Chapter 49
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
—James II, testimony given to the Strata Chancery
He stepped into the grotto below the Iron Horse. I waved my friends to the perimeter, made my way to the middle of the floor, and knelt in the dirt. Then I bent over and pushed my hands into the rich loam.
Suddenly in my mind I saw a mother and daughter running as bombs rained down from the Luftwaffe; a Boxing Day party where friends sat around a radio console laughing at something called The Goon Show; a room of people lying sick on straw mattresses behind a sign on the door that read the great pestilence; a schoolboy reading by candlelight, smiling over Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky.”
I then pulled my hands from the dirt and sat back. It began to roil and shift and rise, taking on one human form, then another, churning as it changed shape.
At last, the soil resolved into the likeness of a woman, who stood hunched, her knees deeply bent.
Her cheeks and brow, formed of shifting dirt, appeared slack and sunken.
In my mind, I shared the recent memory of Wembley and finding my third verse.
I silently prayed that I’d left enough of the past behind, that I’d begun to find enough forgiveness for my abandoners that she would accept me.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t matter if we found this new wraith—I wouldn’t be allowed to bind it to her.
A moment later, she opened her mouth to speak.
At first, all I heard was earth grinding against itself.
Then the shifting soil quieted, and the Ward’s voice rose in my mind.
You have done well, Jack. But before sealing ourselves, we must know that you understand the cost and do freely accept us.
The ward-bond meant risking more than just my life.
It was all the souls inside the ward. My own soul.
Not to mention all those who called the Iron Horse home.
And it wasn’t the kind of thing I could take back.
All of which scared the hell out of me. But people were counting on me to stand firm here, and I’d come this far. “I’m in,” I said.
I’d never felt a smile before, but I did then. You are received.
Thank the metal gods. In that instant I felt a great deal more connected to my friends, to the Horse, and to all the people who’d graced its door throughout the years.
But Jack, you have only just started upon the path of forgiveness, which has yet to reveal to you the true depths of your wounds.
I shook my head.
Your new willingness to look at both sides of a choice will show you what you have not yet wished to see, some of which will be joyful moments you have hidden away behind the scars inside you.
“Why would I hide the good stuff?”
Because sometimes it is easier to let our scars define us. But the only way to see past those scars is to embrace them. Simple truths await those who do. Even Henry struggled at times to look at it all.
“Henry’s alive,” I practically shouted, “and we believe he’s in the Strata.”
That would be a blessing. I heard more voices behind hers now, still distant but speaking in chorus with her.
“He’ll know what to do. Can you help us find him?”
When Henry left his mortal frame, our connection with him was broken. We would love for his safe return. But you are now the steward. You alone can renew us.
“I’m pretty new to this stuff. But I learn fast, my music seems to help me see things others don’t, and . . . well, I’ve been fighting all my life.” I looked around at my friends. “More than any of that, I’ve got good friends, and they’re prepared to do what it takes.”
I know. And we, too, would rather fight than wither. We ended our mortal lives on this ground doing the same. Tribes attacked our village, and slaughtered our people. My friends were beyond a healer’s care, so during their last few breaths, I sang them an alternative to the fire.
There was a moment of silence, and then the chorus of voices began to sing: “ . . . the tyrant’s blade shall break against the soil of our hearts .
. .” The melody moved in ways I’d never heard before, the interplay of harmony and percussion giving the music movement that both soothed and stirred me.
But it also sounded strained, as if those who sang it had been singing too long.
I wanted to give my heart to the song, too, and stand firm with those who shared it.
At last, the music ended, and only the slight shifting of soil remained. “It’s a beautiful song.”
It is “The Lays of Resolve,” said the Ward. It imparts a strength of conviction to one’s purpose, a willingness to sacrifice for the whole.
“The voices that sing with you. They’re your people.”
We unified our souls. Then, with the help of a friend, became part of this soil, strengthening it against lawlessness and tyranny.
“So mature wraiths are not the only old souls?”
No, just far more common than we.
I nodded. “Well, there’s a mature wraith—”
We have felt its power.
“I think we can find it, turn it.”
This is good. Her words in my mind were rich with distant unified voices.
“If we do turn it, what comes next?”
She extended her arms to her sides, dust trailing down. Bring it to this same place on the Ancient Stratum, where we began, then call us forth. When we rise, invite the soul to join us. Once it has inhabited the soil, seal
us together with threads of Orcus. But be vigilant, Jack, for the thread will require something of you if it allows itself to be used.
I didn’t want to think about what that could mean. “How long do I have before you . . .”
The Ward lowered her arms. A day. Perhaps less. For centuries we’ve been strengthened by the spirits of those who live within our protection. But in these last few days, many have left us or been destroyed by those who would put an end to us. The attacks continue and we grow weak.
“Then we better get moving.”
Godspeed, Jack. The soil of her fell down, and a plume of dust rose up around me.
Church called from the grotto exit. “Well?” “We’re bonded,” I said.
Church breathed a long sigh. “Good. You are hereby authorized by the very soil of the Iron Horse to provide it with the spiritual investment necessary to renew its ward. Cuius est solum eius est usque ad coelum et ad inferos, as they say.”
“Which means what?”
Cassius came over and extended a hand to help me up. “It means: ‘For whoever owns the soil, it is theirs up to Heaven and down to Hell.’ ”
“Also, a legal defense,” Church added.
I laughed, then rushed across the grotto and led my friends down into the darkness of the Abyssal Steps.