Haven: Book Seven of "The Liminality"

Chapter 26 - The Crossing

We pass over a settlement of sorts and Pinky lands in a God-Forsaken flat littered with rocks and punctuated with outcrops of basalt that poke like bones through the ashen soil. The spot that we touch down in is dominated by an artificial structure that sort of blends in with the natural ones—a rocky cairn of heaped pumice as broad and tall as a small house.

"Is this the right place?" I ask Grehl.

"Yes," she says, her eyes wide and eager to burst out of the truck. "We built this very cairn. How did you find it so quickly?"

"Pinky had some help from the Sing, I imagine."

Not much surprises me anymore about my avatars, but I'm actually very impressed that Pinky knew precisely where to go. It tells me that somehow, he and Grehl have made a connection of some sort that didn't involve me. I'm not sure if I should be jealous.

I hop out and do a quick count of the folks who rode in the bed, relieved to find that nobody had fallen out along the way. Pinky might go fast but he always gives a pretty smooth ride. Our security detail look a little shaky at first, but pull themselves together pretty quick. They're a rugged lot. All seem to know how to handle a blade and a spear.

I'm feeling pretty naked without a weapon of my own, though I'm pretty sure my spell craft is useless here. This is one of those realms where anything resembling magic is suppressed, which is what makes Grehl's talent for dowsing so exceptional. I bet she would be a heck of a weaver in a proper realm like Root.

Mifuti gets everybody organized right quick and heads out on a patrol to check out that settled area we spotted on the way down. We saw a few other places along the way as well. All small. Nothing resembling a city. But apparently cities don't exist in Sheol. The ruins of the in-realm Enclaves that used to harbor the now-absentee overseers are the closest thing, though Grehl tells me that they are over-run with the dead-enders they call Grovelers. This is a realm of nomads.

The four guards that Mifuti leaves behind with us, take up positions around a perimeter surrounding the cairn. Grehl is pacing the area around the cairn with her fingers outstretched, trawling for vibes, I suppose. Urszula is kneeling in the dirt, cleaning her weapon. The good thing about old-fashioned guns, they will work in any realm if you keep them clean. All I had to defend myself were rocks.

This is a picturesque enough spot if you can get past all the grey. If the moon was damp, it would look like this. One horizon is dominated by the massive shield volcano everyone here calls: "The Caldera," while far end of a rolling plain of lava flows and ashen dunes is bounded by a wall of spiny mountains looking like a bunch of broken teeth. There is no surface water anywhere I can see, though Grehl, tells me it's not too difficult to find it by digging a well.

Mifuti and Gwen, return from their patrol, come over.

"That was quick," I say.

"Out neighbors are friendly."

"No cannibals?"

"None," says Gwen. "Just a regular clan. Latin Americans mostly. Arturo stayed back to chat with them."

The cairn is a steep-walled mound of rubble that must have taken a bunch of man-hours to build, though there is no shortage of stones for heaping. It is certainly bigger than any cairn I had ever seen. This is clearly a site they wanted to be able to find again. From the way they all gush about it, I am shocked that they gave it up so easily. These souls certainly seem to have some kind of inferiority complex about them, as if they were not worthy of nice things.

Grehl climbs up the side of the cairn and continues that performance art/interpretive dance thing she calls dowsing. The rocks are so unstable and she is paying so little attention to her footing with her head tilted back, I am afraid she's going to topple off the damned thing. I track her movements, positioning myself to be able to catch her if she falls.