GEMMA HAS decided to steal away tonight.
Last night she had a dream. Abrythnia stood in the open door of the manse. It was dark outside. The goddess would not enter but instead held her arms wide, beckoning the girl to her with divine light emanating from her face. Gemma awoke knowing this was the last she would ever see of the first ring. Tonight, she would be leaving for the ninth ring and then for the edge of the world. To find us there.
She has things to do, however. After getting dressed in a long brown coat over a matching drab skirt, she writes a brief letter to her mother. She cannot contain the drops of resentment in the words as she writes: Have gone to find the Passions. Do not look for me. I love you, but this is not my place. We both know it never was.
She does not sign it. The note is left on her pillow. Her mother hardly ever comes into Gemma’s bedchamber, so unless curiosity overtakes Esther, a servant will find it and give it to her.
In the archives, down in the forbidden room of books, she explains her plan to Tully. He is hesitant, but he agrees to meet her outside tonight so she might take Madden with her on the journey.
“I’ll miss that dog,” says the archivist, his saucer eyes already awash in tears. Gemma wonders if he will survive alone.
Now, she has but to wait. She stops in at a local pub across from the Glass Halls and hears the city humming along. She is surprised she has not seen the monotony here until recently, the patterns of straight-line boredom. Everything is so quiet, but not peaceful. Threats lie beneath the hush. These threats are made vocal when the Voice of GOD repeats His daily diatribe unto the world. Everything once seemed so clean and orderly, but now all Gemma wants to do is throw away her sunspectacles. To never have to see the world through tinted frames again.
She hides at curfew in the garden behind the Glass Halls where she met Rossa. She hopes the woman has found the child. Her stomach churns as she thinks she may be responsible for his death. When it is safe, she hurries to the archives and waits at the back door for Tully to appear. She is concerned he will not show. But then, she assures herself, he knows she must get to the ninth ring. He feels this strange push and pull of dreams and augury as deeply as she. She finds a place to hide behind a muscular statue meant to resemble GOD. If it does, no one knows, for who can look upon the face of the Almighty?
It is night now. The streets are empty save for the Kingdom Guard on their patrols. Gemma knows the impossibility of hiding in the first ring even at night. The crystal and glass give the slightest movement away. It is so frustrating, she wants to smash the whole city and she feels no shame in this. Not after reading the files in the archives.
She has been waiting for some time, growing restless, when the door squeaks open. Tully peeks out, his glowing bulbous eyes searching for Gemma in the darkness. He clearly has no plans to actually step from the building, but Madden does not know this. The huge white hound bounds out the door, free for the first time in his life. He knocks Tully to the ground in the process, and the archive door shuts with an echoing bang and locks behind them.
Tully stands and seems unsure whether to run after Madden or try to get back into the archives. Gemma comes to his aide.
“He’ll be fine,” she assures Tully quietly, taking his arm. “He’s a dog. They are the most loyal creatures in the world. Madden has just gone to play for a bit. Can you blame him, after being for most of his life such a big dog in such a small space?”
“He’ll be back?”
“I won’t leave without him,” she promises.
Tully examines his surroundings. “It’s darker than I remember.”
Gemma is uncertain if this is a joke, so she stifles a laugh.
“Are you ready?” Tully says. He is holding onto her arm so tightly it hurts. His eyes are the size of grapefruits.
“I am. I’m more ready for this than I’ve been for anything I can remember. I’m ready and I’m absolutely terrified.”
“You there!” A Kingdom Guard has spotted them, drawn by the slam of the door. He motions for another, and the pair approach Gemma and Tully with wide, quick strides.
Tully begins to shake.
“Stay calm,” Gemma whispers.
“What are you doing out past curfew?” The guard has an uncomfortable leer. Gemma suspects he means harm no matter how she answers. He is pockmarked and angry.
“We’ve been locked out—”
“Not you,” he says. “You.” He points a sword at Tully’s throat.
“We’ve done nothing,” Gemma says. “Please. Just let us be on our way.”
A large hand swats her so hard across the face, she goes flying to the ground. The sting leaves her deaf to all else around her for a few moments. When she finally regains her composure, she sees Tully on the ground as well. The guards are kicking him and laughing about it. Tully is begging for mercy but getting none. He looks to Gemma, his eyes holding such misery she has to look away. What have I done? she thinks to herself. They’re going to kill him and it will be my fault.
She looks back just in time to see the heavier of the two guards leap into the air and jump on Tully’s back. Tully cries in agony for help, for mercy, for death, for a GOD that doesn’t care.
Gemma rises. She may not be able to do much against these two, but she will not stand by and watch as a friend is trampled on like manure in the field. Death is near, and she feels it is coming for her. She runs toward the attack, but a great flash of white knocks her again to the ground. She hears more screams, but now it is the guards. Heavy drops of blood rain down around Gemma as Madden rips into the second guard. The first man is a bloody, lifeless pulp against the archive door. Tully looks up at Madden in astonishment from his fetal position on the ground. An arm lands near his head, and he flinches.
Gemma runs to Tully. “We haven’t got time to waste now!” she says, grabbing his arm and pulling him up regardless of his pained protests. “Other guards will be here soon. We need to hide.”
Madden licks his bloody teeth and is soon at the ready. Gemma puts Tully on Madden’s back.
“You’re a good dog,” Tully says as he strokes the dog’s coat.
“Hold on to him,” Gemma says. “Hold on to each other.”
Tully mumbles something as his eyes close.
“Stay awake, Tully,” Gemma says as they hurry through the city streets, her heels echoing on the cobblestones. “We’ll find you a doctor soon, but you must stay awake. It will do no good if you go into shock.”
But where will they go? Gemma knows nothing of the seedier parts of the Immortal City. She has no idea where to go. All she knows is the gate, so that is the direction in which she heads.
Sirens are blaring. The guards have been discovered. In the streets ahead, a large group of Kingdom Guards gathers. They have not spotted the three of them yet, but it is only a matter of seconds. She pauses, uncertain what to do. Her head is dizzy, her heart races. She looks around for some route to take. And then she sees it.
To her right, a large portion of wall suddenly vanishes, pulling back and revealing a dark doorway. A man and a woman appear, ushering them to follow. Gemma sees no other course and no time to object. Madden bares his teeth but follows Gemma just the same. The wall grumbles closed behind them once they are out of sight.
Inside the wall, it is dark and cramped. At least five others are here along with Gemma, Tully, and Madden, but there is no time for introductions. In complete darkness, they are being hurried down what Gemma can only assume is an old sewer system, remnants of an older order.
They are led on for a while without a word from the wall people. Gemma is becoming concerned for Tully. She has not heard him whimper or moan since they were first brought in. She continuously feels for his pulse.
At last, they come to a stop. A torch is lit, and Gemma sees they are in a small spherical room most likely meant for storage in some ancient past. The bricks are rust-colored, but solid. Having some light, she immediately checks on Tully.
“He’ll be fine,” comes the gruff voice of a man, apparently the leader of the group. “We’ve got some of the best street doctors in the whole of the city. They can bring back the dead, they can.”
Gemma studies the man. He has long black hair and a beard tied into many thick braids. He wears a patch over his left eye and a great scar across his right cheek. His clothes are those of combat, but ancient combat. He wears a silver breast plate over his muscular torso and a green and black kilt signifying nothing to Gemma, but most likely everything to him. She knows who he is before he introduces himself.
“I be Usker Lance,” says the man. “I’ve taken the title of Great Sinner after my friend and my life Colm Archer was taken from me by that great ass polyp GOD. You be Gemma Kerr, and we’ve been waitin’ for you, lass. Aye. The whole stinkin’ Immortal City has.”
GRAN IS screaming in pain. One of the nurses has forgotten to refill the medication. Such is the problem with a lobotomized nursing staff. They tend to forget a lot.
Deirdre is the only doctor on duty. It is early morning, still dark out. She doesn’t chide the nurse; it wouldn’t stick. She simply stares at Gran stupidly, confusion marking her expression. Deirdre refills the bag and taps the IV, making certain it is now flowing into Gran’s system. She wonders how long the old woman can hang on. She should be dead by now. Deirdre has seen much stronger people die within a day of the illness, but Gran seems to be almost improving at times. One person’s miracle is another’s curse.
Things are calming. Gran moans quietly. The medicine works fast. Deirdre sits on the bed beside the old woman. She excuses the nurse, and the young woman shuffles away mechanically. Her name was Orna. She miscarried yesterday, but that is for the best. If born, the child would have been sent to GOD to be one of the Children in Red and then, at around ten years, he would have been sent back to the ninth… and to the Factory.
“Why are you still here?” Deirdre whispers to the old woman. “Why hang on to all this pain? Why not just let go?”
Gran opens her eyes, surprising the doctress. Deirdre instinctively tries to hide her face.
Gran reaches out for her. “Oh, no, my baby girl,” Gran says in a delicate hush of a voice. “My precious Elan, you are beautiful, child. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you different. You a lovely angel, that’s what you be.”
She places her hand firmly but softly on the scarred side of Deirdre’s face.
“I-I am not Elan,” Deirdre says, her voice beginning to shake.
“Of course you are. You are my beautiful baby girl. Beautiful…” she says. “Beautiful… beautiful…”
Every recitation of the word is like a blossom in Deirdre’s soul.
Gran’s hand falls away as the medicine takes over. She is now asleep and out of pain once more.
Deirdre wants to burst out and cry and yell. She feels a flood of emotions surging inside, searching for some way out, some form of expression. She rises and heads to the balcony. Once outside, she does not go to the rails but clings to the wall, fearing she might fly away if she gets too close to the balustrade. She cups her mouth, and she allows herself to scream into her hands. And suddenly, she feels a tear, the first she has cried in many years, rolling down her cheek.
Beautiful… beautiful…
GEMMA STANDS in a plaza far beneath the Immortal City. She does not know how old it is, but she is certain it is older than the most ancient acknowledged districts of the five rings.
She and Madden have been led down miles of narrow causeways, tunnels, and stairs until at last the walls began to grow farther apart, allowing more freedom to move. Soon, wall sconces with candles began to appear and gave more light. They were walking among street ruins, among complete structures beneath an earthen sky. The architecture became more poetic as they journeyed on, etched with artistic flourishes. Faces of Passions and statues of gods looked this way and that. They blew kisses with full ripe lips and groped one another playfully and obscenely. Most of the statues were broken and fissured, but the artistry of those who carved them eons ago was ever apparent.
As they walked on, Gemma saw life and even more light. A small horde of people began to emerge from ancient homes and structures, following Usker Lance and his small parade with whispered awes. Some pointed at Gemma, which made her extremely uncomfortable. She held tightly to Madden’s fur as she walked beside him.
They came to the plaza. The fountain in the center was a representation of the goddess Abrythnia holding out her arms in welcome. A hand was missing, having most likely fallen off years before, but that was all the damage the goddess has taken. Torches lit the cavern, almost as if a festival were underway and above them was not earth but the night sky.
Now, Gemma tries to take it all in, but it is too much. This underground contains a whole history she has never dreamed existed, not discussed even in the secret, banned books. The Immortal City is not as old as all are led to believe, if walkways and plazas are beneath it. Murmurs heighten as the small city of ragged underground dwellers surround her.
Usker Lance jumps up to the fountain and stands beside Abrythnia on her pedestal. Those assembled hush. “This is Gemma Kerr,” he says. “I bring her before ye so that ye can see the dreams we’ve all been having are real. Can any of ye deny it now?” He squints at the crowd with his good eye, as if in warning.
Gemma glances around.
“I didna think so, ye crazy basterds!”
Everyone laughs. Usker grins, his smile fragmented but joyful.
“Tend to the lad’s wounds,” he says, gesturing to Tully. “And someone grow some balls and feed that massive beast. He’s a hero too, after all. I’m guessin’ our lady friend here needs some food in her belly as well. If not, well then, she can watch me fill mine, cuz I’m hungrier than a horned-up dragon.”
He jumps down and offers Gemma his tattooed arm, as strong and solid as an oak tree. “To the pub, eh?”
She accepts his offer with a smile, but she watches until they take Tully carefully down from Madden’s back and carry him into a columned forum. The hound goes with him, excited by the sudden number of people. The crowd is awestruck by the massive animal, the children especially. His tail wags uncontrollably as he creates a small dust storm around them.
Gemma is now sitting at a stone table. She imagines it has been in this very structure since the world began, long before the Immortal City, long before GOD. Even the air smells of primeval understanding. The pub is lit brightly with candles and lanterns stolen from the city above, and it looks clean and well kept. The same lyrical architecture from outside carries through in here. She sees an old hearth opposite them, the walls painted in joyous frescoes resembling the fragment in her bedchamber back at the House of Kerr.
“It’s so much nicer down here,” Gemma says. Usker has seated himself opposite her, slumping a bit the way comfortable men do. His shoulders are wide and thick, those of a hero, and others lean on him as they crowd around the table. She is introduced to a few of these, with names like Sary and Royce.
“Up in the Immortal City,” she continues, “I can barely see for the glare or breathe for fear it will be my last.”
“You never need go back there, Miss Gemma,” Usker says. “You be done with their sort now.”
Plates of vegetables, breads, and meats are set before them. Gemma is stunned by the quantity and, indeed, the quality.
“We’ve got the best thieves in the city providing for us.” Usker grins as he tears into a bird leg. His good eye is locked on her, not with lust but with deep interest. “But ye won’t be stayin’ with us long, will ya?”
“No,” Gemma answers. She takes some bread and dips it into her wine. This is not her mother’s wine. This is real wine. As sweet as a Passion’s kiss. She relishes it, lets it play on her tongue. “I’m heading for the ninth ring.”
“And you’ve caused a stir, ye have. It’s a good thing that hound don’t bark, else we’d all be in a big mastiff pony shit pile, we would.”
“Thank you for your help,” she says. “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t found us.”
“We’ve been watching ye for some time,” Usker says. “Nothin’ gonna happen to ye on my watch. We’ve even had to dispense of a few Kingdom Guards for your sake. Ye realize there is a certain Holy contingent that would like nothing more than to see ye dead. And worse.”
“I realize that now.” Gemma does not, however, realize assassins have been out to get her for some time. If Rossa had not met her behind the Glass Halls, disrupting an assassin’s plan, Gemma would surely be dead by now.
“They won’t harm your mother, the Lady Esther,” Usker assures her. “Not yet. They need her for somethin’. We haven’t figured that part out.”
“My father, Bana,” she says. “They need my mother to care for my father. When he dies, so does she. But why would GOD care if my father lives or dies? That’s what I can’t figure out. He was just one of many in the Revolution and most of the others are dead now, if the archives can be trusted.”
Usker stares at her as he chews. He does not say anything for a few moments. Those around the table echo his actions. Finally, Usker says, “Fuck my hole, I wish Colm was here. He’d know the answer. He’d know what to do.”
“Was Colm Archer important to you?” Gemma says.
Usker’s eye drops to the table. “Aye. There will never be another like him. He was the basterd what found this city under the earth. Our whole movement owes a debt to him. There have been other Great Sinners, of course, but none as great as he. He kept us safe and fed, and he kept up the fight.”
“You loved him,” Gemma says, her hand finding his across the table.
“We had a covenant, he and I. We even had a ceremony out there beneath Abrythnia’s Embrace.” He takes his thumb and wipes the corner of his eye. “We’ll be together again someday in whatever afterlife is fit for buggars like us. I swear that. Until then, I fight.”
She wonders if Usker was somewhere hidden in the audience of spectators when Colm Archer was castrated. She hopes not.
“We can get you as far as the third ring,” says Usker. “This ancient place stretches that far, we know. Probably farther, but none have discovered passages yet, and not everyone has balls as big as mine to go explorin’.”
“This city has been here all this time?”
“And it’s not alone. There be a city beneath this, and deeper still, another city. Man builds and builds until he forgets his past. Until he forgets he has anything to be guilty for cuz it’s been buried so deep. Then he shits new shit on the old shit and soon, all you’re left with is petrified shit.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Let me ask you, lass, why are you going to the ninth ring?”
She knows the words. Now she only needs to set them free. “I need… I feel… I have a… passion…”
Usker laughs hardily and toasts the air with his wooden mug. “There be the word. See, now. You… you have balls as big as mine. That’s for certain.” He raises his mug again. “To Gemma’s balls!”
The crowd repeats in raucous consensus and everyone drinks as Gemma laughs.
“Tell us of this passion,” Usker encourages.
She clears her throat. “When I was a young girl, I began to have dreams, but they were more than dreams. They felt like… like lessons. Like things I was supposed to remember of places lost and forgotten.” She looks around. “Maybe even this place. My dreams are filled with the Passions, with the green men and faeries, and more recently with the goddess Abrythnia, looking very much like she does in that fountain in the plaza. Strange. So strange.” She takes a drink of the sweet wine.
“What is?”
“That I would dream of a goddess exiled, and yet here she is under the city all along, and so close to me. In my dreams, I walk the Garden of the Passions with her and two others. Both of them are men, though. Not gods.”
“Do ye see them here, these men?” Usker says.
She looks around. “No.”
“Then you’ll see them soon enough. All of us here have dreamed these dreams ye speak of. Some of us dream them harder than others, with more clarity, but dream them we do. You see Abrythnia in the Garden, but others see her brother, Brochnol. And yet still others see the Passion King, Mungoran. I meself see the god of fire, Helix. They are all the same spirit, it seems, pushing us to some great end and new beginning. We all walk with the gods in different places, but we believe the destination is the same. The only thing our dreams seem to have in common, my sweet, is you.”
Gemma coughs up her wine. “Me?”
“Aye. Why do ye think everyone is looking at ye so?”
“You’ve seen me in your dreams?”
“Every one of us. We’re old friends, you and I. And you and Sary, and you and Royce…” Usker points around the pub. “You’re as clear to us then as ye are now. Granted, this is the first any of us has heard ye speak, so forgive us our ogling. And, oh yeah, forgive Royce most of all. Methinks he has a crush on ye and may have taken some liberties with his dreamin’, if you get my meanin’.”
Laughter laps in a small wave.
“So, these are visions everyone has been having.”
“Visions, insights, glimpses… Whatever you want to call ’em. They’re just terms we have for dreaming. And we’ve all dreamed of you, lass.”
“What do we do?” Gemma says, suddenly feeling a great weight thrust on top of her small shoulders. “What do we do now?”
“You have but to walk to the ninth ring. We ragged band of rebels and heathens, we shall follow ye. And I, the Great Sinner, I will protect ye by any means possible.” Usker holds up his large mug. “Let’s drink to it. Let’s drink to freedom.”
And the air of the place is rife with a joy Gemma has never sensed before as cheers and the knocking and clanging of mugs and stolen silver chalices fills the room and grows outward until all the Undercity is alive. The dead have risen.
ESTHER SOMETIMES wishes—in fact, she goes as far as to fantasize—that Bana would die. Or she could kill him. She is certainly capable of it, and the man, she assures herself, deserves death. But that would be a mercy for him. Best let him waste away here in this bed. Alive, he ensures her own survival, and that, in turn, ensures Gemma lives as well.
Where is that girl, anyway?
Esther sits beside Bana’s bed, watching him. Sometimes his thin eyelids flutter open, and he looks over at her suspiciously. This is how they relate, through icy stares in a house of lies and suspicion. She gave up pleasantries years ago. She does not even smile at him. Now, after working in the archives, neither will Gemma.
She did not hear Gemma rise this morning, nor leave for the archives. Esther has asked a servant girl to go wake her daughter, but the servant has yet to return. She’s going to need a new belt for servant lashings at the rate she uses it. Gemma has been distant since she began working at the archives. Not that they have ever been confidantes, but at least the girl would smile at her mother. Gemma’s is the only genuine smile in the first ring, she warrants. Now Esther barely receives a glance from her daughter. Maybe that is a good thing. Building walls and setting up barriers means less chance of pain in the future.
The old steward Rugal is at the chamber door, knocking as light as a cautious bird.
“Yes?”
“Pardon me, m’lady, but a gentleman is at the front door. Methinks he may be the new cook.”
Esther rises. “What is he doing using the front door?” No answer is required. She quickly passes by the old man. “Go find that silly maid I sent to wake Gemma,” she says. “And then you wake up Gemma. I’ll receive the new cook.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
Esther has about had it with servants these days. They seem to grow more ignorant and irritating with every passing day. There are rules in the first ring. Servants use the back door. How hard is that to remember? But then, they are lesser folk after all.
She slides on her sunspectacles and opens the large front door. Standing on the steps are two individuals, not one: a dark-haired young man dressed in a worker’s uniform, and a small boy, as clean as a whistle and carrying a drum. They are both wearing a lesser quality of sunspectacles than she.
“Good afternoon, miss,” says the man. He tries to bow. “I’m Lawl, and this be Key. We was wondering if—”
“Come in,” Esther says bluntly. “And for now on, use the servants entrance if you don’t want the lash.”
Lawl looks confused and turns to the boy.
“Well, do you want the job as my cook or not? I can’t have you standing on the stoop all day.”
“Y-yes, miss,” he says. He and the boy move past her into the manse. “Sorry, miss.”
Once inside, they take off their sunspectacles, clearly amazed by the grandeur of the place. She notices the man tense up almost immediately as they stand in the hall.
“And who is this?” She looks at the child, towering over him. “I asked only for a cook, which I imagine is you.”
“H-he… why, he’s the best cook’s assistant I’ve ever had.”
“Assistant? Why would a cook need an assistant?” She gives Lawl an oblique stare. “Isn’t the cook any good?”
“Why, I’m the best, miss. None better, I swear it. And that little scrapper is one of the reasons why. He has ways of bargaining for some of the best ingredients in the whole city. Now, I don’t ask how he does it. I just let him do his thing. He’s a little genius, that one.”
“Very well,” she says with a sigh. “He can also act as a maid. I’m about to need a new one. And you.” She points at Lawl with her sunspectacles still in her hand. “You mumble. Do not mumble when you address me. Are we clear?”
“Yes. Ma’am.”
She leads them through the manse, explaining the rules and introducing what staff she remembers, which is but Rugal. She walks ahead of them with a stiff, high-nosed air and a feminine glide, gesturing fluidly with a curl of the wrist or finger.
“You take your orders from me. No one else,” she says. “If you disappoint me, consequences can be severe. I expect this home to be run with liquid ease. I have much to look after with my husband Bana’s ill health, so I do not need impediments. You will not be dealing with him, anyway.” She turns to Key with an arched eyebrow. “But you might.” Then back around as she leads them through the kitchen. “You, Mr.…?”
“Lawl.”
“What an odd name. You, Mr. Lawl, will cater to my daughter Gemma and myself.”
“Twill be an honor, miss.”
“Yes. It will.”
They make a circle of the large room, filled with more brass and copper than any family of their size could ever use. Esther is bored by the shine. She leads them up the connecting staircase, which is a narrow passage to the servants’ quarters. The quarters are dimly lit and suffocating. Esther hates being here. She opens the room where Duana just recently died and motions them in before her.
“This is where you will sleep. Both of you.”
“That’s fine, miss,” says Lawl. “We’d prefer to be together anyway.”
“Well, I’m glad I could please you.” She is not certain how she feels about this man. But then, he is only a servant. She reminds herself she never feels anything for that class of people.
“M’lady.”
Esther turns to see Rugal at the end of the hall with the young servant girl in front of him. They both look peculiar.
“Well?” Esther says, walking toward them slowly. Candlewicks tremble with flame as she passes them. “Is Gemma awake?”
The servant girl keeps her head bowed and eyes to the floor as she offers up a small scrap of paper.
“She says it was on the bed, m’lady,” Rugal says. “She says Miss Gemma—the precious dove—is gone.”
CLAIRE WHINNIES and neighs as Rossa rides her through the congested street. Rossa has forgotten until now how much she loves being on a horse. Her family had owned a fine stallion once, but it had to be sold, like everything else. The price of living is high and allows few luxuries. That stallion had been secretly named by her Askerth, after the passion of fury. No one else in the family dared call the horse by its name, though. To do so in the Immortal City would take some courage.
Now, as Rossa sits high on this new beautiful gray mare, she feels the respect of those around her in the street. Most have never had horses of their own, and Rossa, so newly attired and out of the fire, shines regal and stunning. Beneath the broad-rimmed black hat, her red hair is a crown of flames. Children smile at her, and she smiles back and even winks.
The respect is kind, but it is not why she is here. If she were a small orphan child, a gypsy who knew the city better than anyone, where would she be hiding? She keeps her senses peeled. She has searched what remains of the orphan dens of the third ring and has asked questions, but people are tight-lipped. The ones who do talk to her have nothing to say of Key.
Rossa has climbed the abandoned mills by the River Hung, and has knocked on the doors of the homes of the darkest districts, looking for answers. Nothing. But she has only rummaged through a small portion of things worth rummaging. She will find the boy. She is more certain of that than ever. Key is alive and free of the ferrymen, for Rossa has seen truly awful places in her search for the boy, but none of these have come close to the horrors of the dead Garden. And because of that Rossa knows the search is not in vain.
She hears a stir behind her and feels the heavy breaths of the mastiff ponies before she glances over her shoulder and sees the great white carriage. All traffic on the street has pulled to the side to let pass the Sister of GOD. Rossa would rather spit in her eye, but relents. Claire seems just as put out as she.
The carriage stops beside Rossa, and the blinds are pulled up. It is Mags Hensil herself, her face as wide and white as the ancient moon. The woman’s sneer makes Rossa feel all the prouder, for if you can annoy a Sister of GOD, you must be in the right.
Her veil is raised. She gives Rossa the once-over. “GOD is watching you,” she says. “You carry yourself like a queen.” It is not a compliment.
“Perhaps, I am,” says Rossa. This elicits gasps from those who can hear the conversation, those who are on their knees in supplication. She steadies Claire as the horse seems uncomfortable in the presence of the Sister.
“Such haughtiness will not go unpunished by GOD, my child. You will pay for it in time. I saw you riding and I thought to myself, yes. There is a woman who is given to sin.”
“And how would you know this, dear Sister?”
“The manner of your dress, my child.” Her condescension is deadlier than a snake. “You need to be cleansed. My guards shall take you now.”
Rossa laughs. “And are you the one who thinks she can cleanse me? Sister, your sins far outweigh my own.”
A great cry comes from the crowd. Mags’s face drops. Her lip trembles in rage. “Dare you! A common whore in the coat of a ferryman mocks a Sister of GOD! Guards!”
Mags intends to get out of the carriage, but Claire does not allow it. The horse blows its nose in the Sister’s face, and Mags falls backward with a thump and a grunt. The guards come at Rossa, but Claire turns about and bounds past them, knocking one to the ground. Rossa is laughing as they gallop away, looking over her shoulder to see the street that had been cleared for the passage of the Sister and her carriage fill up once more before Mags Hensil can call out for pursuit.
“Good lady!” she says in Claire’s ear. “I’ll have to remember that trick.”
GEMMA HAS spent the day with Usker. He has explained to her how they will move, and with what speed. With the number of people, the obstructions in their way, and the danger of being underground, the journey will take longer. Many plan to come with them, but some will stay behind with the children. Usker has designated a couple of the sinners as carriers who will get word from the marchers to those left behind if something urgent were to occur. How many will stay with the march beyond the third ring, however, is unclear. Though Usker himself has sworn to Gemma he will see her through to the end.
“And when we get there,” he says, “we’re gonna have us one hell of a party. There’ll be a-drinkin’ and a-fuckin’ about as has never been seen. The first fella I see walkin’ round with a tight ass is mine. You can have the second.”
Usker makes Gemma laugh harder than anyone she has ever met. His is a refreshing personality, especially given what he has been through.
“Laughter is a drug,” he says. “It’ll keep your head above the shit.”
The plans have finally been made. They will start on the march this very night. Gemma finds Tully bandaged up and seated by the fountain in the plaza. He has a swath of cloth wrapped around his head and another on his broken hand. Both eyes are colored, though the right is more severely purple, and his bottom lip is busted. His face is wet with tears. Still, he smiles when he sees her.
“Is it very painful?” Gemma asks, sitting beside him on the fountain’s edge. She dries his tears with dabs from her scarf.
“It is,” he says, holding to his side where he was kicked by the guards. “But these are na tears of pain.” He gestures out into the plaza.
Madden is playing with the children and having a time of it. Their laughter spurs on his leaping and bounding, his tail-wagging and licking. His tongue is as big as the children’s heads. They are taking turns riding on his back, and he races around the plaza with them, creating small cyclones.
“I’ve never seen him so happy,” says Tully. “If only he could bark.”
“I think you’ve done well by him,” says Gemma. “He’s alive because of you.”
“He’s the best friend I ever had. Until you, Madden was the only friend I ever had, or ever dreamed to have.”
“Can I ask you about your dreams?” Gemma says.
He looks at her curiously.
“Am I in them? Usker Lance was telling me that many people are having dreams like mine. Dreams with the goddess Abrythnia and the Passions in the Garden. But he also says that I appear in a lot of other people’s dreams. Am I in yours?”
Tully grins big. So big it hurts his face and he grimaces. “Aye. You’re my dream girl, you are.”
“Truly?” Gemma laughs.
“Aye. We walk in the gardens, the three of us. I see Abrythnia as well, you see. She be a huntress, but she’s a gentle goddess. Sometimes I see others I don’t know. I can’t make out their faces yet. Only the goddess and you are clear to me. See, that’s how I knew you would be my friend. When I saw you walk into the archives, why, Miss Gemma, my heart skipped right out of my chest. ‘That’s her!’ I says to meself. ‘That’s the girl of my dreams!’ I got them warm fuzzy chills all over, and I knew something big was gonna happen, and soon.” He pauses and shudders in pain. “I just didn’t realize it was gonna hurt quite so much.”
Gemma puts her hand on his. “I’m heading out tonight,” she says. “Usker and many others are escorting me through the Undercity as far as the third ring. I need to say my good-byes to you soon. I won’t ever be coming back this way. I feel that. I’m certain of it.”
Tully is looking at her in confusion with his big bruised eyes. “Why would we need to say good-bye, Miss Gemma?”
“I just assumed you would want to stay behind and recuperate.”
“No, missus.” He is shaking his head most adamantly. His voice is now stronger than when they had first met, but just by a fraction. “You assumed wrong. I’m out now. Out of the archives. I might as well see this thing through, eh?”
Gemma smiles. “I’m so glad.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, turning back to watch Madden and the children playing in front of them. “You assumed wrong.”