Penult (The Liminality, Part Four)

Chapter 42: Treachery

Victoria’s head whipped towards me. I stood there gawking just inside the blackout curtains beside one of those guttering bowls of glowing root strands simulating flames.

She jabbed her index finger at my feet. The cold stone instantly liquefied and surged up around me like a wave, solidifying around my ankles. She then slapped the back of her hand towards me and my sword went flying against the wall of stone behind me. It adhered to surface and turned as dark and tarnished as a fossil.

“My apologies, but you are witnessing the end of New Axum, Mr. Moody. And … the end of you, I’m sad to say. These are to be your last moments in the Liminality. But no worries. I hear that you navigate quite well through realms. I have no doubt we will see each other again.”

“But why are you doing this?”

She shrugged and turned her weary gaze on me. She smiled sadly.

“Because. I … am … fed … up. I am done … with Zhang … with all of these people, this place. My future lies with Penult. I am tired of waiting, of searching for souls with skills to match my own. Now I realize that my presence here was in error. I was meant for Penult. The surface must be restored to the worthy.”

“That’s bullshit!” I said. “These Seraphs are no better than us.”

“Maybe. But there are more than Seraphim and Hashmallim and Messengers and Cherubim in Penult. You know nothing of their Lords, the Erelim. You have seen nothing like them. They are the true powers-that-be. It did not me long to realize this as their prisoner that my future belongs with them. They are the truly enlightened. So this deed I am doing will be my penance, to take down this mountain, destroy this so-called resistance will prove my worthiness. In return, I am promised a chance to seek my rightful place in the after realms.”

“You’re a freaking traitor!”

“Oh, on the contrary. I am a redeemer. A restorer. A fixer.”

She continued to work on the column, her fingers moving rapidly and intricately, peeling down the spines and rotating segments. She raked her fingernails through the air just above the surface of the column and etched deeper and more intricate grooves into its side.

“Such a humble weapon they managed to capture. Not the best in the arsenal. But I can make this one better. Stronger. There is a lot of stone in this mountain and the roots are firm. Much more power will be needed to smash it down. Still, it is quite the windfall to find this one here intact. I was afraid I would have to craft my own from scratch. And as you know, mister wing builder, they are quite intricate.”

“No! You can’t do this!”

“And who is going to stop me?” She chuckled musically. “Not you, surely. Without your crutch of a sword. You know, for a so-called savior, you seem rather pathetic. I’ve studied you, James. I know all about your clunky spell craft, ejaculating prematurely, if at all. Sometimes you get lucky, but not always when you need it most. Such a dysfunctional little wizard you are.”

I was dumbfounded.

“What the hell? I used to … admire you. What happened to the Victoria who used to rescue souls from pods? Save them from Reapers. Lead them to freedom on the surface … to Frelsi? The one who put Luther in his place?”

She smirked. “I am who I’ve always been, just a little more enlightened these days.”

Repeatedly, she dug her fingers into the air a few inches away from the column, a virtual space that controlled the device by proxy. She folded down another crown of spikes, twirled it and locked it into place. Segment by segment she worked her way down. The column vibrated at lower and lower frequencies until the floor of the grotto began to shake.

The blackout curtain parted. Olivier burst into the room, bearing a crooked staff, her hair all mussed, his clothes disheveled.

“What the fuck is going on here? Did you two get a cracker going? Turn the damned thing off before—“

Victoria flung her hand towards him and sent a ripple of power blasting straight for his head. Olivier dove to the floor of the grotto, stretching and reaching his staff towards her. A bolt of energy sizzled forth and scorched the ceiling above Victoria. The sorceress took aim with her palm and summoned another burst. Her aim was true. The plasma struck Olivier’s staff and splintered its business end.

You know that feeling I get? That loosening in my stomach when I’m about to project that weird force that is an extension of my will? Well, it came on super strong and fast this time. And I knew this time that I would need no sword to help me focus and direct it. My target was obvious. My intention, righteous. All I needed to send it on its way were my eyes.

The bolus of power separated from me without the slightest bit of strain or effort. It blasted out of my core as a diffuse glob of plasma. Victoria, astonished, had only a moment react. She thrust her palms out. A misty shield materialized before her.

The plasma I had conjured came together on the fly, consolidating into a dull and opaque mass the size of a cannon ball. Victoria’s shield was still cross-linking and acquiring density when my will struck and tore it to a million wisps and bits. My plasma flashed bright blue when it hit. It spread and clung to her skin, enveloping her entire body.

I had no conscious premonition of what I intended that blob to do to her. I just wanted to stop her. My emanation was fury and panic made physical.

And stop her it did. Every pore and appendage of her exploded with roots. Fine tendrils swarmed from every hair follicle. Thick corms sprouted from her toes. Wiry roots stretched from her fingers, her ears, her nostrils, from every bump and crevice in her body. Her scream was stifled by a root that transformed her tongue into a thick and gnarled trunk that stretched to the floor of the grotto and anchored her firmly to the stone. When the sprouting ceased, the only sign of life she displayed was a pair of anguished and flickering eyes staring from behind a brow of rumpled bark.

But the cracker column continued to thrum and shake the grotto. Stones and bits of gravel started to rain down from the ceiling. I tried to go to it, but my feet wouldn’t budge. I teetered and fell backward. I was still anchored up to my ankles in the re-congealed stone.

“Olivier! I can’t move. You have to do it. You have to turn it off.”

He looked down at me helplessly, still holding his splintered staff.

“How?”