Chapter 60
Sixty
Sorcha
There was a thick folder of notes at my place on the breakfast table the next morning—just as Ansel promised.
Subject indicated under moderate duress that the portals are used to produce “answers for wishes” but added that effectiveness varies.
Subject indicated immediately, and nearly without prompting, that George Collard insists efficacy or inefficacy of sacrifices is due entirely to the “supernatural disposition” of the petitioner.
Subject indicated extreme coercion of cult participants—with the exception of a few “true believers” including George Collard, his right-hand woman Martha Thompkins, and several additional “grunts” and “weird priestly types.” Subject indicated tactics including but not limited to control of schedule and diet, prohibition of leaving the premises or exiting building, prohibition of most conversation topics including any mention of portal exposure side effects, no matter how debilitating.
Ineffective sacrifices were regularly punished with physical force.
Additionally, subject provided the following anecdote—recorded here verbatim:
“Most of the times when we open up the portals a big monster comes out. Mr. Collard tells us they do good. But I’m still not sure.
Can’t much leave now though, can I? I’m sure youse already understand that.
But every so often . . . I’s only seen it twice and I been here months and months .
. . is not a monster that comes out. It’s what Mr. Collard tells us is an angel.
Some kinda messenger, I guess. They glow when they come out.
Look like those real pretty men from up north.
Finland. Sweden. You know. North. Blond hair.
Blue eyes. They shine like a real bright star you can see when you’s out in the countryside.
They give us messages on paper sometimes and go back through on their own.
I can’t read. But I don’t think they’re in English.
And Mr. Collard can’t read them neither.
Or sometimes theys just leave. Don’t give no message.
Don’t go back through. The portal stays open for a long time then.
When they don’t go back. At least that’s what I hears. ”
I closed the file and put my head down on the table. If messages were being passed via the portals, then someone—other than the giant slugs and beetles and cephalopods—must want them opened. The only question remained who.
“Ansel, I think these are ancient Elvish death cults,” I said when he sat down across from me at the breakfast table. “They’re using a butchery of the old rituals. Glowing messengers? That sounds like some kind of Elven old gods propaganda.”
“But how would they even get the idea?” Neal asked. “It’s not like those kinds of texts are just lying around.”
“Someone’s prompting it,” I said. “We just have to figure out who.”
“And everyone we keep running into is too far downstream to know anything about the origins,” Ansel added.
“So that’s what we need to learn next,” I said. “Who started it all.”
“What we need to do next is get you off your feet and settled in Islay,” Neal insisted. “No more investigating. Not right now. Not until after baby.”
“We could stay here,” Ansel countered. “It’s more convenient. More efficient.”
“I don’t like it here,” I replied bluntly.
“But the library . . .” Ansel tried to protest.
“Islay is indescribable progress over Santa Fe,” Neal responded. “We can get a runner to Glasgow in a few hours, telegram runs here from there. She’ll run the Court better if she feels safe.”
“That’s the understatement of the bloody century,” I added.
“Fine,” Ansel grumbled. “Good enough.”
“Now get someone on the research,” I instructed. “Ansel, I want letters on every populated continent by end of month. This is the Court’s top priority. Understood?”
“So you’ll go to Islay?” Neal asked, voice breathy with relief. “No fight to do it yourself?”
“No fight to do it myself,” I said. “I grow the Outer Court an heir. Ansel’s staff finds out who the bloody hell is benefiting from distributing ancient rituals to summon demons.”
“Seems like a fair allocation of labor to me,” Ansel drawled in response.