Tag

Bella coughed quietly into her hand. I looked up from my writing, surprised to see the dark-haired woman. Rainwater dripped from her clothing and pooled on the floor. She’d been gone for a while. I had thought, perhaps, she was dead or had left the City for good. “Good evening, Praetor. Things have changed while I was away.”

“Bella,” I smiled in greeting. “Yes, much has changed.” I gestured broadly around the room, my hand sweeping the circle of the Library’s recent renovations.

I watched as she took a deep breath. “She is…gone. We are alone.” Bella lowered her eyes. “I felt her...pass.”

“It is almost as though she never was,” I sighed, closing my tablet and laying down my pen. “There is no mention of her. No discussion. Pontifex has disappeared. Cerdwin is gone. Artemisia. As though they’d never existed.”

“All the dancers, I should think,” Bella murmured. “I almost didn't come back here myself. I suspected I was thought dead.”

I nodded. “I had thought you so, Bella. I didn't think your body could endure.”

Bella turned, walking to the windows, and gazing out into the night rain. “I awoke…on a boat. I suppose she left me there. I was very ill.
Maybe she thought I was dead. Maybe not.” She paused, breathing deeply and wrapping her arms around her chest. “You feel the absence of her, too?”

“You know I swore i would send her back, Bella. But…I never thought she would really go.”

“Was it you who did?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “As did Pontifex. And Omega. Others.”

Bella sighed quietly. “I did not know. I only felt her leave.” Bella turned to me, eyes full of sadness mixed with anger. “Who was that wreck of a vampire that was just here?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know, Bella. She sought refuge from the Lady Omega, and appears impossibly to be pregnant. She was going on and on about refusing to feed, filled with self-loathing of her own nature before she became frightened and fled.”

“The little coward.” A bitter smile crossed Bella’s face. “Nareth wouldn't give it to me. I asked...I asked repeatedly. Now...I'm not even a doll anymore.”

I looked at the floor, unable to meet her eyes, remembering the taste of Nareth’s blood in my own mouth. “Do you feel the desire still?”

Bella gave a harsh laugh and looked at her hands. “Perhaps we shouldn't discuss my desires.” I watched settle into one of the armchairs near the window and reach into her pocket, drawing out a straight razor. “I know that it has changed me, but I wanted that change. I wanted much more.”

I focused on the razor, my face impassive. Bella caught my eye. “Oh, it's not her razor. I have no idea what became of that.” Bella folded the razor open, staring at the blade.

“I…Labyrinth gave it to me,” I began. “It was hungry…it called to me...Nareth’s sigil. I…gave it to Pontifex the night we sent her back, to open the way.”

Bella nodded. “So, he took it when he left?”

“Yes,” I replied. “He took it. And he cut all the bindings from his hands and his arms. When he freed himself of Omega, he left.” I frowned, remembering. “But he gave the blade to Denenthorn who tries to master it, thus it bends him. I have told him he is a fool if he thinks he can.”

“I see,” Bella laughed, folding the razor closed. “So, it's still here. She put a great deal of herself into that blade.”

“And what have you put into yours, Bella?”

“Do you ask me that as my Praetor? Or as...someone who has tasted Nareth?”

I sighed. “I ask as someone who has walked through the void.”

Bellatrix nodded slowly. “I try to follow her example. Part of me can't accept that we lost them both. A god and...Nareth....”

“The stars were not…right, Bella. Perhaps not for Aunt Beast, nor Nareth. And yet…” I trailed off, unable to find the words to express the greatness of the loss and the problem of the brown girl from the beach. I could feel Bella watching me closely.

“And yet?”

It was my turn to stare blankly through the rain drizzled glass. “I went walking by the sea the other night,” I began. “I stopped at a small fire to warm my hands. There were two people there. One, a blondish man in some sort of religious garb. He said he had a boat not far from the shore. The other was a small, dark girl, drenched and shivering. She said she had walked from the sea.”

Bella shifted in her chair. “Walked...from…the sea?”

I nodded. “She was disoriented…she kept asking when she would awaken from the dream.”

“What was her name, Praetor?” Bella began biting at her lower lip.

“Her name is Nareth,” I replied.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a green button and a small plastic card. “This button…she said is a state identity card.” I held it up between thumb and forefinger, rubbing it a little. It began to flash and Bella sat up straighter. “It didn't work at first. But I was able to start it functioning again…the sea water, you see.”

“Praetor,” Bella turned to me. “What year? Past, or future? Future, I'm guessing.”

“Future,” I replied. “Perhaps…future. At least that's what the identification card said.”

“Tag,” Bella murmured. “That's what Nareth called it. Playing tag.” Bella frowned slightly, looking at the objects in my hand. “Yes. She told me, when we were at sea with Abigail. For a while, she amused herself…by tracking herself down. Before she was Omega's Chylde...she did it...I can't recall…ten or twenty times, she said.”

Bella stopped talking and began staring at me as I pinched the button into temporary lifelessness. “She…met herself in time?” I asked with wonder, but there was no disbelief in my voice. I dropped the button and the card back in my pocket.

“Repeatedly,” Bella replied. “She thought it was a sort of game.
Tag.”

“A doppelganger game of chase,” I mused. “But to what end?”

Bella slumped in her chair. “She said it caused the...other hers…to become unstuck…unstuck in time. She just…liked the game.”

I nodded. “It was always the game for her, wasn't it?”

“Praetor,” Bella interrupted, “Are you telling me that one of them has come here?”

“Yes, Bella. I think…I think yes.”

Bella cursed silently under her breath. “Where is she?”

“She . . . I don't know,” I sighed. “I left her resting upstairs. She was tired. Grr fixed food for her, but she didn’t eat. I took her upstairs to the cot by the window where Aunt Beast often rested…but…she’s gone now.” I stared out the window, my jaw clenched.

“She left?” Bella asked, incredulous. “She was…allowed...to leave? Jesus...” Bella placed a hand on the pocket with the razor. “The machine...Nareth said...the machine functioned...to the favor of her,” Bella trailed off.

“The machine?” I wondered aloud.

“Well…she said it wasn't a real machine, only a metaphor.” Bella jammed her hand into her pocket. “The machine was here to cover her tracks. Whoever created her, created the machine. People tended…to look the other way.”

I held my face in my hands and began rubbing my temples. “Because people prefer not to see.”

“Something like that,” Bella nodded. “I never understood it very clearly. She just rambled...I listened. Sometimes I thought she was insane. Like…Azathoth.”

“What is she, Bella?” I asked. “What is at the core of her?”

“Nareth?” Bella laughed. “I was only her lover...her blood doll. I can tell you what she wanted me to believe. But...I know it's a lie. That she was...a sort of….” Bella stopped and looked at me evenly. “Let's say an archetype. She would have said that she was the archetypal murderer. But I know it's vastly more complicated than that. She had no intention of ever letting me see the whole.” Bella sighed. “I was only...well…her doll.

“But...think about this, Praetor...she once said...when I asked her about playing tag....She once said, ‘Back up copies,’ and I had no idea what she meant, not then. Do you see? I thought it was a joke.”

I smoothed my skirt, worrying a thread as though it would help me understand. “Apparently, Bella, it was not in the slightest a joke.”

“Praetor, what if...this woman you saw is here...to start it...again?"

“I don't know, Bella. She is human…or appears to be.”

“Does that matter?” Bella’s voice was rising. “I mean...she is Nareth. As much as Nareth was. Just...from another world line.” Bella shook her head.

“Worldline?” I asked.

“I should not even say these things,” Bella shrugged, then went on to explain. “Each part of the multiverse, she said, has its own worldline…and timeline, how things may progress. Each timeline is in constant flux, and holds infinite possibility.” Bella sighed. “I've never been much for physics...she talked about this stuff a lot.”

I nodded. “I suspected this to be a possibility.”

“But…what she said....” Bella trailed off, suddenly looking very tired. “Praetor...you are investigating this woman? The…new Nareth?”

“I sent out a request to the Institute,” I sighed. “But I have yet to stir the interest I had hoped.”

Bella took a deep breath. “I had not planned to stay here. I've even written out a letter of resignation, but...I could be of assistance. I know things....”

“Bella, you seem to be the only one who has a fuller understanding of the implications. All of them.”

“And if...if we could get her back, Praetor....” Bella began nodding to herself, her expression a little over eager. “I mean…if we could get Nareth back…we would, wouldn't we?”

“We would. I would. But there is one thing you should know, Bella. The night we sent Aunt Beast back…she left…another aspect of Nareth here.”

Bella looked at me, confused. “Excuse me?”

“I created a golem, Bella. One borne of iron. And it lives. It has…her memories…or at least some of them.”

Bella began nodding very slowly and laughing. “Fuck. Tag...another copy. Unless...Lorne released her soul?”

“Lorne…did not help, Bella.” He had promised to and yet when I called to Him, silence was my only reply.

Bella’s eyes widened. “Then...this golem...it can't truly be Nareth. It was…a trick…Labyrinth....” Bella smiled and covered her mouth.

“But, Bella,” I stammered, “It has . . . it thinks it is . . . Nareth. It went immediately to where she stored her clothing and dressed in Nareth's own clothes.”

“It would...yes,” Bella nodded. “Praetor...I need to rest, and see what I can remember...try to start putting this all together.”

“Yes…yes, alright, Bella,” I replied and watched as she headed up the stairs.

The Marketplace
Deadweight
Satyr

But iron, cold iron, is master of men all

Dark luster standing in the dim light of the Library window, eyes empty, mouth closed. Blood, heart, spirit: the golem had none of those things and required them all. Labyrinth watched, opening and closing her hand. She would not help, but she would not hinder. She held in her fist a die with infinite sides, spinning and stopping. Time was short, fragile seconds expiring ever faster as the die spun.

It was time to bring Nareth home. I called on the Outer Gods, the true Ones, and then Omega offered. I would have used Nareth’s blade upon Omega’s wrist, but Jack wanted her throat. A swift, deep cut, and my hand to the wound, then delicate fingertip brushstrokes on the golem’s forehead: EMET. On Labyrinth’s: MET.

I gave the dripping blade to Pontifex, a door only he could open, for he is intimately acquainted with the gift of pain. And pain he did cause, but he did not take it without consent: Abi wept as he prodded, demanded, forced her to remember the taste Jack’s razor, sour and biting cold at the moment of her birth, pulling her screaming into the world. Nareth, the bloody midwife. The pain of losing Nareth and the pain of bringing her back.

And it was enough: Nullam nunc dolor. The blade began to glow black in Pontifex’s hands. Hendrerit nec. A dark violent tendril arced from the blade to Labyrinth. Gravida eu, turpis. Probability and possibility collapsed. The die vanished. Things began to fall apart.

You must speak its purpose, Labyrinth had said to Omega. You are its creator. And the Lady with chilling finality: Nareth must act in accordance with my Will, for the benefit of us all. I shuddered, but it was too late to stop her; Nareth’s purpose had been cast. For the benefit of us all.

With sudden speed, the Watcher attacked. Wolfe, coyote, beast—Grrbrool ripped the heart from Labyrinth’s chest, all razor teeth and claw and blood-matted fur. He placed it, beating, into my hands. Omega lifted them up to her, lips bending close to taste the god’s blood. She gave Abi the choice: Bring her back? Or burn the heart? Abi whispered, Bring her back.

I opened my spirit to Legion, making the thing that should not, be: a beating heart in a chest of iron. Labyrinth’s exoskeleton disintegrated, only a few shards littering the floor. Larissa’s lips on the golem, a kiss, a breath and please live. Nareth’s eyes fluttered open. My bloody thumb on her mouth and speak.

Then Nareth was back. Her green eyes, watching. Her voice, speaking. Wondering why we were assembled. Some one said, We’re mourning. Mourning who? Nareth had asked. You, I replied.

Pontifex did not correct me. But Labyrinth was gone. Eris, Discordia, Azathoth, the Whisperer in the Darkness. Aunt Beast. Pontifex stood still and silent as stone. Artemisia whimpered, lost. We were mourning. But not for Nareth.

I knelt and picked up the few remaining shards of Labyrinth’s exoskeleton and quietly placed them in my pocket. She had walked in the world among us, but it was not the appointed time. Though I knew she went to await the Messenger, I wondered if she had truly gone. For of the many lessons Aunt Beast taught me, the deepest one was this:

She always wins.

Iron from the rock

The cliffs leading up to the seawall loom cold and dark above the Toxian Sea. Joah stands considering the rock face, her boots sinking into the wet sand. Extending one hand, she traces the stone with her fingertips before laying a palm on the rock, probing. A fiery light begins to spread from her hand causing the surface to glow, a white-hot ember. Legion’s words echo in her mind, “The song of creation, when sung in its complete harmony….” She begins singing softly as she works, a canticle high and sweet and other.

She steps away from the rock, lifting her hand slightly, but keeping her palm facing the cliff. A spongy mass of dark metal begins to bloom from the cliff’s surface as liquid slag drips down its face pooling in the sand. Joah watches the bloom grow, checking the formed mass against the design in her mind, the diagrams over which she had labored in the Library. As the impurities drip to the ground, the bloom swells: malleable and pure, but strong.

Joah extends both arms as if in prayer, glowing palms open under the bloom. Legion’s many voices whisper over the wind and the bloom bubbles out slightly. A portion separates, flattens and smooths. Joah spreads her fingers, tilting and turning her wrists, and flipping the floating slab over in the air. Etch marks appear at its edges as it curves and begins to take shape. A perfectly formed thigh-shaped plate falls to the ground and settles softly in the sand.

The process is repeated until the bloom is gone: a calf, a foot, the top of a hand, fingers, a jaw…over and over until the sand is littered with plates, pieces of an apparent marionette awaiting assembly. Joah’s hands drift to her side. She feels a stirring in the breeze and turns toward the gate in the seawall, Pontifex’s dark figure approaching silently. Meeting his eyes she says simply, “It is done.” He nods and bends low to lift one plate from the sand, then another. “To the Library,” he directs and Joah kneels to assist him.

A roll of the dice

Joah sits alone perched atop the bed in her room. Her boots and stockings are piled on the floor; her legs are tucked beneath her. She still wears the black and crimson dress she had on earlier when talking with Aunt Beast. She is weary from lack of sleep, yet rest eludes her. “There was a knight, and a lady bright, and three little babes had she,” she sings softly to herself, rocking.

Her fingers absently twine through the two chains around her neck, each bearing distinct ornaments: a small silver cross inlaid with onyx, a violently used razor from an earlier century. She gazes through the window at the bleak, early Toxian sun fighting its way through the perpetual haze that hangs over the city. “Choose, choose,” she murmurs. Blood. Heart. Soul. She sees the seal of the Book in her mind’s eye: Humanity, the Elder Ones, and the Watchers. Which is the path to Nareth? Omega says dead and lost forever. Legion says . . . just dead.

Joah traces the outline of the blade. Without thinking, she slides it along the curve of her thumb, leaving a bright sliver of red. “I roll the dice,” Aunt Beast had said. “Choose. The blade glances off mine skin. The blade flies from Artemisia's hand. The blade glows red. Choose.” Joah closes her eyes and sees Nareth’s blade, her sigil, flying through the air, lightly caught by Artemisia as she whirls and dances to the pipes only one touched by Labyrinth can hear. Without thinking, Joah begins to hum, her song conforming itself to the same tune.

She had chosen. The blade glows red. Joah runs her thumb along the edge of the blade again, feeling a thrill of bright, wet pain. “It is done,” Aunt Beast had proclaimed. “So many roads . . . undone.” She’d closed her hand as the dice vanished. “He will come to you, Joah. He came unto me. The prophecy . . . it says . . . he will slay thee . . . to aid me. The Beaumont Constantine. You will betray me. And the Sire of Nareth will slay the Final Vessel.” Joah wipes her bloody thumb on her skirt and wraps her arms around herself. She knows every decision limits the future. This decision has not yet been made, but the question has been asked. Many things seem to converge then fall apart. Aunt Beast has given her a weapon: Paradox.

Nareth’s blade grows hungry.