hear Dad cursing.

"Damn Ravens!" he said. "We have our fucking rights!" He cursed and raged in front of the empty third cell in the block. The ceiling of the cell was broken in, and shattered chunks of stone rubble lay all around. There were also black feathers scattered on the floor of the cell.

"What happened?" I asked Inuichuk. Ignoring the question, he took a small, round stone from his pocket and touched it to the bars of the cell. The bars slid, with a grating noise, down into the stone of the floor. I followed Inuichuk into the cell and, scrambling over the debris, looked up through the hole in the ceiling. It went through s couple more layers of stone and, way up above, through the outside wall of Knight's Hall. You could see the sky above and the light of the Lightstone streaming in.

"A Dark Angel has come and taken our prisoner," Inuichuk said. "But why?"

I looked at the destruction. I had never seen a Raven in Dark Angel form, but I'd heard about them. Looking at the hole in the thick stone above, I realized that all the stories were true. "You mean Joseph?" I asked Inuichuk? "They took Joseph?"

"Yes," he said.

"Lord," came a female voice from among the Knights in the room. Turning, I saw a tall, dark-skinned woman with a long spear. I did not know her name. "I saw the Raven, Lord. It was Sama."

Inuichuk stared at her. "You are sure, Akisha?"

"I know it, Lord. It was Sama."

I looked at Dad, who had come into the cell to peer up through the gaping hole. He shook his head. "Sama? But why?" he said. "Why?"

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Aphter: 55

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55

Sergeant Betty Morris glared at me from across the table. "I feel like there are things you're not telling me, Mr. Sayer," she said. "Parts of this story make no sense at all." We were sitting at a small able in the back room at Il Forno. The place was crawling with cops, and they were all pissed. Detective Al Hall's body in the walk-in freezer with a bullet in its head had them all itching for blood, and the idea that the only two people to blame appeared to be comatose did not provide their sense of violent outrage with the outlet it desired.

"It's all true," I lied. It was mostly true, but I had to invent a few things. They'd never have believed the full truth about certain things. "Which parts?"

"Tell me again how you got involved?" she said, reading over her notes to see if I told the same story.

I kept it simple. "Darla is a friend of mine. When she wasn't at the shop, I swung by her place to see what was up. Amy was there alone and scared. I took her with me. That's it."

"Where were you when Detective Hall had your car towed?" Still reading her notes.

"We were staying with Sam. We met at the gas station and went to dinner. I thought Amy would enjoy her company until her mom turned up. We kept meaning to go get my car, but we spaced on it for a couple of days. If there's a fine for leaving it there, besides what I already paid at the impound, I'll be glad to pay it."

Darla, Amy and Sam were all there, sitting in chairs against the wall. They had all confirmed the details. Sergeant Morris glanced over at them again. Darla nodded. Sam stared at the ground. She was still pissed with me, but she had gone along with the story.

"Sergeant!" It was a detective yelling from the front room. "We have the weapon."

"Good," I thought. I had decided to play totally dumb on the Detective and the gun. There was no way to work it into my story. I figured they would find it.

The sergeant stared at me, looking for any reaction to the gun. I just stared back at her, trying to look like a guy who didn't know anything. "Stay here," she said, and she got up and walked toward the front of the store. "Don't touch it," she called out to the officer in the front.

I was glad she was gone. I sat back in my chair and exhaled, reaching up to rub the swollen bruise on my cheek. Sam had given me that after we crawled out from under the house. I had seen it coming, and I was pretty sure I could have stopped her, but I didn't. I stopped the second one, though. She could punch surprisingly hard. She hated me. I didn't blame her.

At that point we heard the back door open in the utlity room. Another police officer came through the door, and Cami came in after her. When Sam saw her she jumped up and ran to her. I wouldn't have thought either of them could cry any more, but they did. Amy walked over to them and Cami bent down and hugged her too. They were all just overwhelmed to be safe and to see each other.

I couldn't look at Cami and Sam; the guilt was too much. I turned and gave Darla a weak smile and looked down at my hands. Turning them over so I could see the palms, I stared into them. Without thinking, I began to end my finger and rub the tips across my palms, staring blankly into the emptiness there. When I realized what I was doing, and where I had picked it up, I shook my hands to cast off the habit and shoved them into my pockets.

"There are clear prints on that weapon," the Sergeant said, returning to the table. "Can you tell me whose they are?" She sat back in her chair across from me and stared into my eyes.

"No, ma'am, I cannot," I lied. "But I can assure you that they are not mine."

Sam and Cami were still hugging. Looking over at them, I saw Cami staring at me as Sam whispered into her ear. She was telling Cami the story. Would she go along? When she saw me glancing at her, Cami gave me a little smile and look quickly away. She and Sam separated and, to my relief, I saw Cami give Sam a subtle nod.

"Let's talk again about the noose," the Sergeant said. "You said you cut it with a cleaver that Mr. di Marti had been holding as a weapon."

"That's right," I lied.

"And when he collapsed you grabbed it and cut Ms. Montagne down from the noose."

"Yes."

She glanced over at Darla, who nodded earnestly. "And then you took it with you in the car, the..." She glanced down at her notes. "...black Lexus. You took it for protection."

"Yes ma'am."

"But it's not there now."

"It was there when he took the car," I lied.

"And Ms. Montagne, neither you nor your daughter know what happened to it?" The Sergeant looked over at Darla.

"No," Darla said. "Maybe he threw it out or something."

It was a weak story, but it was easy to remember and had no details to forget.

Sergeant Morris glanced up at the wall, looking right at the huge cut where my blade had sliced into the wall. "Must have been really sharp," she said. "That's a strong rope."

"It went straight through it," I lied.

"You're a butcher Ms. Montagne?" the Sergeant asked, looking again at Darla.

"Yes I am."

"Why do you think a baker would need a cleaver like that, Ms. Montagne?"

"Well," Darla responded, looking the Sergeant directly in the eye. "It's not really my field, but maybe he kept it because he was a murderer and a psychopath." Damn! She was good.

At that the Sergeant actually smiled a little and dropped her head. "Maybe," she said softly. She let her eyes wander over her notes for a minute, not really reading them. Then, sighing, she looked up at me. "Mr. Sayer," she said, "Al Hall was my friend. Your story might well be true, but there are things about it I don't like at all. I also don't like having two prime suspects in mysterious comas that no one can explain to me."

"They just collapsed," I said. "Maybe a doctor could tell you what happened. It was really weird."

She frowned and shook her head to clear it. "You've all had a long day," she said. "It's almost dawn, and I'm tired. I'm going to have officers take you each to your homes. You can get some rest. Do not go anywhere. Anywhere. We will be talking with all of you some more. We're keeping all the vehicles for now."

"May I get some..." I started.

"No you may not," she snapped.

"I don't want to go home," Sam said. "Not alone."

"Me neither," said Cami.

"You can all come to my place," Darla said. "We have plenty of room."

I looked over at the Sergeant. She nodded. "We'll leave a car outside," she said. "This investigation is not over. Stay in that house until we tell you otherwise." She looked around and we all nodded to show that we understood. "Good," she said. "I'm very sorry this happened to you. Please wait here and I'll get some officers to take you to Ms. Montagne's house." She stood with a quick goodbye nod and walked away.

I looked over at the others. Sam and Cami were staring at the ground. Darla was staring at the ceiling. Only Amy looked back at me. She gave me a little smile and I smiled back.

"You did it, Simon" she said quietly.

"We did," I said.

56

Aphter: 54

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54

"No good guys and no bad guys," I muttered to myself as I leaned against the cold brick wall beside the payphone on which Joseph would soon call. "Heroes and monsters." I tried to think about it. That's what Joseph had wanted to tell me. It seemed dumb. Of course there were bad guys. Of course there were good guys.

It was pretty late at night, though I wasn't sure what time and I didn't especially want to look. Watching the clock just made the waiting seem longer, and I hated waiting. As I sat on the concrete sidewalk leaning against the wall, I was reminded of returning from Aphter with Amy to find the car gone and waiting outside the gas station just like this for Sam to arrive.

Sam. My stomach pulsed in new anxiety when I thought about her. I wondered where she was. She couldn't be far away. I knew she was probably terrified, though I doubted she was in any real danger. I felt sure that neither Joseph nor Hael would hurt her. She couldn't know that, though. Had I only known what I was getting into I'd never have called her that night.

And what was I into, exactly? I had stumbled into... No. I hadn't stumbled into it. I had been lured into the middle of a plot by a Knight, a Dread and some Fates to... to what? To find the Dread Keystone? To expose the deception of the Knights? Did that make us the bad guys? Sure, we were breaking the Raven law, but that couldn't be as important as rescuing the Host. What sort of legalism was that? They held millions of human souls in restless torture as slaves. Hell, not even slaves. They couldn't possibly be any more than wailing shadows by now. Unable to rest. Unable to die. We weren't even sure that the healers would be able to bring them back from such a state.

No bad guys? How was the Demiurge not a bad guy? He had delivered us into slavery in exchange for what? Some bit of trivia to satisfy his curiosity? That's what I had been taught. How were the Dread not bad guys? They had taken all of humanity into torturous slavery. They were monsters.

Monsters and heroes. Why is that a lie? How were the original Knights not heroes? They had risked all, many of them falling into the hands of Hell themselves, to redeem humanity from that pit. Since then we all had worked to prepare for the rescue of the Host. The service and preservation of humanity was our only purpose. In what way was that not heroic?

Joseph, however benevolent he might be, was confused. As I thought it, I came to a strange realization. I wanted to believe him. I wanted him to be right. I wanted him to teach me something true, something I did not know. I wanted him to change me. Nevertheless, he'd only sent one message to me, and I couldn't make any sense of it. I couldn't align my thoughts with a sentiment that ran contrary to my own judgment. Joseph was wrong.

Maybe I could talk to Hael again before he Joseph's body died. Maybe I could ask him what Joseph meant. If the things he told me earlier were true, he should understand what Joseph meant. Maybe, before I killed him, I could understand.

"RING"

I jumped up quickly, startled but anxious, and grabbed the phone, "Yes?" I said.

"Simon?" It was Joseph's voice.

"Yes."

"There is an empty house near the bakery." He gave me the address. "She is under the house, bound and gagged. Goodbye." He hung up.

I slammed down the phone and ran to the SUV. Luckily the streets were pretty empty as I raced back toward the bakery. As I drove, I pulled the GPS tracker phone from my pocket and looked for a signal. Good! Still strong. I didn't look to see where they were, I just put it back in my pocket and drove on.

When I got to the neighborhood I drove a block or two until I found the street. It ran behind Il Forno. I checked the house numbers. The house would be on the next block. When I saw the address and pulled up to the curb in front, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or curse. There was my Monte Carlo, parked in the driveway. I had been here! Right here! Hell!

I got out of the car and looked at the house. It was, as I'd expected, and old pier and beam Craftsman house. Stopping just long enough to get a flashlight from the trunk of my car, I ran to the back of the house, looking desperately for the opening into the crawlspace under the house.

Then the phone rang. Who the hell? I reached into my pocket, but it wasn't my regular phone. I reached into my other pocket and brought out the GPS phone. It was ringing. The Caller ID said "GPS 2." It was Amy's phone calling. My heart sank. Joseph must have found it on her. If he ditched it, as he surely would, how would I find them? The phone continued to ring. I reached down nervously and pressed the answer button, raising the phone to my cheek.

"Hello?" I said.

"Simon?" It was Amy! What was she doing! She was going to get caught!

"What are you doing?" I said, whispering loudly into the phone. "Hide the phone!"

"It's okay," she said. "We're okay now."

I didn't understand. "What?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

"We're okay," she said. "You don't have to worry. My mom says she knows where we are. We can come meet you."

I still didn't understand. "Where is Joseph?" I asked.

"He's here, but it's okay. He's like Romeo. I think the Fate is gone."

Then it dawned on me. "You sang the song."

"It worked!" she squealed. "We waited until he stopped to call you. Once he heard me singing, he just got this smile on his face and sat very still. Then he slumped over. He's gone."

It was so obvious, but it had never occurred to me. "Wow," I said. "Great thinking, kid."

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice happy and excited.

"Meet us at Il Forno," I said. "Stay in the car and keep the doors locked."

"Us?" she said. "Do you have Sam?"

"I think so. I've got to go. Good job, Amy. You're amazing." I hung up and couldn't help smiling. I was flooded with relief. Amy and Darla were safe. Even more than that, however, I felt the release of a tension that had held my heart like a grip for hours. "I don't have to kill him," I whispered to myself. I sighed and tears welled up in the corners of my eyes as I spotted the opening at last.

"Sam?" I called out, shining the light into the center of the two-foot space between the ground and the beams overhead. She was there, tied to the center pier of the house. Her eyes were wide with joy or fear when the light hit her face. "It's Simon," I said. "Everything's going to be okay, Sam."

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Aphter: 53

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53

"There are things I would like to say, if you think you can listen to me," Joseph-Hael said, looking me steadily in the eye with a stare I could not return. I glanced up at him, but then back down at his feet. "If not, then I will go."

"No," I said. "Tell me."

"Good," he said, smiling. "First, I need to tell you about Detective Al Hall. His body is in the freezer at the bakery. Tell the police that Romeo and I killed him."

"Okay," I said.

"The gun, with Romeo's fingerprints still on it, is in the cabinet of the front counter under the cash register."

"Why did you kill him?" I asked.

He held his open hands in front of his stomach, palms up, and stared into them for a moment. It was a thinking gesture I had noticed in him during our last meeting. Every few seconds he closed his hands, rubbing his fingertips across his palms, and then opened them again. Then, when he had come to some conclusion, he folded his hands together in front of him, lacing his fingers together like a praying man. "We cannot tell you this now," he said. "I want you to know, however, that we did not kill him casually nor without reason. There was no malice in the act."

I stared over at him, not knowing what to make of him. He seemed so earnest and honest. He exuded a calm goodness that didn't seem contrived nor insincere. "Okay," I said, "I'll tell the police about Al and the gun. Is that it?"

Again he stared back down into his hands for a moment. "You know," he said, not looking up, "I am very old, older than you can imagine and older even than I can tell you." He looked up at me and I nodded to show that I was listening. "We live so long, you know, that our memories fail us. I cannot remember my earliest life, only the past few hundred years."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's true. In the time that I can remember, do you know how many humans I have joined with?" I didn't like the description "joined with." I shrugged. "More than two hundred," he said. "When we join with a person, we know them as well as they know themselves, if not better." He paused and stared into his hands for a minute. "You cannot appreciate, I suppose, what it is like to have been so many different people."

"I suppose not."

"The things that are the same about them are vastly telling. Almost everything is the same. The differences all live out on the surface. Personality. Knowledge. Perspective. The diversity is great, I do not deny it. The similarity, however, is even greater. Does this surprise you?"

"I don't know," I said. "I mean, I think a lot of the differences are in the soul. That leaves when you enter. So, maybe you can't see them all."

"Is that what you believe?" he asked, raising the eyebrow over his good, right eye. "When I join with a man, his soul is still there. I imprint to it, all of it, absorbing every detail into myself. Then, I exert my will, which is stronger than the subdued will of the man. When his will submits to mine, I gently send his soul out to his rest. By then I am everything that man was, though I am also still myself."

"Hmmm," I said. It made sense, but I'd never thought of it before. This was not how I had been taught. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because, I this man Joseph is the first man I have loved," he said. "The things he knows, the things he believes, the way he sees the world, I've never experienced them before. I'll not lie to you, Simon, I had no respect for humanity until I knew Joseph."

I just stared at him, and he at me. "So?" I said finally.

"There are many things I want to tell you, Simon. The things Joseph knows would change everything you know and believe. This was not his will, however. He does not think you are ready to know these things, though he hopes you will become ready."

"Joseph doesn't even know me," I said. "I've never met the man."

"You are caught in a long plan, Simon. It's been forming for years, and the culmination is near. There is much that you do not know."

The words excited me, but scared me. Could I trust this Fate? "So, he doesn't want you to tell me anything after all?"

"He wants me to tell you only one thing," Joseph-Hael smiled again. "He wants me to tell you that there are no good guys and there are no bad guys. There are only people, lives, women and men, and they're all valuable and worthy."

"Really?" I said, disappointed. "That's what he wants you to tell me? There are no bad guys?"

"There are also no good guys. He believes you have been taught an ancient and insidious myth, the myth of good guys and bad guys, the myth of heroes and monsters."

I mulled the words over in my mind, waiting for them to connect with me, wanting them to mean something more. They did not, however. They were empty words to me. "Okay," I said. "I heard you."

Joseph-Hael looked satisfied. He walked a step toward me and held out a hand for me to shake. "I hope you understand those words soon," he said. "Thank you for everything."

I looked at his hand. I saw the way he leaned slightly because of his hurt side. I saw his left eye swollen completely shut. What the hell was he thanking me for. "What about Sam?" I asked, turning slightly away from him and rejecting his hand.

He lowered his hand and sighed. "I will call that payphone there when we are several miles away. It will be within the half hour. Stay near that phone." He looked at me with a serious stare almost like a frown for a few seconds, and then he smiled again. The smile suited his face more naturally. "You will do well, Simon. I believe in this. It has been a privilege to meet you. Goodbye."

He walked over to the Lexus, got in and drove away. I knew Amy was probably watching me through the window, waving goodbye, but I couldn't bear to look.

I felt so confused. In spite of everything I knew, I felt like I was the bad guy, and he was the good guy. I felt guilty. I felt deep regret. "I should have shaken his hand," I said to myself. It was too late. He was gone. The next time I saw him, I would have to kill him.

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52

I pulled the black Lexus into the dark parking lot and parked beside Sam's SUV. Looking over, I could see Joseph Mollel's face staring back at me from behind the wheel, smiling a serene and friendly smile that sent shudders up my spine. I turned around and looked at Amy and Darla in the back.

"Give me the word," I said, "and I'll take off out of here right now. I'll hide you and protect you as long as I have to."

Darla smiled at me. "And what about Amy's friend Sam?" she said.

I just stared back at her. We all knew the answer to that question. "Okay," I said. I looked down at Amy. "Take care of your mother."

"I will," she said. She looked perfectly calm. "He won't hurt us, Simon. You'll find us. I know you will."

I turned away quickly as I felt tears gathering in my eyes. "Stay here," I said, and I opened the door and got out. Joseph saw this and got out of Sam's car as I closed the door and walked to the back of the car to talk to him.

"Hello, Simon," he said. "I am very glad you decided to bring them."

His friendly tone was more than I could stand. I lost it. Moving more quickly than he could follow with his eyes, I punched him firmly in his left eye with a right and, catching him in his right armpit as he stumbled, I threw his weight around and flung his back into the rear of Sam's SUV. He bounced off the car and stumbled forward onto his hands and knees. I moved behind him quickly and, wrapping my left arm around his neck from behind I pulled him back to his feet, but kept him slightly off balance, holding him upright by his neck.

"Tell your fucking name!" I screamed into his ear.

"Simon," he panted, wincing in pain, "there's no need for this brother."

"Don't call me that!" I hit him with a strong right fist in his right kidney. He screamed in pain as I pulled him around to the side of the SUV away from the view of Amy and Darla and hidden from the street.

"Simon," he gasped, "please. I will gladly tell you my name. There is no need for violence."

"I'm waiting," I said, giving his neck a squeeze.

"Hael," he said. "My name is Hael."

"Give me your bond that you'll not hurt them," I growled, "or I will kill this body right here and now."

"Please," he panted, "I would rather give it willingly, not like this. I was going to give it to you anyway. It means nothing under duress. Please."

Was that true? I had never heard that before. Was it a trick? I wanted so badly to snap his neck for what he'd done. A traitor. A kidnapper. Cami. Darla. Sam. Amy. It would be so easy to snap his neck and be finished with him. I knew, however, that I still needed him. "You deserve to die," I growled at him, and I released his neck and pushed him forward, hard, into the pavement. He landed on his hands and knees and knelt there, catching his breath, for almost a minute, before struggling back to his feet with a groan. He turned to face me, a sad look on his face. His left eye was already beginning to swell badly.

"I didn't want it to be like this, Simon," he said.

"I bet you didn't," I said.

"There are things I wanted to tell you, Simon. There are things Joseph wanted you to hear." He placed a hand to his right side where I'd punched him and winced at the touch. Looking at him standing there in pain, I felt a sting of shame in my cheeks. He was an old man compared with me, trained as a healer. I was a young man and a trained killer.

It dawned on me then that the Knights would want me to kill him right now. They wouldn't want to risk letting him leave. What if I couldn't find him again? He might not be a Sword Master, but he was a trained Knight. The Knight Lord wouldn't consider Sam's life worth the risk. These thoughts were bitter to me as I watched the beaten and bruised old man standing in pain in front of me.

Something about the was Joseph-Hael looked at me in silence told me he knew what I was thinking. He knew he could not stop me if I decided to kill him. He waited to see what I would do.

"I want your bond," I said.

"You have my bond. My name is Hael, and I promise you no harm will ever come to these two treasured women. Their lives will be joyful and comfortable and long. My name is Hael, and I give you my bond." He smiled a painful smile.

"Look," I said, unable to look him in the eye, "You deserve worse than you've gotten."

He looked at me and nodded. "I understand," he said.

"I'm sorry," I said, looking at his feet.

"I've already forgiven you," he said. "It is your training. How could you do otherwise?" He smiled.

How could I kill the man?

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51

"Joseph is waiting in the parking lot where you first met. Meet him there. Surrender Beloved Reborn to him. He will take her to our brothers and sisters and report to them the secrets we have discovered, now that we know they are true. Beloved will always be safe and cared for as our dearest treasure. The mother is welcome to accompany her. We will care for both of them, giving everything they could desire, for as long as they live. When Joseph has them and is away, he will call you and tell you where you can find your other young friend. We will have no more need for her and she need have no fear of ever encountering us again. Nor should you fear our continued involvement in your life. We will have what we seek, and you will go in peace. Should you fail to surrender Beloved to us, or should you go to the authorities before we have her, no one will never see your other young friend again. We will be like hounds on your trail for as long as you live. We will never cease in pursuing our Beloved. Bring her to us. It is the only path to peace."

I read it to myself first, and then I read it aloud to Darla and Amy. Darla listened quietly and then thought for several minutes. Now that she had even a few minutes distance from her previous terror, she seemed much more calm and thoughtful.

"Who is this other young friend, Mr. ...?" she asked me.

"Sayer," I said. "Simon Sayer."

"The young friend is Sam," Amy blurted. "Joseph, the African man, took her away in her car."

"But who is she?" she asked. "How do you know her, dear?"

"She came and picked us up when Simon's car got taken away," Amy said. "We stayed with her last night and all day today. She gave me a pancake party for my birthday and she played games with me. She's so nice," Amy started to cry. Darla hugged her.

"She sounds really nice," Darla said. "Who is she to you, Mr. Simon?"

"Samantha?" I said. "Oh, she's a friend. I've known her for a few years. We met at blues club and went out for a while, but that faded away and now we're just good friends. She's a great, great person."

"And how...," she started, but I interrupted her.

"I didn't mean to get her involved in all of this," I said. "If I'd known how serious it was, I'd never have gotten her involved. And now she's...," I couldn't finish. "My God," I thought to myself. "What have I done?"

"And how did you get involved in this?" Darla asked.

I wasn't sure what to tell her. She'd seen and heard some strange things in the past few days, no doubt. Maybe she could take the truth. "Mrs. Montagne," I said, "I'm in a line of work where I deal with strange things, things that are hard to understand unless you've seen them before. I get jobs, strange jobs, from different sources. One of those sources came to me and told me there was a young girl who needed help because her mother had been taken away. I followed a few clues and found Amy." I paused and looked at her to see if she was with me. She looked engaged, "So, I told Amy what I'd heard and she chose to go with me. I've been watching out few her for the last few days. We've been trying to figure out what happened to you."

"And I guess you figured it out," she said. "I'm not going to lie to you, Mr. Sayer...,"

"Please, call me Simon," I said.

"Simon, I don't know what to think of you," she said.

"I don't blame you, ma'am," I said. "I understand your position."

"Still, you saved my life and you watched out for Amy. Thank you."

"You're both very welcome," I said. "Spending time with Amy has been a pleasure. I haven't spent much time around kids."

"Well, she seems to like you." Darla smiled. Then she looked at me very seriously. "What do you think we should do for your friend?"

"I don't know," I said with a sigh. "I'm going to tell you what I'm thinking, but I'm not going to ask you to agree. You decide for yourself and I will support your decision."

Darla and Amy both looked at me intently. "Go ahead," Darla said.

"I'm a fairly skilled man along certain lines, Mrs. Montagne," I said. "I don't say that idly and I don't mean to brag. It's just true." She nodded. "I've planted a very sophisticated GPS tracking phone on Amy..."

"Oh that's what it was," she said. "I forgot about that." She started to reach into her pocket.

"Leave it!" I said. "I've got it set up just right and we cannot afford to let Joseph find it."

"Okay."

"First of all, Mrs. Montagne, I firmly believe that Joseph and the Fate that infests him have no intention of hurting you. I believe that with great certainty." She didn't look convinced, but I continued. "With that tracking phone, or even without it in the event that it is lost, I feel certain I could find you and rescue you from Joseph once I knew Sam was safe." Darla looked at me as though she expected to hear more. "That's it," I said. "That's my plan."

Amy looked up at Darla. Darla stared through me, deep in thought. "They'll never leave us alone, will they?" she said finally.

"If we can stop Joseph in time, I think you'll be safe. The note made it sound like that hadn't yet told any of their brothers or sisters about you or Amy. They were waiting to be sure it was true. If I can stop Joseph before he tells anyone else, you'll probably be safe."

"How would you stop him?" she asked.

I said nothing, but I stood and grasped the hilt of the sword that was still stuck high in the wall and, yanking it forcefully, pulled it free. Making sure the were watching, I placed the hilt of the sword to my chest and it disappeared, sinking into me silently.

Amy and Darla both took this is stride. Neither looked even slightly surprised. "You're pretty good with that thing," Darla said.

"I know I can rescue you," I said.

Darla looked down at Amy. Amy nodded up at her. "Okay, Mr. Sayer," Darla said. "We'll do it."

I've known many warriors in my day, great fighting men and women who would gladly lay down their lives for another. Nevertheless, I knew then that I'd never met anyone braver than Darla and Amy Montagne.

52

Aphter: 50

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50

"You will stand there until we are finished and be quiet," Romeo said.

I stood in the door and looked at him. The Sheriff had said that Romeo was Fate infested. I wondered if that was true. If he and Joseph were truly Fate-infested, then I wasn't sure I would really be killing anyone. I mean, I'd be killing two bodies, but the humans were already in Aphter and the Fates would live on when the bodies died. I had to find out of this was really a Fate with which I dealt.

"Wait," I said. "How do I know I can trust you?"

He looked at me with a puzzled look. "I am not a violent man," he said. "I do only what I have to do for Glory. If you listen to me, no one will be harmed."

"But maybe you are lying to me," I answered. I knew what this would mean to a Fate.

"I always keep my word," he said coolly. "I may deceive, but I would never make a false bargain. My word to you is this: Wait until the song is over. Follow these instructions," he touched the paper in his pocket again, "and no more harm will come to these women nor to your other young lady friend."

"People lie," I said. "Men are not like the Fates. Men lie all the time. Men make false bargains."

Romeo stared at me calmly, studying my face. Then he smiled a gentle smile. "You know much," he said. "I am no man. This man has passed away. I am one of the Fates, the servants of Glory."

"Tell me your name," I said, "and I will take your word."

At this his smile faded. "You know much indeed," he said. "It's no matter, however. I tell the truth, and I will bond myself by my name. I cannot lie about my true name, and I cannot break a bond made in my name. You know this, I'm sure."

"I do."

"Very well. My name is Saet. I give you my bond in my name."

I was satisfied. Fates never broke their bond. It was their source of pride. "I believe you," I replied.

"Good," he smiled again. "Now be silent. My brother is waiting. We must proceed."

I leaned against the door frame and pretended to relax. The sick dread in my stomach told me my enemy was still near at hand. Closing my eyes as if to rest, I looked within again and saw that he had not moved. He was just a few feet to my right. He was huge. I tried to remember what I knew of their shape. The torso was long like a snake, but with six limbs. Back legs were short, only about a foot long. Forelegs were slightly longer than human legs. Arms were close to the head and slightly shorter than human arms but stronger. Head was human-like, but with a wider mouth that jutted forward slightly from the face. There was no hair, and the skin from just above the legs down and back was scaly like reptile skin. The skin of the arms, upper torso and face was human-like in texture, though it varied color. The body extended about four feet past the back legs and tapered into an extremely quick and strong tail. They looked like monsters, like lizard people. Physically, they were more than a match for an untrained human.

I was glad I was not an untrained human. Again I committed to memory everything I could about the Dread's size and position and then I opened my eyes just as Romeo-Saet began to speak.

"All of my life, and that is a long time, I have studied the path to Glory we Fates call The Maker Song," he said. "Much was known, but much more has now been revealed and proven by our new friend, k'mek." Romeo-Saet glanced briefly over to where I knew the Dread stood, but looked quickly away. "For this knowledge, if it proves fully true, as I expect that it will, we are in his debt. Now I will tell you a brief version of the story, so that you will understand what is expected of you, Beloved Reborn." He addressed Amy. "The Maker, because he was lonely, came from Glory made the world and everything in it. The Maker lived for many years in the world, fellowshipping with Humans and Fates and, we now know, also the pa'shok." Again Romeo-Saet glanced quickly at the Dread.

Pa'shok? I wondered at the word. I had not heard it before. Was this what they called the Dread?

"At length, the Maker fell in love," he continued. "As it happens, the Maker fell in love with a Human. We do not record her name, but she is remembered as Beloved. The Maker laid with her, and she became pregnant. When the child, a daughter, was born, Beloved died, as was common in those days. The Maker made all things, but he could not control the life within them. His heart was crushed. In tears, it is said, he took the child in his arms and sang her a song. The song became a part of her, buried deep within her. Then, the Maker called his servant, the Fate Phael, and told him that he was going away. He was returning to Glory. Phael was grieved with the news and begged the Maker to stay or, if he could not stay, to return. The Maker told Phael that he would return when Beloved was reborn and sang back to him the song he had sung to their daughter. Phael asked when this would happen, and the Maker told him that 400 daughters would stand before Beloved before she would be reborn. All of these things happened almost 8,000 years ago as we reckon time here on Earth. Do you understand me, Beloved Reborn?" Again he spoke to Amy when he said this.

"Me?" Amy asked. She turned her head and looked back at me, desperation in her eyes. Looking at Romeo-Saet, I tried to calculate whether or not I could get move quickly enough to try something bold. I'd have to kill the Dread first, or he would flee and then there was no telling what might happen to Sam. Then I'd have to slash that fence and cut that rope. Taking care of Romeo-Saet would be a simple matter, unless he was armed with a gun. I had no way to know that. He might shoot me. He might shoot Amy, though he wouldn't be likely to if he believed the story he'd just told. Then, once he was dead, how would I find Sam? I had his bond that no one would be hurt if we cooperated. Everything I'd ever been taught told me that I could trust that bond. It was probably the only chance for everyone. I looked Amy in the eye and then bowed my head and looked down.

"No," I heard her say with tears in her voice, "I don't understand."

"You see," Romeo-Saet said, "our friend k'mek has learned secrets. The pa'shok are masters of study and lore. He brought these to us, the keepers of the lore of the Maker Song, so that we could see, once again, our Maker who has gone to Glory. These secrets trace a line, from mother to daughter, back to the mother of your blood. You, Amy Renee Montagne, are Beloved Reborn. Four hundred daughters stand between you and the Maker's Beloved. You are Beloved Reborn. Yours is the power and the right to sing the Maker Song. You hold the keys to Glory. You are Beloved Reborn. Do you understand?"

"But," Amy said, "I don't know any songs."

"You do," he said.

"No I don't," she yelled.

At her rage, Romeo-Saet gave a light tug on the rope. The chair beneath Darla, whose legs were trembling with fatigue, shook and creaked beneath her. She screamed through her gag.

"No!" Amy screamed. She jumped from the chair and ran to the fence, grabbing it with her hands. I took a step forward, ready to draw and run if Romeo-Saet pulled the chair. There would be no time for the Dread in that event. Sam would probably be lost. "Please!" Amy screamed. "I don't know it! I don't know the song! Please!"

"You do know it," he said calmly. "Go back to your chair, compose yourself, and sing the song. Do it now."

I couldn't stand it. I started to walk toward Amy.

"You stay back," Romeo-Saet said threateningly. Amy turned around to look at me.

"I'm just going to help her back to her chair," I said. "She's just a little girl."

"She can manage," he answered coolly. "Get back to the door."

I stopped, but I didn't move back. Amy looked from me to Romeo-Saet and back to me. Then, slowly, she sniffed and wiped her tears on her sleeve and stood to return to her chair. I was just a three feet from the chair at this point, so close. When Amy got to the chair, she didn't stop. She walked past the chair to me and threw her arms around my waist, hugging me. I almost cried for her, but I couldn't miss the opportunity. I needed to be clear.

"Get to your seat," he said. The chair beneath Darla creaked again and Darla screamed. At this Amy jerked, but she did not let go.

"She just needs a hug," I said. "We're not going anywhere." Kneeling down, I used Amy to shield from Romeo-Saet and my own body to shield from the Dread. I slipped the GPS phone, making sure it was turned on, from my pocket to hers. She was perfect. She did nothing to betray the exchange. "It's going to be okay," I said into her ear. "I promise. Okay."

"Okay," she whispered tearily. She let go of me and sat in her chair, wiping her eyes again and sitting up straight to face Romeo-Saet.

"Back!" he snapped at me. Without turning my back, I stepped back to the doorway.

"What do I do?" asked Amy.

"Sing," he replied.

"Sing what?"

"Just begin to sing," he said. "It will come to you."

"Okay," Amy said. She relaxed her posture a little and, eyes on her mother, began to sing. "Fa la la la," she started. Her voice was small and shaky with tears. She meandered around notes with "la's" and "fa-la's" and "doh's." It sounded like gibberish, no melody or tune. She stopped. "It's not coming to me," she said.

"It will," he said. "Do not stop again. Sing."

Amy swallowed and, her voice cracking, started again, "Da da dee da," she sang. Again she meandered around the notes without melody or rhythm. She didn't stop, however. She stared at her mother and continued her song.

Then the song shifted. It took on a familiar tune and rhythm. "I've heard this," I thought. "What is this?" I couldn't place it. Was it from the radio? As she settled into the familiar tune, her voice grew stronger. I could feel the melody. I knew when it would dip and when it would rise. Without realizing it, I closed my eyes and began to nod my head slowly with the rhythm. I breathed deeply and felt the song wash over me. "Is someone singing with her?" I wondered. The voice sounded clear and strong. It dipped richly into the low notes and rang out the high ones. Was it just one voice? Was it many voices? I wondered, but I couldn't open my eyes to see. Without knowing why, I bowed my head and let the music wash over me. The song was beautiful, just as it had always been. I knew this song. I had always known this beautiful song. Where had I learned this song? Who was singing this song?

I have no idea how much time had passed when I heard the voice call my name. "Simon!" Amy screamed. Jumping to my feet and drawing my blade in one motion, I opened my eyes. Amy was tearing at the chain on the fence. As though in slow motion, the chair beneath Darla was hitting the floor. Her hands were tied, so she could not reach up to grab the rope and keep her neck from absorbing the force of the plunge. Moving as quickly as I could, I swung my blade up and around my head and, as I began to run, released it. It sailed true and hard. I watched it spin and slice through the flimsy fence wire and then cut like a razor through the rough rope between the two roof supports. The blade plunged into the far wall as Darla tumbled roughly to the ground.

"Mommy!" Amy yelled.

As I got to the gate I saw that most of Darla's fall was absorbed by her legs and then, as she tripped on the flimsy chair and fell backwards, her bottom. She'd be sore, but at least she had not fallen head-first on the cold, concrete floor. If I'd had my blade, I'd have sliced through the chain easily, but it was buried in the wall. Instead, I set to work on the padlock and, after several long seconds, had it opened. I opened the gate and let Amy in.

Only then did I have a chance to wonder what had happened. Looking over, I saw Romeo's body collapsed, face-first on the floor, the rope still clutched in his hand. As Amy removed Darla's gag I climbed past the two of them and knelt beside Romeo's body. Feeling his throat I was surprised. He had a pulse. I rolled him over. His eyes were closed. I pulled up his right eyelid. His pupils were fixed and dilated. Romeo's body was alive, but there was no one home. Saet was gone.

Then I remember k'mek, the Dread. Closing my eyes, I swept the room with my inner sight. He was gone. He'd gone, no doubt, to tell Joseph what had happened. Still using inner sight, I looked down at Romeo di Marti's body. Nothing there was no life there.

"Is he dead?" It was a woman's voice I didn't know. It was Darla. I turned toward them. Darla was leaning back against the wall hugging Amy to her chest.

"No," I told her, "but Saet, the Fate, is gone. So is Romeo. This body is alive, but it's empty."

Darla looked at me and fought back tears. "What the hell is this?" she asked. "What the hell are you talking about it?"

"Look," I said, "don't worry about it. It's over. We found you." I smiled at her.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"He's my friend, Mommy," Amy said. "He came and got me after you disappeared. We've been looking for you."

Darla didn't know what to think of me, and I didn't blame her. "Thank you," she said finally, and she hugged Amy tightly.

I looked back at Romeo's body on the floor. Then I saw the yellow paper in his pocket and my stomach sunk, "Oh, God," I said. "Sam." I reached and took the paper from her pocket.

"Sam!" Amy said. She sat up from where she had been leaning against her mother. "We have to save Sam! That Joseph took her!"

"We?" Darla snapped at Amy. "WE don't have to do anything! HE can do whatever he needs to do, but YOU are staying with me and WE are going home." Darla climbed to her feet and pulled Amy up after her. One of her ankles was tender, and her legs were undoubtedly very sore, but she was able to stand and walk.

I stood with them looked down at the folded paper in my hands. Amy walked looked over at Romeo's body.

"What happened to him, Simon?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said. "What do you think happened?"

She thought for a minute and then said, "I sang the song." She looked up at me. "Did you hear it?"

"I did." I couldn't remember the song, but I could remember the feeling. She had sung the song.

"Maybe," she said, "it worked. Maybe he's in Glory. Maybe he's with the Maker."

I looked down at her and then up at Darla. Darla didn't know what to think, but she must have heard the song too. There was no denying that something had happened. I tried to remember, but I couldn't. I looked down at Romeo di Marti's face. There was the trace of a smile.

"Maybe so," I said. "Who knows?"

51

Aphter: 49

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49

It was nothing short of a miracle that I made it to Il Forno alive driving like I did. Cami had wanted to come with me, and I felt terrible for leaving her there alone, but I couldn't bring her into any more danger. I told her to go to a neighbor's house and call the cops. I hope that's what she did.

It had been a relief to find the address for Il Forno in the phone book, because I knew right where it was and it wasn't far from Sam's place. When I arrived at the bakery, I drove past the front parking lot without stopping. It was dark now, and the place looked closed. I drove down to the first street where I could turn right and drove one block around to the back of the place. There was a black Lexus parked beside one door. It could have been the car from my apartment last night, it looked the same in the dark, but I wasn't sure. I drove about another half a block past Il Forno and pulled into the driveway of a house on the right side of the road with a "For Rent" sign out front. It looked empty. Climbing out of the car, I double-checked my pockets to make sure I had everything I needed. I wanted to be prepared.

Closing and locking the door, I went over likely scenarios in my mind. Maybe they were all there. Maybe just one of them. They could use the girls as human shields. They could take one or more of them as a hostages and escape. How far would I be willing to go to stop them? According to the Sheriff, I had orders from the Knight Lord to kill Joseph Mollel. I would have to do that. I had also been charged by the Sheriff to avenge the murder of his son. He wanted me to kill Romeo di Marti. Could I do that? Should I?

"Thou shalt not kill." The words echoed in my head again, and I could feel the muscles in my neck tightening with anxiety. Trying to relax, I made my way quietly through the shadows of the dark, suburban night toward the back lot of Il Forno. Moving secretly was second nature to me. My training with Dad had involved days and days of training games in woods, city streets, neighborhoods, all over. If he found me, he hurt me just enough to reinforce the lesson. I'd gotten pretty good at hiding from him, and he wasn't easily fooled.

Before long I'd made it unnoticed to the shadows of the fence line beside Il Forno. From there I looked out at the back lot and side alley. There was no sign of anyone out and about, and I didn't hear any noise. There would be no way to move from here to the door unseen from watching eyes, but I could at least move quietly. Standing and setting my muscles to proper tension and readiness to react quickly, I moved quickly and quietly out from the shadows and, before long, stood at the back door that said "Il Forno."

Kneeling down so that I was mostly shielded from the sight of the neighborhood by the Lexus, I pressed my ear close to the seam of the door near the hinges and listened with all my skill. I could hear nothing at all. "Damn," I thought. There was no telling what was on the other side of this door, and the walls and door were too solid and thick to try inner sight. I might be able to enter silently. I might trip an alarm. I might walk right into the two men. It could be a trap. I hated having no good options.

Gently, I reached for the knob and gave it a slight turn. It made no noises, luckily, but it was locked. I slipped the tool from my pocket and began working on the lock. It wasn't complicated at all, just a cheap, locking door knob. That was good. That meant there probably wasn't an alarm system. When I felt the tumblers fall into position, I turned the knob again. It was smooth and quiet, no clicking or pinging. I tugged just barely on the door and felt that it was free. I could open it.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and moved to flatten myself against the wall beside the door. After weighing my options, I decided to try for a quiet entry. Flexing and settling into readiness, I opened the door slowly and smoothly. The hinges were quiet. I heard no telltale beeping. Unless someone had seen the door, no one would know I was here. The door was open beside me wide enough for me to walk in. I heard no noise from inside. Leaning out slightly from the wall, I peeked over through the door.

Inside was a utility room with a sink, a mop bucket and a trash can. The light in the utility room was off, but the door to the next room was open, and the lights were on in there. I slipped into the utility room.

"Please, Mr. Sayer, come in here," said a voice I did not recognize.

"Shit," I thought, wondering how they had seen me. I glanced around for signs of a camera, but I saw nothing. Then, as I stood to walk into the room, I felt a sudden and severe sickness and fear in my stomach. I had never felt this feeling before, but I had been taught all about it. My heart began to race, but my training took over. I closed my eyes and awakened my inner sight, a skill only taught to Sword Masters. I wasn't yet in a position to see into the room, but these interior walls were thin enough to see through with inner sight. I couldn't see the room or the walls or the furniture, only the shapes of life. There was a small man on the far side of the room I was about to enter. "Romeo," I thought to myself. There was the shape of a young girl. "Amy." She was sitting as though on a chair halfway between Romeo and the door in front of me. I knew I could reach her before he could, but I didn't know if he was armed. Her legs were positioned as though the chair was facing Romeo, but her face was turned back toward me. Against the back wall, beside Romeo, was a woman. Her hands were behind her and she looked like she was standing on something. She was standing very straight and tall and still. "Darla?" I wondered.

Then I saw the thing I felt. It was a Dread. I couldn't make out its exact shape, but it was taller than me. I had heard that they were extremely fast. "So am I," I thought. It would be about eight feet to my right when I walked through the door, and it didn't know I could see it. That gave me a slight advantage. I fixed its position in my mind and opened my eyes.

"Mr. Sayer, please," the voice said again. "We've been expecting you."

"Simon!" Amy screamed as I walked through the door. She started to get out of the chair and run toward me, but then she stopped and sat back down. She was crying. Looking at the man across the room I saw why. On the far side of the room was a small, gated pen surrounded by chain-link fence that ran from the floor to the ceiling. It looked like it had been intended to protect valuable inventory. The gate was locked with a heavy chain. In the corner of the pen to my right was the small man, Romeo di Marti. He held the end of a short rope in his hands. The other end of the rope was tied to the legs of a little, flimsy-looking wooden chair in the other corner of the pen. On the chair, her mouth gagged and terror in her eyes, was the woman, Darla Montagne. A noose of thick, rough rope circled her neck and ran up over an exposed, steel roof support and was anchored to the next support a few feet away. The rope was pulled so tight that Darla had to stand on the tips of her toes.

"My God," I whispered.

"You will stay right there," Romeo said, "until the song is done. Then, if you want to save your other young friend, you will follow these instructions." He pulled a folded yellow sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and then pushed it back in. "Do you understand?"

I knew he was talking about Sam. She wasn't here, and neither was Joseph. I would have to cooperate for now. "Okay," I said, standing in the doorway and drawing my blade to just below the surface, ready to strike.

50

Aphter: 48

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48

"Please. Please. Please," I whispered over and over to myself as I pushed the car as fast as I could through the stop signs, side streets and traffic lights on the way back to Sam's. I called Sam's place several times, but no one answered.

I was trying to fit together everything Sheriff Wayne had told me with what I'd seen myself of Joseph. I'd sat right there with him and had a long conversation. That was a Fate? A Fate? What did that mean? I've never known for sure how much memory a body retains when it's taken over by a Fate. This one seemed to know everything. That was not good. He was working with the Dread? So, did that mean the Dread knew everything Joseph had known? That was not good, not good at all.

And now what? Kill them? Kill Joseph and this Romeo di Marti? Kill them? I'd been trained all my life to fight, and I was good at it, but I'd never actually killed anyone before. Kill two men? How could I do that?

"Thou shalt not kill." I heard the voice from my memory so tangibly just then that I glanced in the mirror and to the seat beside me to see if I was alone in the car. The Demiurge dream, what did it mean? Was it only a dream? It had seemed so real. Was the Demiurge working with the Dread again? "I have one rule for you. Thou shalt not kill." What did it mean?

My heart pounded with fear as I pushed these thoughts aside and slid to a stop in the driveway of Sam's place. Her little SUV was gone, but that wasn't necessarily any reason to panic. Cami could have taken it somewhere, or Sam and Amy might have stepped out. I closed the car door quietly when I got out and walked toward the front door. If anyone was watching, they'd undoubtedly seen me already. Best to act like everything was normal.

"Might be easier if you hadn't rushed into the driveway in a power slide," I thought to myself. As I walked I breathed in and out slowly, calming myself from the inside out. I needed to be clear headed right now.

"If anything has happened to them I'll never forgive myself," I thought, but I pushed the thought quickly aside as I arrived at the door. "If only I had known what I was dealing with. I was brought into this thing blind and unprepared." If I could have gone back, I'd have been so much more careful. But you can never go back. I needed to remember that for next time, if there were a next time.

Since I'd been staying here for a couple of days, I decided it would be most normal for me to just open the door and walk in. It was late evening, almost dark, and the porch light wasn't on. "Maybe they went out," I thought. I reached for the knob to go in. It was locked. Okay. No big deal. They've probably stepped out for some food or something. "Wouldn't they have called if they were going to leave?" I thought. Given the circumstances, I had to admit to myself that it wouldn't be like Sam to take Amy off somewhere without calling. "But, she is pissed with you," I thought.

I decided to ring the doorbell. I rang it three times quickly and waited. No answer. Again anxiety started to rise up, and again I breathed in and out deeply and quelled it. I needed clear thinking. "Okay," I thought. "Either someone knows I'm here and they're ignoring me, or no one is here."

"Or someone is here and they can't come to the door." The third option occurred to me suddenly and brought new nervousness with it, which I fought back down. Reaching into the front pocket of my jeans, down to the inner pocket near the bottom, I pulled out the small plastic case and, with my hand still in my pocket, found the tiny lock tool and brought it out. I slipped it into the front door lock as inconspicuously as I could. Before long I felt the familiar clicks and the knob turned in my hand. Slipping the tool back into its place, I pushed the door open and stood looking in for a moment.

There was a lamp turned on in the living room, but the rest of the place was dark. I stepped into the living room and closed the door behind me softly. It sure looked like there was no one here.

"Meow."

I almost jumped out of my skin as the cat cried out and leapt up onto the back of the sofa from where it had been sitting. "Damn," I whispered, calming myself again. I walked over and pet the cat, listening for any sounds in the place. I didn't hear any.

Walking around the sofa, I moved slowly into the kitchen. All dark. Nothing there. I walked around just enough to see all the places anyone could be hiding and then went back through the living room toward the hallway. The door to the bathroom was open, so I walked in and flipped on the light. Thankfully, the shower curtain was wide open. Opening a shower curtain to look for a prowler was just too spooky. There was no one in there.

I walked back out into the hall and headed for the first room. It was Cami's. I knocked on the door softly. There was no answer. "Cami?" I called out quietly. No one answered. "Cami?" I asked again, more loudly, opening the door to the dark room.

Then I heard a noise, but it wasn't in this room. I heard a shuffling noise in the next room, Sam's room. "Hello?" I called out loudly, walking toward the next door. "Is anyone there?" I heard the shuffling noise more loudly. I walked into the room and flipped on the light. I didn't see anyone at first, but I there was noise on the far side of the room. I rushed in and around the bed. What I saw confirmed my worst fears.

"Cami!" I gasped, rushing to kneel beside side. She was lying on her stomach, her feet and hands bound together behind her with duct tape. There was tape wrapped around her head also, covering her mouth. When she saw me she started to cry. "Hold on. Hold on. My God." I slipped a pocket knife from the inside of my jacket and, holding her still, cut the tape binding her hands and feet. I didn't pull it off, but I freed her from it. "Be very still," I said. I slipped the knife blade behind the tape at the back of her head and, working sideways and trying not to cut any of her hair, I slit the tape.

Cami sat up, crying, and started pulling the tape from her hair on the left side. I helped her, and soon she had it to her ear. Very gently, she pulled the tape from the left side of her face and freed her mouth. The skin was red and irritated where the tape had been. With the tape still clinging to one side of her head, she started sobbing and leaned her face into my chest.

"Cami, what happened?" I asked. I took her shoulders and, as calmly as I could, pulled her back so I could see her face and hear her. "What happened? Where are Sam and Amy?"

She took a couple of deep, heaving breaths and tried to stop sobbing. "They came...," she heaved, her throat convulsing. "They came right after you left." She broke into another sob but got control of herself. I saw now that she had been in a struggle. She had blood on her right cheek and her left eye was bruised. "Two men," she heaved. "A big man, he was black, and a little man," she said. "I think he might have been Hispanic or something."

"Cami, where are Sam and Amy," I asked.

"They took them," she said, and she collapsed, sobbing, into my chest.

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Aphter: 47

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47

Inuichuk, the Knight Lord, sat against the wall, his eyes closed, and thought. While he thought, everyone stayed very quiet. Romeo and the Sheriff had taken seats at one of the several heavy, wooden tables scattered around the large room. The African, Joseph, stood quietly near the bars at the front of his cell, his eyes cast down at the ground by his feet. David leaned back against the stone wall that divided the Joseph's cell from the neighboring cell, and stared down into his folded hands.

I was struck by how perfectly still everyone was. No one moved at all. Looking around the room was like looking at a wax display of these people. Even I could feel a stillness that struck me as something new to this place. There were no involuntary movements or flutters. If I didn't will myself to move, I stayed perfectly at rest. It was an odd sensation to note.

"There are three mysteries," Inuichuk finally said. I looked over and he still had his eyes closed and hadn't moved from his repose. "First," he continued, "there is the mystery of the Whim. We do not know who sent it, but it must have been someone that knows more about our situation than we know. Second, there is the question of the business in which the Fates are engaged. Fates seek always for Glory, for their notion of the culmination of history. This Maker Song must fit that pattern somehow. How does that touch our current situation? Third, there is the mystery of Al's death at the hands of these Fates, too cnincidental to be a coincidence. Do you agree?" he asked, opening his eyes and looking out at the people around him.

"That sounds exactly right to me," said the Sheriff.

"Yes," agreed David.

"Let us talk about the Third item," Inuichuk said, pausing to take in and then exhale a deep breath. "I think it is logical to conclude that the Fates know about Wayne. As far as we know, Fates have no special ability to see ghosting humans. Ghosting Dread, however, know many secrets. We have reason to believe that they can, in fact, detect ghosting humans, even as we have ways to detect them. Agreed?"

The knights in the room nodded in agreement.

"What is a ghosting Dread?" I asked. Whatever it was, it sounded awful.

"The Dread are our enemy," said Mila.

"Well, Knights need monsters," said the Sheriff with a sigh.

"There are many here in this Hall, my friend," said Inuichuk, "who are older than any others who walk the streets outside. I am one of these. I can assure you, these monsters you mock are real."

"I meant no offense," said the Sheriff, smiling. "Just ignore me. I don't wait well."

"So, the enemy still works alongside our traitor," David said. "Simon can send him home if he's warned."

"The Dread, as we call them, are not our enemy," said Joseph, not looking up from the ground.

"Shut up," David growled, calm and menacingly. "You don't talk unless we ask you too."

"This is what has happened," Inuichuk said, ignoring the traitor. "Wayne has been discovered by the Dread. Somehow, he betrayed his identity and that of his family. Al was killed by the Fates at the command of the Dread. This was either an attempt at blackmail or simply a mocking gesture of cruelty."

"What?" I asked. "Romeo came to the station. I was only one of several detectives on duty. The clerk on duty could have called any one of them."

"Could he have asked for you by name?" David asked, looking over at me. "Do people do that?"

The thought hadn't occurred to me. The clerk hadn't said that Romeo asked for me by name. Would she have told me? "It's possible," I said.

"And, as soon as you saw him, this terrible feeling came over you?" David already knew the answer when he asked the question.

"Yes." It was true.

"That was the Dread. He was shadowing you," said Inuichuk. "He was watching you, oppressing you. This is their way." He looked over at Joseph who did not look up. "This is where they get their name," the Lord said.

"You were railroaded into that bakery, Al," David said. "Sorry."

I tried to remember. I had wanted to leave. I remembered that. Nevertheless, I had made the decision to follow Johnny, who turned out to be Romeo. I had made the decision to go into the bakery. Right? I was almost positive, but there was doubt. I could remember the heavy, negative funk that had weighed on me. A creature? Some monster on my shoulders? It was so hard to believe.

"This is what happened," Inuichuk said. I had to admit, he might be right. "Now, the Fates and their plot," he continued. "The Dread always look and learn. This is their way. The Dread have learned some secret that is valuable to the Fates, a secret that touches on this Maker Song. The Fates, however, are beings of principle. Their values twist and turn, but they will only agree to a thing if they think they are serving the good and the right. The Fates have become convinced that what this Dread asks of them is good and right, and they are willing to do it in exchange for information about this Maker Song. What have they agreed to do?" The last question was directed at Joseph. Inuichuk stopped and stared at the African.

"They have agreed to help the k'mek and the pa'shok reclaim what is theirs," Joseph said. "They have agreed because it is right."

"What's this?" asked the Sheriff. "Who agreed to help the whom reclaim what?"

"These are secrets of the Order," Inuichuk said. "We will discuss this no further here. It is enough."

"I have to be honest, I never understand a word you boys say," the Sheriff sighed. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling.

"So," Inuichuk continued, "we have the question of Simon. Who brought our Sword Master into this before we had a chance to explain it to him?"

"If I had known when he was here that these were connected, Lord, I'd have told him..." David began.

"You were following our plan, David," the Lord interrupted. "I understand this. Someone else has sent this Whim and gotten him involved in spite of us. Who has done this? Does anyone here have any knowledge to help us discern this?" He glanced around the room and then stared at the Sheriff.

"Me?" the Sheriff laughed. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with me."

Inuichuk looked over at Joseph, who had looked up to meet his eyes. "Joseph?" he asked.

"I know nothing of a Whim," he answered calmly.

Inuichuk looked around, but no response was forthcoming. "This troubles me greatly," he said. "It could be a Dread trick to trap our Sword Master. One wonders, however, why they would want him involved." Again he looked around the room.

"Lord," David said, "let me go to Simon. I'll explain these things to him and return."

"We can't just have the whole town spooking around the world," the Sheriff said. "These trips are frowned upon, Inuichuk. You know that. The ravens will only take so much without some explanation."

"I need to warn my son," David said. "Surely you can understand that, Farrokh."

"It's not a lack of compassion, my friend," the Sheriff said.

"No," Inuichuk said finally. "Wayne is there for us. Simon is well-trained. We will trust this in their hands."

"Lord..." David started.

"No. I have decided," Inuichuk stood and walked briskly from the room, his seven companions close behind.

David slid down the wall and sat on the ground, burying his head in his arms, and said nothing.

"We know the way out," the Sheriff said. I looked over at him and he motioned that I should follow him. Romeo was already up and sticking close to him. I wlaked over and joined them.

"Say nothing of what you've heard here," Percy said, blocking our way. "Sheriff, you will explain to them our rights and the importance of secrecy."

"Your secrets are safe with us, friend," the Sheriff answered with a smile. Percy stepped aside and, much to my relief, Sheriff Freddie led the way back out of this forboding place.

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