Heartland

XXXIV

It turned out to be more than three things, in the end. Nuriye let it slide. The daughters of Mnemosyne were still getting a deal. In addition to the circle and the swords, I also asked for a corner in which to lie down for a few hours, some medical attention, and a new hand. Antoine was the better swordsman, and even though he was down a hand too, he had had five years to learn how to fight left-handed. If there was going to be a handicap, I wanted it to be in my favor.

I begged off on the transfer of the Architects for a few hours too, even though they were howling in my head. A slender daughter named Lusina brought me to one of the outer offices, and had me lie down on the leather couch in the room. With the lights off in the room, I concentrated on my breathing while she pushed and pulled ley energy through me, knitting bone and repairing flesh. She managed to apply a web of scabrous tissue to cover the wound made by the Spear, and although she couldn't do anything for my missing hand, she accelerated growth in the stump until it was a knot of scar tissue. Good enough.

Finally, she laid her hands on my forehead, quelling the restlessness in the Chorus, and for a little while, I slept.

When I woke, the sky was still dark, occluded with thick clouds. The Chorus, somewhat resigned to the fate in store for certain of their members, responded to my commands. They touched the ley, and felt the swollen frustration of the Akashic Weave. Dawn was only a few hours away, but you'd never know from the ambient light in the sky. The clouds were too thick, there was rain in the air, and the atmosphere around Paris was turgid with denial. The sun was going to break through the cloud cover when it rose, and if there wasn't a proper representative waiting to receive the blessing of the Land, the Weave was going to tear, and the grid was going to feel it. The psychic quake that had hit Mont-Saint-Michel was going to seem like hitting a bump in the road with your car in comparison.

The Watchers were going to be there. No question about that. Getting in on the party was going to be the best trick of my life.

The door to the room opened and Nuriye came in, carrying two wooden cases. She put one down on the floor beside the couch and set the other one on the seat next to me.

"Did you sleep?" she asked.

"Some," I replied. "Enough, I suppose."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Never enough, is it?"

I shook my head.

"Vivienne is almost ready for you," she said. "But first, let us deal with your hand." She opened the latch on the case and lifted the lid.

The gauntlet lay in a velvet-lined casing. It was Renaissance-era, mid-sixteenth century, Italian by the looks of it. Two cuffs, six plates to the knuckle-plate, and the finger sleeves were solid pieces out to rounded caps. Silver and gold pieces, hand-etched with astrological symbols. The real surprise was the palm. Most gauntlets are metal overlays to leather gloves, attached via leather loops or ties to a pair of thin gloves. This pair had a hinged piece of silver that covered the palm as well, a piece that was covered with chiromantic markings.

"What is this?" I asked Nuriye. I caught sight of a tiny sigil in the bottom corner of the palm plate. It was the artisan mark of a well-known Italian armorer. "Caremolo Modrone?"

She nodded. "One of a kind. Built for a client who was fascinated by John ab Indagine's Introductiones Apotelesmaticae. The sixteenth-century bible on palm reading."

She picked up Cristobel's rosary from where Lusina had left it beside the couch as I had dropped off to sleep, and stroked the ball with two fingers while whispering to it. It quivered in her hand, but didn't trigger; she carefully fed it through the cuff of the gauntlet until it rested on the inside of the silver palm. She said one more word and the metal tines sprang out of the sphere, and with a metallic ring, the newly formed crucifix anchored itself inside the glove.

More words flowed from her lips and the Chorus tingled as they felt her magick. She stroked the beaded tail of the rosary, and violet light limned the black beads. When she wrapped the strand of beads around the cuff of the gauntlet, they stuck to the silver and gold plates. The whole hand started to shimmer with a violet light, and when she ran out of beads, she slipped the cuff over my newly healed stump. Wrapping her hands around both the cuff and my wrist, she squeezed, and the thousand pinpricks of her magick intensified for a moment and then vanished.

"Try it," she said as she removed her hands.

With some effort, I could make the hand open and close.

"You won't be doing needlepoint or brain surgery," she said. "But you can hold a sword." She smiled. "Or make a fist and hit someone."

"That'll do just fine."

"I thought it might." She patted the other case on the floor. "Speaking of swords. . "

"Have I mentioned how much I'm enjoying working with you instead of against you?" I asked.

Nuriye cocked her head to the side as she turned the sword case around and flicked open the latches. "Don't get too comfortable," she warned.

Like the gauntlet, the swords lay on velvet-wrapped cushions. They were beautiful blades, and my heart leaped into my mouth at the sight of them.

I stammered something incoherent, possibly something about not being worthy of the blades, and Nuriye laughed. "You're not," she said, "Which is why I expect you to bring them back."

That made me blush, that vote of confidence. It was the nicest thing someone had said to me in some time. Funny how that sort of thing can spin your world so readily.

"Thanks," I said.

Nuriye nodded and shut the case. "Thank you, Lightbreaker. Your curse is about to become a gift to others. That may be the finest choice you ever make." She bowed her head, and the Chorus-for once-was completely silent.

The tiny room that had held the Grail seemed darker and smaller without the presence of the Cup, but there was a fine radiance gleaming from the portraits on the wall. Each of the figures was outlined in a luminescent halo, a dusty glow like the sort of iridescence found on fungal growths in deep caves.

Vivienne had changed into ceremonial robes, a simple frock of white and silver that left her arms bare. Her hair was down, cascading like a river of gold down her back, and on the inside of either arm were tattoos of stars. Constellations of her own invention, star charts for realms fixed in her imagination.

She stood next to the basin, and it was filled with something other than water now. Shiny, and less fluid than water, but not as stiff as Jell-O. "Aqua vitae," she said as I peered at the surface of the liquid.

"Really?"

She favored me with the sort of smile a patient parent gives their underperforming child.

"Right," I said, straightening up. I rested my hands-both of them-on the rim of the basin. "Are you ready to do this?"

Her smile faltered slightly, and she swallowed. "Yes."

Vivienne was going to take all three spirits from me. There were a number of ways this exchange could go horribly wrong, not the least of which was me accidentally breaking her spirit. But Vivienne had argued if anyone was going to be put at risk, it was going to be her. And only her. She would take all three, and if she determined that she could pass them on to other daughters, she would consider it.

I hadn't mentioned that I doubted they would stay very long. I had a feeling the construction of the Chorus was what had enabled the Architects to stick around. Without that web, they would fade into the subconscious of whomever held them. Whether or not Vivienne kept what knowledge they still had was up to her. And them, I suppose.

I couldn't quite tell, but I had the feeling that Philippe wasn't as pissed about this as I had thought he would be. Lafoutain welcomed the transfer, and the impression I got from Cristobel was that the arrangement was more than satisfactory. Philippe was, I think, still reserving judgment. On both me and his fellow Architects.

Or not. For all I knew, we were still unwinding along the path he had laid out for us. I didn't know anymore, and I think-more than anything-that was all he had wanted from me. All his obfuscation had only been intended to keep me from doing what I thought he wanted me to do. You will be your own agent; that is all you will ever be.

Sometimes, what he said is what he meant. Which only makes everything he says that much more convoluted.

Vivienne put her hands on the edge of the basin as well, and stood there expectantly, waiting for something to happen. I took a few slow breaths-in through the nose, out through my mouth-until she caught the hint and started to mirror me. Once we synced up with the breathing, I began to slow them down, making each exhalation last a little longer; and with each inhalation, I took in a little more of the light in the room. Each time, a little more of her innocence died; each time, we got closer and closer to the ragged edge of the Abyss.

With each cycle, I broke a little more of her mental defenses down, and the change was so gradual, so incremental, that by the time she realized the Chorus was in her head-what I know, I pass to you; what you know, passes to me; Father, daughter, Holy Spirit; let these secrets be revealed-we were already done.

For a moment, I felt their reunion-father and daughter-and was filled with an overwhelming sensation that I had done the right thing.

Nuriye's hair stirred about her face. I had expected it to be windier at the top of the tower, but the atmospheric pressure was so heavy that nothing more than a thin breeze could survive. She faced east, looking toward the glowing white shape of Sacre-C?ur on Montmartre. Her cheeks were damp, and though there were goosebumps on her bare arms, she didn't seem cold. At her feet, in one of the clear spots on the roof, was a white circle, filled with squirming sigils.

"The light is coming," she said, nodding toward the faint line splitting the eastern horizon as Vivienne and I joined her. "It is nearly time."

"Right," I said, adjusting my grip on the case with the swords. "I guess I'd better get on with it then." I hesitated for a second as Vivienne touched my arm.

"Nothing has changed," she said, and I shivered at the echo in her voice. That echo of other egos, and I wondered again if that was how everyone heard my voice or if I was more sensitive to the sound. "The events that have led us to this place have not been undone. There is still culpability and responsibility for the choices that have been made. Innocents died because of the actions of those who were entrusted with the secrets."

"I know," I said. "We all still have a lot to answer for."

She looked at the gauntlet attached to my arm for a moment, and then her gaze moved up to my face. "Nevertheless," she said. "We may stand up in here in the open air because of your gift. Thank you."

I nodded. "You are welcome." I looked at Nuriye. "All of you."

Nuriye pointed toward the white shape of Sacre-C?ur. "The circle is calibrated to land you on the roof, near the statue of St. George and the dragon. There is an observation tower-a tourist lookout-nearby, with stairs that lead down to the side of the main chapel. You are still outside, but, at least, you are not at the bottom of the steps."

"Close enough," I said.

"I have called Viator Vraillet. Do you know him?" When I nodded, Nuriye continued. "He is friend of the family, and is willing to do us a favor in that memory."

"That is very kind of him."

"He won't kill any of his brothers. At least, no more than he has already. But he will aid you as best he can."

"Hopefully, it won't come to that."

"I hope so too," Nuriye said. She raised her face to the heavy clouds overhead, and the wind toyed with her hair again. Vivienne's long blonde hair danced around her shoulders, crackling with static electricity. "The wind is changing," Nuriye said.

The blackness of Heaven was fading, and the gray clouds that had besieged Paris for the last day were breaking up, fleeing the dawn. As if they knew what was going to happen in less than an hour. One way or another, the Land would make a choice.

It was too bad that I was probably going to miss the turning of the season.

Nuriye was thinking the same thing, but she kept the thought off her face-mostly-as she raised her fingers to her lips. She kissed them, and knelt to activate the circle. The white writing glowed bright, and the thrum of magick crystallized into the round sigil written onto the roof. The Chorus touched the conduit between the circle and its destination; they could sense the golden statue of the angel and the dragon on the roof of Sacre-C?ur.

"It is ready," Nuriye announced, as she stepped back from the flight circle. She kissed her fingers once more and touched them to the edge of my metal wrist, and the electric touch of her blessing lit the trailing edge of the Chorus. "Good luck," she said.

I smiled at her as I took a step forward and felt the tingle of the circle's magick take hold of my leg. I met Vivienne's gaze, and saw the glimmer of her Chorus watching me, and I nodded farewell to them. Salve, patres. Nunc, meam viam indagabo.

"Salve, fili," she Whispered.

I focused my Will, and touched the storming mass of energy coiled beneath the circle. With a tiny exhalation, I said yes to the magick, and the rooftop of Tour Montparnasse fell away behind me.

The white basilica went from being a white dot on the horizon to a rounded dome that filled my vision. The green-colored sculpture of St. George and the dragon loomed, and for a second, I thought I was going to impale myself on the saint's upraised standard. The Chorus flowed into a swirling umbrella of energy beneath me, absorbing the shock of the landing, and I walked away from the jump as casually as if I had just stepped off an escalator.

Precision targeting: the joy of having a professional set the spell for you.

Vraillet, standing in the observation tower off to my left, whistled and waved to get my attention. I jogged over, noticing the heat radiating through the stones of the roof. The Chorus refused to fold back into my head; the heat made them agitated, even though there was no active threat.

In a little while, the sun would break the horizon and its light would hit this point, the highest point in Paris-Tour Montparnasse, notwithstanding. Axis mundi, I thought, trying not to dwell on the sensation that I had been in this situation before. Running in front of dawn, trying to stop those who waited for the light. Over and over, I thought, until we got it right.

I handed up the wooden box holding the swords and then grabbed the lip of the tower, hauling myself up and over the edge. Inside, the stone was black with age; it was like crawling into a tomb, and the Chorus collapsed into an even tighter array. The stairs were narrow and steep, and the ceiling was six inches too low, and I slipped more than once on the way down.

As Vivienne had warned me, the tower's egress was on the side of the church, and in order to reach the main chapel, I had to walk around the front of the church. The ground fell away quickly from Sacre-C?ur, and the view down the steps and out across Paris was phenomenal, all the more so with the radiant light from the souls of the Watchers who had gathered for the Coronation. Seeing the rippling wave of their lights as they zeroed in on me took my breath away, and for a moment, my courage wavered.

The Architects were gone, and I was on my own. Even though I had made this choice myself, even though I had come here of my own volition, the reality was a sudden shock. A moment of terror at the enormity of the task before me. Even more so than when I had climbed the tower in Portland to face Bernard. It had been different that night: I was the man for the job. I had been driven to that point for the very purpose of stopping the mad alchemist.

This was different. In a little while, the light of the dawn would inaugurate a new era of leadership of La Societe Lumineuse. There were people inside Sacre-C?ur who were qualified for the role, who had fought hard to be there. What the hell was I going to do? I was one man, standing against the assembled rank. I had no allies, no support. I was all alone, and one man couldn't make much difference against a host of this size. Against all the forces arrayed against him.

One is a start, John Nicols reminded me. Isn't this how you cross the Abyss? By being here-in the now-and anchoring yourself. His presence was like a spike driven into the ground, and for a split second, the world revolved around this point beneath my feet. I could feel everything around me: the thick ocean of the Land banging against my spike into the Weave; the thousand points of light of all the other Watchers doing the same thing; the sun, behind me, creeping closer to the horizon as the planet spun on its axis. Be true. Here. Now.

The attention of the Watchers was now upon me. Witnesses, every one of them. Making True the Record. For a second, we stared at each other, marking this moment in time.

There were too many of them; fighting them wasn't the way. Just as pushing against the tide of energy flowing into the church behind me was equally as pointless. I could not stop the sun from rising. I could not stop the Coronation from happening.

Philippe's recommendation rose up in my mind, a burning coal of anger still resident in my head. Burn it all down. Floating above, buoyed aloft by the heat rising from this hot desire was John Nicols' demand from the woods outside Ravensdale. Show me altruistic occultism. Show me that one man can make a difference.

"Salve, mi fratres," I said, breaking the silence, and offering them the traditional greeting. They were my brothers, after all. Against the vast etheric sea, they were as tenuous points as I, tiny outposts barely able to hold their ground against the battering waves of energy pummeling them. They were alone too, as frightened as I was as to what happened next. They were no closer or further away from understanding than I.

We were all Seekers.

"What is the meaning of this, Viator?" someone inquired from the front rank.

Vraillet, still holding the box of swords, only shook his head. It wasn't his place to say.

But the question had been asked. The opportunity given. I would be allowed to answer.

"Five years ago-" I started, trying to reach as many of them as I could before someone decided to not wait and hear me out. Before they decided to incinerate the air in my lungs. The words were ready, almost as if I had been waiting a long time to make this speech.

Perhaps I had been. Perhaps this was what I had wanted to say to Antoine on the riverbank. Or to Philippe when he had come to die. Or perhaps it was what I had never managed to tell myself.

"Five years ago," I continued, "I was challenged to a duel by Antoine Briande. He was a Traveler at the time, and I was but a Journeyman brother. We fought, with swords, beneath the Pont Alexandre bridge. He claimed victory, and so was it inscribed upon the Record. Yet, I stand before you this morning. Am I ghost, or is the Record wrong?"

No one lit their spell. I continued before the moment broke.

"Two months ago, some of your brothers attempted to bring about the end of the world with a heinous device built from knowledge left behind by Hermes Trismegistus. Look around you, brothers; if you know nothing of this act, then consider the possibility that the man next to you did. That your brother condoned an experiment where thousands of innocent souls were harvested. That your brother cared so little for the lives of those he had sworn to protect from the mysteries that he allowed them to be torn from their flesh and transformed into energy meant to power the device.

"Antoine Briande, as a Protector-Witness of our fraternity, was there that night in Portland when the Key of Thoth was ignited. What did he claim when he returned as the Witness? That he stopped the magi responsible from causing even more havoc than they had. Did he claim that the deaths sustained were a lesser of evils? It could have been much worse. Did he tell you that?"

The Chorus held its anchor against the chaotic churn of the Land. The waves beating against me were both thick and diffuse. There were too many magi present, all fighting to tap the currents without being burned by the profusion of power. Some were struggling to control their taps, more had given up and were listening.

"More than fifty thousand died that night. Have we become so inhuman that all we can say is that it could have been worse?" I shook my head. "But it got worse, didn't it? What happened after Protector Briande 'saved' us all? What came next?

"Your Hierarch, Philippe Emonet, was dying. That is what came next. Consider now, if you did not already know this, the cost borne by your liege for the death of a city. Ask the brother next to you what happens to the Hierarch when darkness devours the Land; ask your brother if he did not know how the death of those fifty thousand would poison the body and spirit of the Hierarch. And with the loss of his spirit, what followed?" I nodded. "Yes, we began to fight among ourselves."

Glossing over the fact that it had started several years prior, I think they knew what I meant. The Upheaval was a general shift in focus; the last few days had been war. The difference between Cristobel's long-range vision and Lafoutain's view from the rank.

"We have all lost friends recently, haven't we? Was it worth it? What have we gained from the death of our brothers? Have we gained knowledge? Does this blood on our hands bring us closer to the Divine? When the sun rises over the top of this dome behind me, will it bless you for all that you have done?

"There will be a new Hierarch soon, and whoever he may be, he will be the leader we deserve. I ask you now, mi fratres, do we deserve a man who has lied to us? Antoine Briande did not stand against Bernard du Guyon in the tower. He did not stop the harvest in Portland. Fifty thousand died because he stood by and did nothing. Yes, it could have been worse, but it did not have to happen at all. I was there, mi fratres; I went to the tower and confronted Bernard-not once, but twice, and that is more than your Protector did."

I turned toward Vraillet and opened the case. The gauntlet was clumsy, but I managed not to drop the sword as I picked it up. The fingers continued to tighten about the hilt as my Will meshed with the magick in Modrone's armor.

Turning back to the crowd of Watchers, I raised both swords.

"You could kill me now," I said with a laugh. "All of you. But, instead, I ask a boon. Ritus concursus. The Protector is a liar. He calls himself your Shepherd, but he cares not for the flock which he has been charged to protect. I challenge his right to participate in the Coronation. I challenge his right to claim the title of Architect and to approach the Land. Will you bear Witness to my challenge?"

Vraillet smiled, a wicked smile of satisfaction. "I will," he said, and his reply was picked up by others, spreading in a wave of sound down the hill. It wasn't unanimous, but the roar of approval was more than enough to consecrate my challenge.

"And I accept," came a voice in the silence that followed the shouts of the Watchers.

The tall door of the church was open and Antoine stood there, framed by the heat mirage blooming out of the church. "Ah, the rough beast has slouched his way here at last," he said. He beckoned with his left hand. "Tempus fugit, Michael. Bring your toys; I want to make you bleed a little before we end this once and for all."

He held the Spear in his right hand. My right hand. He had attached the whole thing to his arm, and much like Nuriye had magicked the gauntlet so I could operate it, Antoine had forced my dead flesh to respond to his Will.

So much for handicapping the fight to my advantage.