kagablog

[from The Heartstring Noodle Bar]

I felt the blinding headlights slide across my back and then angle off in another direction altogether. Soon the cacophany of sound and glare was moving pleasantly off into the night, and I was left alone in the semi-darkness with Hans and the candy penyata boy. The night was warm this far from the ocean, and the harsh coastal breezes had subsided into soundless breaths of tired air. The desolate station lay in arid scrubland littered with the corpses of many rusted cars. The lights of the city were visible in the distance, glazing yellow twinkles along the skyline. Tattered iron railway tracks led down into the shallow basin which accomodated the enormous, shambling structure. Hans hopped off my shoulder and ran across the hacked tracks, his claws skittering against the iron. I followed him down into the gloom, skirting the pools of sallow light which stained down from ancient floodlights. I groped my way across the rubble of shattered concrete walls until we had neared a looming entranceway. Inside, the station was full of echoes. Large featureless walls of concrete cascaded away in every direction. Every now and then, one could discern the sound of distant dripping and the scurry of desert centipedes. I couldn’t for the life of me imagine why Genevieve would want to celebrate her birthday in this godforsaken squalor. I entered into a vast hall, lit by banks of dismal fleuroescents and paused to set the candy penyata boy on the grimy floor. I then pulled the femur from my sleeve, examining the bloody scrawls for any mention of directions. As I was in the process of doing this I became aware of a stealthy tread somewhere behind me. I turned to see three sinewy figures emerging from the gloom. They were clad in ragged scuba suits and brandished machetes. Hungry grins covered their faces like some sort of contagious rash. I was about to flee when the lead scallywag spied the bloody femur in my hands. His face went suddenly slack and a gurgle escaped his lips. The others followed his eyeline. Before I could even react, they had bolted in terror. I heard them vaulting over barbed wire fences, crashing off into the sub-spaces in their desperate escape. I raised an eyebrow and went back to my examination of the bone. The directions were cryptic. I was evidently supposed to go to Cul-De-Sac Number Thirty Three, just past a generator enclosure, and telephone a given number from an orange callbox. I looked around hopelessly and began to wander the vacant lots in search of a sign. Oddly enough, I had only gone about a hundred meters when I came upon a rusted sign swinging from a battered post. The sign read ‘CUL-DE-SAC 33′ in huge block letters. And dead ahead, across a stretch of concrete was a vivid phonebooth. I walked over and picked up the reciever, dialling the number off the bone as best I could. I completed the sequence of digits and waited, eyeing Hans as he played joyfully in the empty vestibules. I was surprised to hear a distant clanking arising in response to my button pushing. I looked to my left and realised that I had inadvertedly activated some elevator mechanism. The elevator shaft was housed within a monumental pillar, which I approached nervously. There was no door to the elevator, only a rusty grate resembling the battered frame of an ancient bed. I peered through the grating to glimpse an ominous lift rising from the depths of the Hadean shaft. I stepped back and allowed the lift to surface. It rose and halted, revealing an open interior of plush burgundy velvet, quite in contrast to the desolate wilderness without. A hunched bellboy stood, framed in the doorway, clad in an immaculate crimson uniform. One of his white gloved hands rested on a brass lever, the other he held behind his back. I watched as he pushed the grate aside and noticed, with surprise, that there was a closet behind him. It was set ornately against the back of the elevator, and I wondered what it could possibly be doing there.

“Good evening sir,” the Bellboy said suavely. “Welcome to Cul-De-Sac 33, may I please see your invitation?”

I held out the femur and he accepted it wordlessly. I observed as he turned sharply on his heel, opening the closet behind him with a smooth, practised motion. Inside the closet, dangling on neat little meat hooks were four skeletons with the occasional bone missing. The Bellboy kneeled and tested the femur against each skeleton until he found a match. He shot me a proffesional litle smile and secured the wayward bone to its place. I called for Hans, hefted the candy penyata boy under my arm and entered the elevator. The grate was slammed shut and we sank slowly down into the bowels of the earth. The Bellboy ho-hummed pleasantly all the while, perhaps to lull me into a sense of security and detract my attention from the immense desolation of the basement areas of the station. As we descended I caught glimpses of the seemingly endless successions of levels which were slipping slowly past the grate. Each successive veiw seemed more dilapidated than the last. At first the long vistas of grey concrete were relatively well lit by recessions of jittery neon. These floors bore a vague likeness to vacant parking lots, but these resemblances soon degraded utterly. The neon gave way to sparse guttering lamps, and these too soon surrendered to ambiguous dimness, punctuated by distant guttering fires. After awhile, there was nothing but darkness. And if it weren’t for the vague illumination radiating from the carriage of the elevator, it would have seemed as though we were in some sort of diving bell, plunging slowly but surely toward the seabed. After about twenty minutes or so of regular descent, I turned to the Bellboy.

“Look,” I asked casually. “Just how far down are we going?”

The Bellboy straightened up his shoulders and turned his head slightly to face mine. There was a vaguely ironic look upon his face.

“Cul-De-Sac 33 is indeed a Cul-De-Sac sir, ” he explained politely. “It therefore stands to reason that it would be situated at the very end of whatever causeway led to it.”

I eyed the blank, black spaces tumbling endlessly before us.

“Right,” I replied. “That is altogether illuminating, but I’m afraid that you still haven’t quite answered my question.”

A hint of irritation danced in the Bellboy’s eyes.

“I think the answer you require would be; All the way down, sir.”

“I see.”

We continued for awhile in silence, and I began to feel sleepy. I realised that I hadn’t slept or eaten anything for many hours, perhaps even days. I had indeed become ‘wrapped up in myself'’, as the psychologists are fond of saying. I looked over at my shoulder to see Hans dozing comfortably and was suddenly possesed by an uncontrollable urge to join him in restful slumber. I looked around the interior of the lift for somewhere comfortable to sit or lean my head. Unfortunately, the only extremity available was the ungainly cupboard. Paste filigree adorned the edges of the cupboard, twirled into flowers and other fanciful decorations. And although these inventions were skillfully wrought and most pleasing to the eye, they provided a barrier of almost razor sharp edges, preventing any comfortable proximity to the closet. I began to feel restless and annoyed, questioning the sense of obligation which had caused me to be here, in the slum-like outskirts of the city, sinking into the earth without a trace. Strange paranoid thoughts, prompted by my sleeplessness, began to assail me. What if the lift jammed and we became trapped in these enormous, lightless spaces? What if the Bellboy was in league with the scuba suited vagabonds? What if, what if, what if. It was enough to drive one insane, especially this far underground. I was very nearly at the end of my tether when the lift began to show signs of slowing. I noticed that we had left the levels behind now, and all that passed before the grate was solid bedrock veined with mineral strata. We emerged abruptly into a large cavern, passing through a flue in the roof. Harsh, jarring music composed entirely of metallic cacophanies and screeching white noise suddenly assailed my ears, amplified biliously by the wierd acoustics. Stalagtites slipped passed and I gazed down upon a raucous scene. The cavern was enormous and marbled with several interconnecting rock pools. These pools were illuminated by limpid underwater lights and dark figures drowsed and frolicked within their glowing tracts. Enormous banners and flags depicting vampires and scenes of urban wreckage decked the walls. A damp and pungent smell of stone and smoke arose from the gathering below. There were several makeshift bars fashioned of driftwood, situated inside convenient rock alcoves. People hovered at these bars, drinking and arguing. The majority of the patrons were women dressed in the intricate black garb favoured by the Night Maries. Yet some of the other clintelle were lean, bearded types, very obiously resistance fighters of some sort. A small number of them were carrying automatic weapons. These gun-toting barflies were clad either in rags or in camoflagued fatigues, sporting red bandannas around their heads like tennis players. Some even wore coloured berets or symbolic bandages. I realised that I had stumbled upon a secret meeting place for, amongst other wayward malcontents, members of the many scattered revolutionary factions. The Night Maries wafted amongst the drunk freedom fighters, leaning soporifically against pillars and dancing amongst the rock formations with bizarre, contorted movements. Globular black candles guttered in the occasional niche, but overall, the light came from the very walls of the cavern, which were coated in a thick growth of some strange phosphorescent lichen. The lichen extruded itself in dense, spongy nodes of bluish green matter, giving off a peculiar, yet regular glow not dissimilar to ultraviolet bulbs. I descended into this maelsrom, clutching the candy penyata boy nervously to myself. The lift touched down on the uneven floor of the cave and the Bellboy opened the grate.

“End of the line sir,” he sneered sarcastically.

I stepped out and watched as the grate snapped back into place. The elevator gave a shudder and rose along outdated wire frameworks to the uncertain world above. I wandered amongst the boozing desperadoes, looking for Genevieve in the grottoes and gullies. At some point I glimpsed a large bear-like revolutionary drawing the caricatured features of General Alcazar onto pineapples with lipstick and tossing them to a rabble of skinny dissidents who slashed expertly at them with enormous kukri knives. The music changed soon after I witnessed this frenzy of pineapple pulp. Piercing guitar feedback bled over lopsided analog tape loops, lending a seasick gravity to the proceedings. I eventually found Genevieve beside one of the larger rock pools ensconced within a gaggle of Night Maries. The enormous carcasse of a savaged cake lay beside them, leaking icing and black marzipan into the clear water. Ishioko Onda was there, perched on an outcrop with a shoulder holster and a bottle of champagne. I waved at her but she was beyond any state of recognition or recall. A large military issue spotlight was lying at the bottom of the pool. The glow it produced within the water was severe and silvery. Chaotic water patterns danced in wavelengths across the glowing walls while long, tattered Night Maries swam across the luminescent shafts, twisting in the depths like graceful barracudas. Genevieve noticed me and smiled rather disturbingly.

“///// my friend!” she called out. “Welcome to the end of the line!”

A few intoxicated Night Maries crawled off her lap at this disturbance, curling off and settling around the rocks like drugged cats. I picked my way through their emaciated forms, sitting carefully beside Genevieve.

“Happy birthday Genevieve,” I declared, kissing her calloused cheek. “I brought you this little offering.”

I handed her the candy penyata boy. She took it solemnly and stared into it’s black and sugary eyes.

“I will treasure it forever,” she said, tossing it into the pool.

Three Night Maries surfaced immediately, pulling the candy boy beneath the surface and tearing it to fragments within seconds. I watched these fudge-like shards dissolve clumsily in the crystalline fluid as the Night Maries finned away, exploring submerged crevices and fissures with their long, pale fingers, dark hair fanning in their wake like seaweed. A section of the candy boy’s skeleton grin sank to the bottom, caramelising instantly against a spotlight. I felt a nudge against my shoulder and turned to see a rake-thin Night Mary smiling shylly and proffering a tiny goblet of some ruby fluid. I graciously accepted it and watched as she suddenly coiled up into a little foetal form beside me, toppling instantly into a narcoleptic slumber. Her black lips parted gently and the vague sounds of snoring rose off her head. I frowned into the goblet.

“Don’t tell me this is blood,” I murmered, wondering again why I had come.

“It’s her blood,” Genevieve mentioned over her shoulder. “And it would be most impolite not to quaff it.”

“Why on earth did she just give me a cup of her blood?”

“It’s customary amongst our kind at these sorts of celebrations, just pretend it’s a daquiri or something.”

I tried to pass it off to Hans but he was having none of it, so I gulped the warm salty draught down in one sharp swallow. It wasn’t quite as bad as I expected, tasting rather predictably like some inexplicably intense tomato cocktail.

“Some folk drink that people-juice all day,” Genevieve muttered, shaking her heavy feline head.

I found that the girl’s blood was extremely satisfying, considering that I hadn’t eaten anything for so long. I realised that I could even do with a little more. I looked around expectantly, but seeing no other proffered goblets in my vicinity, settled on a slice of the vast, ruined cake. Using a machete I discovered lying on the lichen beside me, I carved myself a lurid section of the ominous confection. I scraped it onto the flat of the blade, and turning the weapon precariously, manouevered the cake to my lap. I balanced the machete across my folded legs and produced a napkin from my jacket pocket. Hans, I noticed, was eyeing the slab of cake with beady little eyes. I realised then that I was without an eating utensil. I was about to despair when I suddenly noticed that the Night Mary who lay coiled beside me was possessed of the most singular silver trident earrings. I hesitated for a moment before reaching down and carefully unscrewing one of the earrings from its cold lobe. It took some doing, but eventually I was well on my way toward a first bite. I dug a strange blue cherry from the loamy marzipan and fed it to Hans before deciding where to plant my makeshift pudding fork. I was into my third bite when Genevieve noticed what I was doing.

“You do realise that that birthday cake is laced with a very powerful psychogenic substance,” she stated flatly.

Within seconds I was attempting to claw the blue cherry from Hans’s throat. But alas, it was too late, we had both eaten of the treacherous dessert. I tossed the messy machete aside and sighed.

“What are the affects?” I asked Genevieve dismally.

“It’s not all that simple I’m afraid,” she said, lighting an enormous Montecristo cigar.

“Of course not,” I echoed. “Please illuminate me.”

“Well, the sisters and I have eaten of the Nin seed in order to venture out on a vision quest this evening, Hannah over there…” she indicated a cleopatra bobbed waif with war paint and a demonic expression who was balancing on one leg in some strange yogic posture on the other side of the rock pool.

“…She’s reached what we Night Maries call the Amazonion gate and must hunt her first dream animal. The process of the vision quest is as follows: We all eat of the Nin seed and accompany the apprentice into the wilderness, focusing out intent on summoning a dream creature for Hannah to hunt. She must then venture out alone and, in accordance to rules of the Amazonian path, she must then slay the spirit creature and bring back it’s body. Since you have eaten of the Nin seed tonight, you and Hans must acompany us on our vision quest.”

This was really going from bad to worse. I was about to protest when Genevieve waved her hand, silencing me instantly.

“It’s pointless to fight the will of the spirits,”she said between thick puffs.

“Well then, could you at least tell me what to expect?”

“The Nin seed is used to summon guides in the spirit world,” she said. “If you were alone, you would no doubt envisage some creature who would then engage you in activities or conversation of an astral sort.”

“And would I then have to kill this poor creature! And bring back it’s body!” I exclaimed, rather nerve-racked.

“No, of course not,” Geneveieve said blankly. “Hannah is on the path of the Amazon, her interaction with her dream creature must be fierce and fantastic. You are an artist. Your interaction would be relatively benign in comparison.”

“What a relief.”

“I wouldn’t let it concern you though,” she smoked solemnly. “We will all envisage an adversary for Hannah tonight, and our summons shall invoke a creature worthy of our combined attentions. You need not fear a personal encounter, only one creature shall be summoned, our physical unity and the completion of the ceremony will see to that.”

“Then I’m not really required to do anything so intense after all, merely imagine a worthy foe for Hannah over there?”

“That and row out to sea with us in a ceremonial death boat till the adversary appears.”

“Oh my God.”

She put a slab-like hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry ///” she said with intensity. “I shall be at your side.”

This actually did quite alot to reassure me under the circumstances. If there was one thing I was certain of, it was Genevieve’s relative indestructability. I gave Hans a grim look and he replied in kind.

“Lets go to the bar,” Genevieve suggested. “You look like you could use some monkeyrum.”

I nodded weakly, climbing to my feet. Genevieve rose in an uncommonly agile movement, almost with no effort whatsoever and guided me to the nearest driftwood bar. At nearly seven foot, she towered over many of the other roughnecks, moving with a panther-like grace through the lumbering revolutionaries.

“Look Genevieve, I almost forgot,” I said suddenly. “I’m thinking of leaving for a couple of weeks, I’ve met someone and we’re taking a short break, do I have any engagements booked?”

“You’ve met someone?” She grinned down on me like some malicious jungle goddess, smoke leaking between her enormous ivory teeth.

“Yes, and we’re thinking of going on a holiday.”

“And this girl has helped you to defeat the curse which has been over your head for so long?”

“Well, yes,” I smiled. “It’s quite remarkable really.”

She put a heavy arm around my shoulder and squeezed my arm to a pulp, letting out a leonine belly laugh which cut through the hubbub, echoeing around the cavernous spaces like a bat.

“That is wonderful my friend,” she said. “I will cancel the engagements, there are few and of little consequence.”

“Thank you Genevieve.”

“Do not mention it.”

We reached the bar and Genevieve elbowed a swarthy pirate aside. He waved his hook hand at us in anger but disappeared quickly enough. I heard her call for a bottle in the strange half-this half-that port-talk one heard around the all the sailor’s taverns. Hans was flicking his head from side to side, obviously suffering from the strange taste of the blue cherry he had so greedily gobbled.

“So where, may I ask, are you going for this holiday?” Genevieve asked, snagging an oily bottle from the barkeep.

“Orbis Altyerra,” I replied innocently.

Practically half the cave went silent at this. The effect began with those directly around me, but then spread like wildfire. Genevieve’s eyes went as wide as saucers and within seconds she had lifted me by the scruff of my neck, much in the same way a lioness will grab a cub. She transported me into a deserted grotto and pushed her wide, spatulate face unbearably close to mine. I believe I was quite incredulous at this point.

“Genevieve!”

“Who on earth asked you to Orbis Altyerra!” Genevieve hissed in a sibilant whisper.

The saturated blue glow of the lichen had turned her face as dark as oil.

“Soledad…the girl I was…you know…”

“Madre Natura!” Genevieve exclaimed, shaking her head. “This girl is not what she seems, Orbis Altyerra! By the Blood of the Black Madonna //////! What were you thinking?”

“Look Genevieve, I don’t understand what you’re on about, what’s all the fuss about Orbis Altyerra?”

She looked nervously around her, eyeing the pirates and revolutionaries who drifted about like raggle-taggle sharks.

“Are you going there with her?” Genevieve asked.

“No,” I spluttered, beginning to worry somewhat by the direction this conversation was taking. “She said she leaves this morning, I…I haven’t thought how I am to get there yet, I thought I’d simply go to a travel agent…”

Genevieve guffawed loudly at this and I began to become slightly annoyed.

“Look! What’s all the fuss about Orbis Altyerra!” I spluttered at her, thoroughly outraged.

She quelled her laughter and looked at me with intense seriousness.

“Orbis Altyerra is a mythical place,” she said. “Many of these revolutionary types, desperadoes and utopia freaks have been trying to find Orbis Altyerra for years. Some say it’s location is secret, others say it does not exist at all.”

“You are jesting and jibing with me Genevieve, and I can assure you, I am not amused.”

“I would not jest and jibe with you //////, you know that in your heart, this girl has lied to you.”

I felt a heavy, leaden weight begin to slowly descend and attatch itself to me.

“Have you ever tried to find Orbis Altyerra Geneveive?” I asked her with a hint of desperation.

“No,” she said. ” It has never interested me.”

“What is so special about it?”

She sighed, glimpsing the depth of my predicament.

“They say that it is a sort of Shangri-La for spiritual outcasts, a paradise of culture out in the unnavigable wasteland, far from the eye of the police states. They say that it exists as a preserve of the arts, a creative sanctuary, founded by those who were unsatisfied by the endless cycles of revolution and revolt, those who did not seek empowerment, but the pursuit of beauty.”

“Listen Genevieve, what if there is truth to these stories? What if Soledad came to me from this place? I must get there Genevieve, you don’t understand the importance of this…I must get to Orbis Altyerra!”

“Get a hold of yourself ////! I never thought I’d see you go down this road!”

I realised that the Nin seed must be affecting my judgement slightly. I also began to suspect that Genevieve was engrossing me in some ridiculous lie in order to test my strength against the coming ordeal of the vision quest. I decided that the best thing to do would be to play along with her until I had regained some measure of my former lucidity.

“Is there a telephone here Genevieve?”

“You must be joking,”

“Of course I am! Ha ha!”

She peered at me in an unconvinced fashion.

“We will have to discuss this later,” she said curtly. “It will soon be time for us to embark upon the vision quest. But tommorrow, I will call you and we will discuss this…I will consort with my Voices and seek counsel for you.”

“You are a true friend Genevieve, I don’t care what the priests say.”

She nodded and dragged me from the grotto. I noticed that a select gathering of Night Maries was preparing a long black boat ornamented with all manner of serpentine carvings and scaled hullwork. They were manouevering the small vessel deftly from a small inlet in the far side of the cavern.

“They were wrong to call this place a Cul-De-Sac,” Genevieve grumbled as we stalked down to the pools. “Underground passages lead out to the sea and even further underground, all the way to the subterranean lake systems beneath the mountain country. Almost all places are navigable from this so-called Cul-De-Sac.”

“Perhaps its called a cul-de-sac because these people can go no further…” I mused, eyeing a revolutionary as he threw daggers at a watermelon effigy of the General.

“What an astute observation,” Genevieve muttered in a basso growl. “I must remember it for my memoirs.”

We neared the boat and I noticed that a collapsible mast, tucked all hither and thither with black sails, had been secured in brackets by tiny silver chains and bone woven rope. Night Maries swarmed the boat like cats, checking details, buckling on knives and dark oilskins. Genevieve ushered me onboard the bobbing deck and I took a seat in the back as she attended to some piles of rigging. The boat was large enough to accomodate ten to twelve people quite comfortably and had been built of old, yet supple timber. Ten Night Maries divided amongst themselves, lugging slim oars and coiling cables with an air of efficiency. They took their places at the cramped rowing stations as Hannah slunk onboard, settling near the prow like a lost animal. She was naked save for dark swimming shorts. Ornamental tattoos of fin-like wings rose from her stomach, over her square shoulders and splayed down her long ballerina back. Her fingers and toes had been dipped in ritualistic blood. I watched as she fumbled in a small wooden cavity. A nearby Night Mary approached and buckled a rather sophisticated black utility belt around Hannah’s hips. The belt, I noticed, included amongst other items, a holstered speargun, a sheathed knive and several other sturdy, bulging pouches. Hannah’s questing fingers slithered over the items at her belt as the Night Mary sat back down at her station. Another pasty, ash-blonde Night Mary came up alongside Hannah and ceremoniously twined bracelets of tiny feline skulls around her ankles, wrists and throat. Hannah maintained a steady, psychotic reverie throughout this, gazing hypnotically at one of her little fingers. The ash-blonde attendant then opened a stained ceramic jar and began to smear a thick greasy substance over Hannah’s limbs and stomach. Somebody handed Hannah a long knife which she clutched at absently. I found myself settled comfortably against the dark wood and began to light a cigarette for Hans. I glimpsed Ishioko Onda, staggering along the opposite shore of the pool, hoisting an enormous zoom lens and snapping jagged, uncalculated photographs of the proceedings. Genevieve stepped aboard, causing the boat to tilt suddenly toward her dense bulk. She squatted beside me, grasping the rudder with sure, henna stained hands. She tossed me an oilskin and I wound it about the exhaggerated shoulder pads of my suit. The pasty attendant gave Hannah a once-over before sliding overboard with a faint splash and a tinkle. I peered over the side to see her glide below the boat, surfacing somewhere near a nearby formation of pale, mushroom coloured stalagmites. I realised that we were almost ready to cast off. A twisted barbed wire anchor was hoisted and battened. The silent faces of the Night Maries stood solemnly along the faintly lapping stone shore as their sisters began leaning into the scimitar-like oars, pulling us deeper into the recesses of the sprawling cavern. Some swam around us like demented dolphins as we moved off, following us into the far edges of the pool before dispersing into the shadows. Hannah vomited a thin green gruel at some point, but no-one seemed to notice. She was curled at the prow, making distorted faces at her reflection in the water, her hair bobbing like a mad helmet. Genevieve settled heavily into her long seat , lighting another Montecristo whilst steering us toward a pronounced fissure in the rock. The cold blue gleam of the lichen became more pronounced as we left the ragged lantern light and noise in our wake. Voices drifted across the water from the celebrations behind us, but the heavy silence of the stone was slowly gaining sway, mufffling all that came before into a suffocated stillness. We crossed the threshold of the fissure and entered a natural channel of clear water, just wide enough to admit the boat. I looked up to see the ceiling drifting in through the dim blue, closing in some few meters above us. Then there was only the creaking of wood and the sustained flick and whisper of the oars. The long, cobalt passage hazed in intestinal convolutions before us, unribboning into the vaults of the earth as we began to pick up a steady pace. My thoughts soon focused upon the worrying exchange I had just had with Genevieve. I found that I could not rule out the possibility that she was in fact telling me the truth. This idea disturbed me profoundly, shedding strange, unexpected shadows across my interaction with Soledad. After all, what did I truly know of Soledad Evora? It’s true, she had initaited a profound healing effect across the more damaged quadrants of my psyche and soul, but I still did not even know where she worked, let alone lived. I had only ever seen her twice. She was a voice on the phone, a complete mystery theatre in which my paranoid delusions held sway. I felt the doom-watch of misery begin to cloak me in a hard, grey jelly of despondancy. To make things worse, I was now on my way to some psychadelic sea-monster party surrounded by girls with knives. Hans was however quite happy. He always became content when he was close to an abundance of cool fresh water. I think that it reminded him of the island which he hailed from. I could feel him licking his eyes in contentment. It was at times like this when I tried to take a page out of Hans’s book. After all, here was a lizard who could weather all manner of travails and still stay on top of things. I needed that kind of rock-like stability in my life, an anchor of reason I could cling to when my life was spiralling desperately into chaos. I watched him puff away in a state of zen-like absorbtion, and it was with quite a sense of surprise that I realised that the lichen was thinning considerably. We were already in a sort of pellucid half-darkness, shuffling down that smooth walled tract with all the echoes. Two of the Night Maries detatched from their berth’s and removed a series of heavy iron dungeon lanterns from a series of deep lockers. They lit these with sloping tapers, hanging them from sinister hooks around the boat. I noticed Hannah hissing and jumping as the flames swelled, ducking from the swelling vacoules of buttery light. Soon we were trafficking wildly bobbing luminous swatches across the length of the slippery throat of stone. The proximity of the sea became suddenly apparent to me, I could feel it in the icy, mineral quality of the air, now damp and heavy in my lungs. The prescence of salt became a luminous thing. I had a thought that this sudden intoxication of my senses might very well be due to the machinations of the Nin seed. Regardless of this worrying factor, these refreshing qualities cleared my head somewhat and I was able to begin to feel slightly more positive about life. This bizarre mythologising of Orbis Altyerra was no doubt some kind of incredible mix-up, prevaricated no doubt by Genevieve’s inebriation and compounded by my infernal hunger. I scanned the peripheral area for something to eat and gave up after finding a bucket of fish heads beneath one of the bulkheads. By now, the only light came from the iron lamps, and we were surrounded by the darkness of many ancient pirate coves. It wasn’t long before a pale haze of starlight announced the enroachment of the ocean. By now my brain was swelling and slipping like a helium balloon inside my skull. I imagine that this was much like the candy penyata boy must have felt as his head melted into the mineral purity of the underground pools. The ragged cleft in the darkness grew steadily larger, and soon we were buoyed out into a luminescent night along the floral backwash of a jet black undertow. My stomach gave a lurch and I clung for purchase as the boat toppled along the edges of slowly collapsing tidal churns. The water made dark and pendulous formations, swirling with muscular undercurrents. The starlight came down bright and icy, scattering a million silvery eyelids across the ocean. The rocking lamps swabbed at the heavy air with their cargo of flame, buttering light across the impenetrable waters. The waves had the appearance of smokey quartz, unpacking themselves along fractures, dense and crystalline in the lamp reflections. We navigated the choppy froth, skillfully piloted by the wraith-like Night Maries, who evidently knew these waters well. We passed the breakers and they suddenly started to sing in unison. High, shrill voices which cleaved at the night in glassy little shrieks and half-formed melodies. The unified sound had an inescapable effect and I soon found myself singing vaguely along with their cacophany. Hans also appeared to be emmiting a vague whistling in time to their syncopations. I turned my head woozily to regard him and saw him moving his weight from foot to foot in some bizarre reptile dance. The stars had begun to spin lightly on an indeterminable axis and I clutched at the old wood of the boat for balance. I saw Hannah leaping around the stern in some maniacal tantrum, waving her machete at the roaring ocean and screaming her lungs out. Genevieve’s hand was suddenly upon my shoulder and she pulled me close.

“Listen carefully,” she said in a low rumble which somehow penetrated perfectly through the deafening racket.

I nodded, licking my tongue around my dry mouth while Hans danced around my shoulders, whistling and clicking. Genevieve’s Montecristo breath fluffed once more at my face.

“You must now envisage a foe worthy of Hannah,” she instructed. “Picture it rising in your mind’s eye, picture it rising until it has risen into the world itself!”

She released me and I crashed back into my niche. I peered overboard and saw that we were now well out to sea. The craggy shorelines swayed sickeningy in the bone coloured starlight, receding steadily into the distance. My stomach felt like a little black grape. I closed my eyes in the scraping yawls of the Night Maries, and began to imagine the approach of all manner of strange creatures. White manticore-like beasts with a hundred green eyes, coiling serpents with the lower halves of circus midget’s, Mad aquatic chicken beasts with fantastic arrays of muscular fins blossoming behind their violently clacking beaks, enormous amoebas the colour of winter twilights…the list was endless. In fact, I would have become lost completely had Genevieve not violently shaken at me, pointing suddenly at the sky. I looked around in a daze and realized that all the Night Maries were staring aggressively at the turbulent heavens, their white faces swabbing pale daubs against the black skeleton-work of the boat. Someone doused the lamps and we were plunged into cold starlight. I became aware of an enormous churning drone, like that of an enormous metal insect. I turned to follow their gaze and only vaguely discerned tiny, red pinpricks of intense red light, dancing like demonic eyes against the clouds. The sound grew louder and I could feel the Night Maries scurrying about in state of furious urgency. Hannah was on the tips of her toes, screaming obscenities at the things in the sky. Then floodlights shuttered on in blinding rays of whiteness, sweeping across the roiling waters like the giant, clumsy fingers of some obscure Grecian god. It was then that I realized that were being approached by a trio of black helicopters. One of the beams seared momentarily across us and the sudden intrusion of white light was shocking in its sudden clarity. I heard the muted chatter of machine gun fire.

“We have to jump!” Genevieve yelled. “It’s our only chance!”

Instinct overcame me. I grabbed Hans and shoved him into my jacket while Night Maries leapt hither and thither into the boiling black foam. I saw the helicopters turning in the sky, dragging their glowing pillars across the ragged curtains of spray. I moved to the side of the boat, glimpsing Hannah at the prow, still fiercely waving her machete at the approaching aircraft.

“Jump Hannah!” I shouted. “It’s no use!”

She stared at me for a second with bloodlust in her eyes, and then returned to her tirade. I took a deep breath and followed Genevieve into the ocean.

The icy water dragged me deep and filled my throat with salty surge. I could feel Hans digging his claws into my waistcoat to keep from being sucked off into oblivion. I struggled for the surface, wishing that Soledad’s arm would appear magically around my shoulders and pull me to safety. We finally broke the surface along a sliding mass of inky blackness. I was tossed to and fro, glimpsing the odd Night Mary, finning away like barbed fish into the night. Genevieve was nowhere to be seen. I had already been towed far away from the boat and had to strain to keep it in veiw over the tops of bilious swells. I was shocked to see it suddenly illuminated in the shaky overexposures of a floodlight. Hannah was a glowing white slip, dancing around like a wildcat, shooting bolts into the air from her speargun. I was unexpectantly ducked under and re-emerged to the violent clatter of machine guns. Hannah had vanished, but the boat was being chewed mercilessly into a maelstrom of wreckage and flashing splinters. I turned and began to tug shoreward with all my strength, hoping that they would decide not strafe the surrounding waters. I glimpsed one of the helicopters unfurling a large black shape from it’s belly, like an inverted parachute, or an opening seed pod. Another helicopter followed it’s example, vomiting a huge floppy shape from it’s underside. I was at a loss as to the purpose of this mysterious operation and decided to duck underwater should the vessels wheel any closer. I swam over a dark rise and spilled down into a shallow trough. And it was then that I saw one of the helicopters taking a low, slow scoop at the water with the dark pouch-like shape. I watched as the shape trawled, like a soft cup in the ocean, pulling a quantity of water up into the air. The heavily laden helicopter then rose sluggishly into the night, beginning the long limp back to shore with it’s sloping cargo of seawater. I swam after it, toward the calcified crags of the rocky shoreline. I hadn’t got very far when I noticed that the drone of the closest helicopter had become suddenly deafening. I looked up to see winking red lights above me. Long cables whipped wetly in the air. I swam recklessly, but soon realised that the horizon had become somehow unhinged. I was rocked back and forth, like a fly in a mug. Then several cables pulled tight and the black edges of canvas rose like shark fins some meters distant. My little slice of ocean was pulled into the air like a leaden weight. I tried to swim for the edge of the canvas, but was tossed biliously about. By the time the water had calmed sufficiently, we we already high above the waves and climbing. I paused to curse my predicament. It was obviously one of those situations where one had been given the clear option of staying in bed and playing with one’s iguana, watching clouds and reading. One of those situations in which the right choice had been flagrantly dismissed in favour of outright calamity. I could try to blame Genevieve, but I had known from the outset that she was in league with the Devil. I could blame the state of the country, but bad politics are inescapable wherever one goes. At the end of the day it was down to myself and the ‘vagaries of chance’, as the General had put it. Fate had once again had a fatal little chuckle at my expense. The water settled into the sort of roll one finds in the swimming pools aboard ocean liners. One or two confused looking fish darted around my legs and Hans peered out of my jacket with a questioning look. The noisy chop of the rotor blades made thinking impossible. I waded over to the edge of the canvas and clutched at the rigging, hoisting myself to a position where I could gaze over the side. It was difficult, because the entire affair was swaying like a pregnant hammock. All I had to keep myself from spilling over the side were the jointworks of the black cables, which I kept within easy reach. The smooth, black egg of the helicopter’s belly shifted above me as I struggled for a grip. Hans slipped out of my coat and backstroked around while I surveyed the approaching coastline. Below us, the rushing white scars of breakers heralded the approaching shore. An icy wind buffeted me as we slowly gained altitude, flashing over the beach and banking sharply over a craggy cliff face. The water bulged unexpectedly, sloshing over the far side. I reached out quickly and grabbed Hans by the tail to prevent him being swooshed overboard. The helicopter settled into a smooth glide over the shaggy tops of dark trees. In the distance, across the mangrove woods, I could see the orange haze of the city. We were some kilometers shy of the barren concrete outskirts of the city, but closing the distance fast. I held tight to the rigging, contemplating my fate as the sullen facades of rotting factories began to slip past beneath us. I watched the ragged tin roofs and ominous steam towers loom and recede in the winds of our passage. A swarm of bats ejaculated past in a sudden, silent flash. Lonely suburbs began to unravel their dim one-way streets toward the approaching hubs of shadowy buildings. One or two little stick-drawing men watched our flight from sallow streetcorners in the night. Faceless little drunk men, en route back to their fishwives while steam whistles called out the graveyard shift from the desolate factory lots. Long skeins of falling water knitted down like shawls of spiderweb, splattering on roofs and spilling down chimneys. The swooping din of the helicopters left a wake of frightened people throughout the city, awakened suddenly from their slumber. Rusted train tracks coded and divided through wasphives of cold concrete bridges and empty downtown offramps. Tiny streetlamps cast cold, moth drowned pools which swam past at regular intervals. I recognised the silhoette of the approaching cityscape. We were approaching the center of town across the western industrial districts. I also began to discern the sinister glow of fires, dancing across the faces of distant buildings. The other two helicopters were some distance before us, both lugging their swollen cargo over the dreary side of town. The buildings grew steadily more sophisticated and small parks and piazzas began to unfurl into the old palatial districts. We were nearing the public library, which lay at the end of the old botanical gardens. It’s enormous dome became evident behind the rows of stately trees, clearly ablaze from within. I watched with mounting anxiety as the first helicopter unsaddled its load, spilling a long white wash of seawater over the library’s dome and rococo roofing. The helicopter then banked as the water gushed in rivulets over the shattered French windows and monumental stonework. Another deluge of seawater followed the first as we began an approach over the old flower terraces. I grabbed Hans and swaddled him into my jacket, realising that this could very well be it. I thought about hanging on to a cable and trying to deal with the helicopter crew, but soon realised that this would only lead to a more jarring death. I would have to take my chances with the falling water. A weightless sensation claimed my innards as we rose suddenly before the facade of the library. Then the entire affair capsized and I was gushed out into space.