Phillips Harbour
October 31, 1868. Dawn.
Caliban went into town lawt night, to snoop on the witchhunters and contact the Mikkelsens, and learned more than he'd bargained for. Gertie had a warning for Mr. Shaft: the witchhunters have reinforcements, and plan to arrest all of the foreigners at dawn, with the entire male population of Phillips Harbour providing additional muscle.
Caliban brought the note to Mr. Shaft, who upon reading it, dispatched him to round up Miss Pau and Dr. Townes. The Mikkelsens, too, had been warned by Gertie, but their whereabouts are presently unknown. Everyone rendevoused at the boat, and they set sail with all alacrity.
After a difficult night in which everyone got little sleep, Girard and Horus are awake at dawn. Sunset would be a better time for the work they have to do, but sun-up is the next best thing. And they don't have another sunset to wait for.
The chimpanzee, under the impression that breakfast is the best cure for what ails ya, has been scrambling up large quantities of eggs and flipping flapjacks. There are pitchers of icy-cold cider locked into cunning holders on the galley's small table.
Horus has been busy since dawn. He doesn't seem to stop for anything, busy bustling around with a chalk in his beak here, a small knife there, and, at one point, a small wound on his leg, stained red with dried blood. He instructs Girard non-stop, as well, telling him to mark places with runes, create circles, and mix a large pot of red fluid that smells disturbingly like blood mixed with other, less famous ingredients. Make way, make way, he projects as he bustles in again.
The only place with enough room to work is the open deck. It's cold and blustery out at sea, and Girard has to tie his components down to keep them from blowing off. It's a sign of how important this is that he's not complaining about the work or the weather.
For her part, Bernice hasn't touched a bite. She sits, bundled up and morose, at one of the ship's railings, staring at land and twisting at the rail as if somehow bending it would set her mind at ease. The doctor had to all but be carried aboard, protesting even Slate's urgings to go and reassurances that the Morgan would be safe in the Still Forest without her, and she gazes ashore as if hoping to see some sign of her companion. Any address has been met with single word answers so far.
Herbert helps out in the kitchen, mainly to stay out of everyone else's way, and runs up to the yacht's small bridge every so often to check the area with the spyglasses.
"Miss Townes?" Girard pauses in his work to look to the doctor. "You brought the Stone, did you not?"
The frenchman's question finally brings Bernice away from the railing, and she offers a small, wan smile, a little apologetic for her inattentiveness. "Yes. Yes, I did, I took everything of import from the cabin." She fishes through her doctor's bag, and comes up with the hunk of sandy rock, though she seems ill inclined to hold it.
Girard takes it, although he's not much keener than she is about carrying it. "Thank you. I suppose we should bring it. It's an Opener's artifact and we are ... Opening. After all."
Miss Pau is belowdecks and catching some sleep while she can.
With the immediate ocean clear around them, and the assurance from Horus that the weather will keep any other boats from approaching once the ritual is underway, Shaft returns to the parlor with some of the Babbage's extra wire and parts from the spare bilge pump. He needs to make an extension switch that can trigger the Seal of Solomon from a safe distance.
The chimpanzee sets the flapjacks aside and starts frying sausages on the vacated pan. Maple syrup, plentiful in this area, is handy on the table. He rings a small metal triangle and hoots to above-decks, Breakfast's on! Can't have a big ceremony on an empty stomach!
Horus, who seems about to bustle right past Bernice, pauses and looks up at her. He flutters to land on the railing, then hops along it until he's face to face with the woman. The time comes. You are needed, Bernice. I have mentioned before, but now I ask. Know that this request is binding; once the words are spoken, they cannot be retracted. The bird then leans forwardm butting ths tip of his beak to Bernice's hand affectionately. Know that we need you. I offer no lies: what I ask may cost you everything, a price paid in flesh, spirit, in soul. Know that I, too, pay this price, as does my Companion. Know that what I ask is vital. Bernice, will you join us in the Ritual of Unity, casting forth your spirit to merge with the Greater? For, it is your human heart, your empathy and compassion, that we need. You must hold fast the Great Spirit's heart, that we not go astray.
"Quite right, Caliban," Shaft notes, his stomach rumbling.
Bernice's lips pull into a line. "I suppose we are," she murmurs, half to herself. "But... it's not as though it's the same Game anymore, is it? Not the reckless wrestling over a lever or window. The Masters intended to Open as much as we did. Perhaps the Closings gave our world time to open the most important things, our eyes." She stops and listens to Horus, struggling a little to keep up, though she strokes the bird's head. "I'm only just beginning to understand what you even intended to do, Horus. You mean to call all these spirits and... but I didn't even think such a thing could... I mean, the Hill, wasn't it an amalgam? I'm not a witch, I don't know how any of this works. I set bones and stitch gashes and untwist stomachs. What can I do?"
Girard glances from Bernice to his Companion, then back again. Frost and wind-burnt spots on his cheeks are stark red on pale skin, and he folds his hands beneath his arms to warm them. "It's not a witch's kind of magic that we need, Mademoiselle Townes," he says, softly. "If it was only a matter of knowledge, Horus could do it on his own. It's ... sacrifice." He drops his eyes. "You needn't do it, you know."
You can believe in your world, and follow your heart, Bernice. The spirit is wrought not of metal nor stone, but of intention. Strength of will is its forge, and trial the crucible. Know that you do not need to possess mystical knowledge, for that is our charge. Know what you must do, is hold fast to what you desire: peace, rebirth, alliance, healing, compassion, love, and yes ... The bird glances at his Companion, ... sacrifice. That which is most precious, when offered and given, is most potent. Would that there was another way, but there is not.
The woman glances back across the railing at the shore, just now being touched by sunlight in the fog. Maybe if she looks hard enough she can convince herself she can see an equine shape there. "If just giving myself is enough, then... that's more than fair, and I give it gladly."
Sated for the moment on eggs, sausage, pancakes doused in syrup, and cider, the chimpanzee clambers out of the galley to check on the boat's position and course. Food's on, help yourself, he ooks in passing, missing the utterly somber moment.
Herbert fixes up a plate for Pau as well, and sets it near the fold-out bunk she's napping in. He crumbles up some toast for Lei, unsure if the woman was able to grab any birdseed during the escape.
The Frenchman clears his throat, and tries to explain more clearly, in normal terms. "According to Horus, we can make something -- akin to the Hill, but opposite from it. Instead of a union of unwilling spirits forced into slavery by the raw power of a single will, it's to be a gathering of willing spirits working together of their own accord. Merging together. And to begin it, to make sure the foundation is stable, there needs to be three of us. But -- " He takes Bernice's hand " -- I want you to be sure of what you're agreeing to. Once the Union's begun, it may well mean the end of us, as we are now, forever. Are you sure, madamoiselle? I do not wish to mislead you on this. I would not blame you for refusing." Girard looks like he wouldn't mind an excuse to refuse, himself.
For his part, Horus stares at Bernice with intensity, waiting on her reply. Even the wind can't seem to budge him.
Bernice threads her fingers in with Girard's when he takes her hand, and her vivid green eyes flick up once before they can't seem to meet his anymore. When her soft voice carries above the wind again, her tack seems to change as abruptly as the wind's does. "Is it... would it really be such a loss, Girard? Such as we are now?" There's a hopeful note in her voice. "Maybe... it could be something more?"
The Frenchman's blue eyes drop before hers do. "That's the idea," he says softly. Then he leans forward quickly, and steals a kiss from her.
Horus glances between the two humans, then leans forward to butt his head against their entwined hands, feeling the need to contribute.
Caliban peers at the coast from the bridge, using a spyglass. He tilts one ear to the deck conversation. It seems to have ended calmly, at any rate.
Bernice startles, but doesn't flinch away, a little tremor passing through her, felt in soft lips. When the kiss breaks, she's reminded of Horus' question... or maybe there's something else in her answer. "Yes."
So be it. The words sound final, resounding in the minds of those present with a weight that is almost palpable. Please, before we begin we must have of your blood, freely given. Take Girard and a blade to the pot, and add your blood. The amount is immaterial, so long as it meets or exceeds three drops. I will now begin the Calling, while you all eat and prepare. I will summon you when your time has come. Please return Girard to me when you are done and he has eaten -- there is much to do.
Herbert checks in on those on the deck - and after spotting Bernice and Girard's kiss, he says, "I'll be in the darkroom if anyone needs me. I need to finish working on the Seal where it won't interfere with the ritual. There's plenty of food down here too, so I suggest you all help yourselves or Caliban will think you don't like his cooking."
Phillipe Girard's eating is slowed a bit by the fact that he refuses to release Bernice's hand to do it. But he does eat, and with more appetite than she'd showed, while Horus puts the finishing touches on the ritual. With quill and ink from the remaining batteries, he writes the rest of the heiroglyphics out on the deck, between the lines of a triangle-within-a-triangle design. Then he flies over it, circling the outside, spiraling inwards. The glyphs shimmer, oily and dark. Then they dissolve in an arc of bright lightning. It lights up Horus and the sky around the boat. He glows a brilliant white, suffused.
Horus, looking more akin to his divine counterpart than even, lands upon the deck. So brilliant is he, that he is difficult to look upon directly, shining like a little sun. THE DEVOURING IS COMPLETE, he projects, his voice echoing in the assembled minds like a thunder crack. Seeming to realize he needs to reign it in a bit, he continues with a far softer, I will now begin the Calling. Know that I will Send my thoughts across the world, and all who can hear, will. Know that once I start this, we have begun, and all who are our allies or enemies, and who may hear such things, will know we are active.
The chimpanzee blinks as he heard that up in the bridge. Someone turned the Prof's volume way, way up, he ooks to the air.
The bird puffs up a bit, taking a breath, and lifting himself on his talons. Then, he Sends. It's like being hit with a shockwave, so close to the origin of the projection. A psychic yell, heard across the world ...
"For those who hear my voice within their minds, I bid you greetings. I am Horus, falcon of knowledge, teacher of the Art, mentor of your mentor, he of the unending cycle. Know now that our world of magic, of spirit, of soul, faces a slow death. Know that I and my allies have discovered soverign remedy for this most dire of conditions. Know now, that we play the Game, and that through it, shall we find salvation."
The chimpanzee keeps his spyglass sweeping the ocean, wanting to be ready to take evasive actions should the witch hunters send out search parties on the water.
A pause follows, letting Horus collect his thoughts and the world to let that all sink it. "A great battle awaits us upon the horizon, for soon the the gate shall Open. Know that beyond the Gate is the source of all spirt, all magic, all soul within our world. Without such energy, that which was born of this primal mana will wither and die. Has died. This must not come to pass. We march now to confront the great Masters of the other side, the spirit realm. Know now fear: these fel beings are as gods, but even gods may fall. Even gods may die. They must fall, for we to survive."
The shockwave roils back, and Horus can hear the babble of ten thousand minds in confusion and disarray.
"Together, must we stand. Together, we shall be victorious. Know that the Masters, though powerful, are foolish. Know that the strength of man and spirit, our cleverness, resources, and ingenuity, are greater. Know now, that you, too, are a solider in this battle. Should you chose to fight or not. All are in peril. All must stand up and rally to the banner of this world. All must fight. Know now, that I shall open the way. Join with me, and heed my instruction."
Belowdeck, Pau wakes to the call. Horus can hear her own disorganized thoughts coming back at him, strong enough to cut above the impenetrable babble of so many others he can't distinguish. The DEVOURING?!? Is complete?
Devouring? Wait, I think it's the... globby bit. In the... soup that they made. That's alright then. It's Bernice's thoughts, though her voice is small.
Dropping his voice to reply to Pau, Horus responds. The necessary arrangements that I may call upon the world's aid are complete. The Call has been made. I must now marshal ten thousand minds to a single purpose. Louder, so that the boat may hear, Horus adds, Allies, now is your time to speak. We must convince them, or all is lost. Speak now from your heart and mind. Show them your conviction, your truth!
Caliban winces at the burst of psychic energy, momentarily dropping the spyglass. He grabs at it as it falls, then catches it up again. Hey Prof, he ooks down at where the ritual is being held. That's the ten dollar explanation you just gave! Lemme make it simple. We Close this and the magic's gonna die, sure as the sun sets. We Open an' we're gonna face a horde of slaverin' Masters. If we care about the magic, we've gotta fight. An' the only way we can fight is all together. You all in?
Miss Pau answers twice, in English and in Mandarin: I am.
Having believed her thoughts private, Bernice's voice carries a note of confusion. What? Oh! I... I'm not so good at... wait, Slate! Slate, dear, can you hear me? Still Forest, please, please keep Slate safe. Slate, don't worry about me. We're... I don't know if I'm... if I don't come back, live there and be happy. I love you, Slate. Please, if anyone can help us, this is everything you've been waiting for! We can turn the decline around, I beg you to come to us. Scattered and disorganized as she is, Townes is at a loss to come up with better.
Slate's voice washes back to Bernice, from a dozen miles away. I hear you, I love you, I will be with you. Always!
There are dissenting voices in the roar: Horus can hear them. It's hard to tell how many, or what the tenor of the crowd is. With some care, he can choose who to broadcast and who to leave silent, so he chooses not share the thoughts of those who doubt their honesty, or their means.
The VOICE was loud, the moon is still bright even at dawn, and the coyote throws back his head and howls his reply. I'm coming and I'm bringing Mother.
"All right, Horus, my old friend. Let's do this before any of us come to our senses." But Girard is smiling as he speaks, looking into Dr. Townes's eyes as he stands to lead her towards the falcon.
On the deck of the Babbage, Girard and Horus have formed a triangle-within-a-triangle. Now that Bernice has agreed, Each of the six points of the two triangles are anchored by strange objects. The outer triangle is secured by Girard's journal, Bernice's doctor's bag, one of Horus's quills still dripping with ink. The points of the inner triangle are secured by a braided lock of Girard's and Townes's hair at one corner, and by two of Horus's feathers, intertwined with Girard's hair on one point and Townes's on the other. Each of the humans kneels within the triangle formed between the lines of the outer that of the inner. Girard holds his hand across the gap, clasps Bernice's in the middle. Horus hops into position, and holds out his wing to cover their fingers. "I give myself," Girard says.
Behold the culmination of my many lives and years, the wisdom to know when my time has come. Know that I give myself freely. May the world reap what we sew, the bird calls out. He bows his head in respect of the world he has taught for so long, all the men and women, and those now who give themselves willingly.
Good luck, the chimpanzee whispers to those below.
Bernice's face is a mix of emotions, and her grip is tight, her knuckles white. Before the last part of the ritual, she looks at those assembled on the deck. "I.. since I don't know if I'll have the opportunity, I wanted to say thank you. It sounds trite, but it's been an honor and a pleasure to meet you all." She meets Girard's eyes, staying with him now, her pixie's face serious but smiling.
There's no flash, this time, and no roll of thunder. Townes closes her eyes, and Girard's roll back in his head. Both humans slump to the deck. Horus lifts his wings, and grows. He goes from a cool white glow to a sun-hot white one: like his namesake, indeed. The fire rises, outlining his wings, stretching to consume him in a pillar like a cross rising from the bow of the Babbage.
The chimpanzee looks around. Oh boy, they're not going to miss this, he ooks at the air. He trots on down to check on his boss, knocking on the darkroom door.
Herbert leaves the darkroom, looking a bit green from his exposure to the Seal during testing. "What is it, Caliban? Are we being.. is the ship on fire?!"
Nah, boss, I think whatever Prof. Bird is doing, it's working... Very, very visibly, Caliban replies, straight-faced. I also have a feelin' the witch hunters can't miss this, if they're lookin' far enough out.
"It doesn't matter," Shaft says, shielding his eyes from the glare with one hand. "They know they can't outrun us with anything they have, and if Horus was correct, this is going to cause a storm around us."
The chimpanzee nods. Okay, boss. I'll just hold tight then. How's the Seal comin' along?
"The remote actuator works," Herbert says. "I'm sure I was only exposed for less than a second to the operating Seal, but.. I understand what you went through now, Caliban. I hope you'll forgive me."
The chimpanzee hugs his master as he watches the pillar. It's okay, boss. It's not like you meant it to hurt, an' 'sides, someone was gonna have to test it.
"Once this thing finishes building, we'll need to move quickly," Shaft notes, and turns back to the darkroom. "Let's clear out as much stuff as we can. We'll need to keep the comatose bodies in here to prevent some other spirit from stealing them. I'm beginning to think we'll be the only two getting to the banefire on our own legs."
That what Prof. Bird said we'd have to do? What if they have some kinda... Connection with their bodies? The chimpanzee looks nervous about messing around with anything so obviously and highly magical.
"He'll tell us one way or the other," Shaft says. "So for now, we prepare to store them."
Ook-ay, boss, agrees Caliban. He gets to work shifting stores to make room for this.
Throughout the astral world, there's a ripple of fire, the wings of a phoenix that stretch and brush, feather-light, over ten thousand consciousnesses. Including those on the boat: Miss Pau, Caliban, even Mr. Shaft can feel it, along with the request: Will you join? Will you help? Will you be subsumed?
Herbert staggers a bit from the powerful request. Sorry, he thinks. I need to operate in the physical world for this.
What the boss said, agrees Caliban.
Miss Pau is on the deck now, and she looks to the cross with longing, but shakes her head. "I have another part to play, yet," she murmurs.
The phoenix grazes over them and past them, accepting their refusal. It moves outwards, to those who accept:
In the Still Forest, Slate lifts her head and shakes out her mane, whickering once, joyously. Then her body crumples to the ground, as her spirit reunites with her mistress.
The trees of the forest are in tumult, wind racing through the leaves in silence. Then the wind dies down. The branches of the ancient oak at its heart shiver off its fall foliage with a shudder. Silence stretches ... and then there are sounds in the forest, the normal sounds come to woods. The Still Forest is Still no more.
In the hold of the Babbage, Islington curls up. He purrs a bit, then goes still as the spirit leaves him.
The tiny fish-sprite of a spring leaps from its home and into the wings of the Phoenix, flashing and vanishing to ash and fire.
The chimpanzee, passing by the cat, shakes him gently. Hey, Islington, you're missing it... Islington? He pauses, then shakes his head sadly, and moves in some blankets to make the darkroom comfier for the comatose.
Across the world, a thousand other spirits rise to join the Phoenix. The pillar of fire grows larger than the Babbage, its flames washing unfelt through Caliban's fur, its outstretched wings touching the sky.
"Help us move them, Miss Pau?" Herbert asks, as he gets his hands under Girard's shoulders. "We need to keep them in a safe place.. but we aren't going to close the shield on them until asked."
Stunned and half-blinded by the fire surrounding them, Miss Pau nods automatically. "Yes." She moves to help Herbert. Attending to practical things makes it easier to accept what's happened. What's happening.
Islington's gone, boss, Caliban reports. I think he's gone to join the Great Spirit. He pauses. Can you still feel Mrs. Everchild?
After a little while, the pillar shrinks at last. It diminishes until it's the height of a man, with a wingspan of at least thirty or forty feet, when outstretched.
"She's still with me," Shaft says, since he can still understand the ape. He takes Girard down to the darkroom.
For a moment, the Phoenix's eyes burn green, and a voice comes from it, rumbling like flames but still somehow feminine, but with undertones of a falcon's keening, and even a little accent. "Strange... so beautiful... no, don't be afraid..." The green flames soon pale to gold again, and the voice quiets.
Despite Horus's predictions, there is no storm. In fact, the day is unnaturally calm and almost warm now. It's very peaceful at sea, without a wind.
Once back on deck, Shaft notes the calmness. "Well, no wind at least," he says. "Do we need to shield your bodies from possession, or will they be fine on their own?" he asks the spirit.
The chimpanzee hurries up to the bridge to look through the spyglass for would-be assailants.
The Phoenix projects again, and while its tenor is different, it is still the Phoenix. We are Phoenix, we are one and many. The voice, authoritative but soft and feminine, echoes in the head of those present like sombre music. A hint of the Frenchman's accent plays upon every word. The ritual has reached its completion, we have unified, we are one and many. Our blessings upon you, Openers. Louder, projecting like a great chorus to the world, the Phoenix cries out, Our blessings upon you, O children of this world. Know now that soon, the battle will begin. We will fight for you, O children of this world. Be at peace, whatever fate awaits you, and know that we love you.
Having acquired the Mansion's ability to see spirits, Caliban does see them coming: little parasites, smelling the freshly abandoned hosts. They swarm in. Astrally, the Phoenix brushes them back with a flick of one wing; the Unity barely even seems aware of doing it.
Caliban blinks. Oh squids, he curses, and goes to help usher the bodies into the darkroom.
Herbert heads after Caliban, times the breaths of the bodies to figure out how long they can be kept in the darkroom safely. "We'll need to open the door to change out the air before we make landfall," he calculates.
Do not interfere, loathesome spirits, the Phoenix warns, it's resonate voice carrying a maternal, protective edge. While we wish only blessings and life upon this world, we will not permit it to be endangered by selfish acts, greed, or folly. To the boat, it says softly, Now, we must go. Come, heroes, our fate awaits us.