Penult (The Liminality, Part Four)

Chapter 17: Old Friends

Lille leapt out of her chair and flew across the garden, trampling the roots Bern was attempting to tame. She beat her partner to the fence, smothering me in hugs and pecks across the pickets. The burn scars on her face once again evident. All of the expert flesh-weaving she had received in Frelsi had regressed.

“I’d better go,” said Kitt, backing away. “Luther expects an immediate briefing anytime someone returns from the surface.”

“Okay. Tell him I’ll drop in later.”

“Better make it sooner,” said Kitt, with something between a frown and a smile. She strode off between a pair of half-built hovels, roofless with walls of flattened and matted root.

Lille reached over and pinched my waist.

“My, you’re a skeleton! I thought you would have packed on some pounds being out of prison and all.”

“Well, we’ve been on the road a bit. Now, we’re back in Wales. The goat farm burnt down. And the owner’s nephew was killed in a motorcycle accident.”

“Oh my! So sorry to hear. A shame you’ve had no chance to enjoy your freedom.”

“Well, it was nice … for a day. We went up to the Dolomites, but then—”

“We’re at war, James,” said Bern, gripping my hand like it was an eel he didn’t want to slip away.

“I noticed.”

“Losing badly too, I must say.”

“What they did up there … it’s really awful.”

“Our life up top was too good to be true,” said Bern. “Too good to last. A paradise lost.”

“Not so fast,” said Lille. “The fat lady has yet to sing. Nor the thin lady, for that matter.”

“The will be the seventh … count them … seventh cabin I’ve built in the Liminality since before the old Burg. This time, at least, I think we have perfected the layout.”

“Yes dear. This will be the best one yet,” said Lille, wrapping an arm around Bern. “If only we can get these roots to cooperate. They’re so damned stubborn!”

“So how have you been, James?” said Bern.

“I’m … okay.”

Lille and Bern shared a glance.

“And Karla?” said Lille. “How is she?”

“She’s missing.”

“What?”

“I got up the other morning and she was gone.”

“Where did she go?” said Lille.

“I have no idea. She just … disappeared.”

“Well, that certainly explains how you got here,” said Bern. “Nothing like a bit of loss to get the roots sniffing after your tail.”

“There has to be more to this story,” said Lille. “Young women don’t simply vanish.”

“I mean, we went looking for Izzie. Maybe her dad kidnapped her. But then again, she was mad at me. She kept wanting me to come here … but I was blocked.”

“Come here? To do what?” said Bern. The row of roots he had been attempting to train was already beginning to sag.

“Exactly!”

“So you had a spat,” said Lille.

“A little disagreement. But nothing that should have made her leave me. No note. Nothing. She didn’t even take her shoes.”