the Dark shall do what Light cannot (LiGa Book 2) Page 9

  “Oh, bring her along, of course! What do you mean leave her behind?” Patron looked affronted. “I never go anywhere without my Hazel. Tell me about her,” she prompted kindly. “What kind of dog is she?”

  “Sofia’s a Doberman,” Bruce replied.

  “Wonderful! What a beautiful name. Sofia… And I absolutely adore Dobermans,” Patron grinned. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  Bruce looked at her gratefully.

  “So you’ve decided to go?” Father Griffith turned to Bruce.

  “Yes. Of course,” Bruce replied promptly. “I enjoy sailing. I’m only an amateur, but I believe we would be in good hands. And why wouldn’t I? I am intrigued by the idea of this ‘Light Veil’ and even more about this place that lies beyond it. Of course I’ll go!”

  “I think I will, too,” Cat declared stoutly, despite her former reservations. “At least– Patron, dear, I really don’t sail. I’ll come on one condition: that you won’t have me scampering around tying things and pulling and pushing other things. I really couldn’t abide that at my age… I mean my real age, you know. Notwithstanding my girlish exterior,” she trilled happily. “And about this Light Veil contraption, will darling Orion accompany us to explain how it works?” she added mischievously.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t have to lift a finger,” Patron laughed. “What? You think I go about tying knots? Never fear. I have a real crew for that, a good crew . You will be my guests. As for Orion – I expect he can’t avoid coming if Shadow specifically called him–”

  Orion promptly replied that he would, of course, be among the party going to Pera.

  “What about you, Roland? Have we tempted you yet?” Cat asked.

  “It is tempting, certainly, but I would need to… I have to obtain permission to go on such a lengthy trip. I was in the midst of scheduling an assignment that is to start in the near future.”

  “Well, let us know soon, Father,” Patron told him. “I expect to sail out of here within the week, at most. There looks to be some rough weather ahead, which I want to avoid, but it should pass in three or four days. So, get your permissions in order, and come on board!”

  “Who else will be going on this voyage? Will you join us, Xavier?” Bruce asked.

  “No, I will remain here, but Peter will also accompany you.”

  12

  The tail end of a mean nor’easter was still whipping up short, frigid gusts as Father Griffith came out of the subway station at Columbus Circle. It was barely seven a.m. on a Friday morning, and the sky was an unwelcoming patchwork of pale blue and bullet grey. Despite the cold, Father Griffith had no wish to hurry to his destination. This new journey to the unknown could wait a few minutes. Instead, the priest walked purposefully to a nearby café, bustling with New York City’s early morning traffic. He was neither thirsty nor hungry, but purchased a black coffee and an almond croissant, and sat down at a small, recently vacated table, sharing space with the city’s ever-present, indomitable humanity. As he sipped the indifferent coffee, a figure in a dark overcoat asked permission to share his table. He assented, lost in thought.

  “’Morning, Roland.”

  Surprised to hear his name called, Father Griffith looked up at the man sitting opposite.

  “Good morning, Bruce,” he said, feeling oddly relieved. Bruce Saber had an air about him of confidence and capability. But it was more than that, Father Griffith felt. Bruce belonged here. Here in New York City. Here, in this world. Belonged, perhaps more than he himself did.

  “I am glad to see you.” The priest smiled.

  Bruce nodded. “Looking forward to our new trip?”

  Father Griffith inclined his head noncommittally.

  “I thought as much,” Bruce said. “Well, I am. I think. With LiGa, there are always surprises. Change is good, or so they say.”

  “Some change,” hedged Father Griffith. “Where is Sofia?” he asked, looking around.

  “Outside. She’s waiting for me. Look!” He pointed to a dog near the entrance sitting up with an air of alert concentration. “I came in because I saw you.”

  “We can go,” Father Griffith declared, tapping the tepid cup of coffee.

  They walked through Columbus Circle in a westerly direction.

  “Do you miss this?” Father Griffith asked.

  “This?”

  “This life. This world. The one we’re walking through.”

  “We’re not going away forever, you know, Roland,” Bruce laughed. “Unless you know something I don’t,” he added in a mock conspiratorial tone.

  “No, no. I don’t mean the journey we’re about to embark on. At least, not only that…”

  “No,” Bruce replied, “because I never left this world. This is still my world and life. I decided to take fewer cases during and after the LiGa tournament, and I am very much looking forward to our ‘holiday’ as Xavier put it, but I never felt LiGa meant I was giving up something. Giving up a former life.”

  Father Griffith sighed inwardly. That’s one of the things I like about you, he thought. You are so very grounded. “Do you think you will return, then, to this life?”

  “Roland, what I’m trying to tell you is that I never left it. I never considered LiGa to present an ‘either/or’ proposition.”

  “You don’t think immortality sets you apart?”

  “Yes, in certain respects, but in others – such as my abilities as a lawyer – emphatically, no!” He stopped. “Let’s leave ourselves something to talk about on the long evenings at sea, eh?”

  They were standing before pier 90 on the banks of the Hudson River. “Here we are…” Father Griffith said.

  “Welcome to the Flying Fish,” said Peter waiting at the entrance. “Your luggage is already on board.”

  “Thank you,” Father Griffith said politely.

  “What a sight!” Bruce marveled. “This is the Flying Fish...” Bruce gazed at the four-masted, square-rigged, 100-meter barque reposing regally at the pier. “It is certainly black,” he continued. “Yes, Sofia, that’s where we’re going, girl,” he added to the excited dog by his side.

  Indeed, I have not seen a darker, deeper, more complete black than this, thought Father Griffith. I would describe this color as the complete absence of any… of all color.

  The prow of the ship was in the form of a flying fish in the act of jumping. Upon its back was an enormous, serrated dorsal fin. That fin looks sharp! Father Griffith’s gaze wandered over the rest of the ship. Her sleek, efficient lines lent it an air of compactness and speed, belying her 100 meters of bulk and four masts.

  “Cat’s already arrived,” Bruce announced, pointing to a figure waving at them from the deck of the ship. They waved back.

  “Hello darling,” Cat said, approaching Bruce and Father Griffith as they were led on board. She jerked a gloved thumb towards the rear of the ship. “We’re all here now– Well, you can’t see her, but you can hear our dear captain, can’t you?” Cat beamed. In the distance, Father Griffith recognized Patron’s ringing laughter.

  “Where’s a fearless first mate? Where’s Orion?” Bruce asked.

  “He went to check on something or other,” Cat muttered indistinctly. “You should go and find your cabins. Ask them to give you a tour of the ship while you’re at it. To be honest, and I fully admit to almost complete ignorance about ships, there’s something interesting about this one,” she said, nodding meaningfully.

  “How do you mean?” Father Griffith asked.

  “I don’t know how I mean… Just go and look and tell me what you think.”

  “I’m going to wait to see the cabin,” Bruce said. “First, we’re going to explore this level. Come on Sofia.”

  Father Griffith moved ponderously across the deck, and was greeted by Patron before he had taken more than a handful of steps. She asked him, in rapid succession, whether he was hungry, needed to go to his cabin, or perhaps wanted a tour of the ship. This last was delivered as a rhetorical question, Father Griffit
h felt, and responded in kind.

  “This is a beautiful ship, Madam,” the priest said. “I would be honored to have you as my guide.”

  “Yes, isn’t she lovely?” Patron beamed with pride. “Father, believe me when I tell you that her beauty now is nothing compared to what it will be!” she added slyly.

  “Oh? Are you planning repairs or renovations?” he asked, confused, for the ship looked – to his admittedly untrained eye – to be in perfect repair.

  “Nope!” she rocked back on her heels, grinning in a self-satisfied manner.

  “Ah–”

  “You’ll see… Come,” she commanded, turning abruptly and striding towards the entrance to the cabins below. He followed her dutifully as they descended a set of solid steps to a narrow hallway. Patron led him to his quarters, which were starboard, and consisted of two rooms connected by a door: one of which was clearly meant as a bedroom, and the other served as a small living room with a few sturdy chairs, a writing desk and a table.

  “It appears very comfortable, thank you,” Father Griffith said politely, walking around the room and peering out of one of the two portholes.

  “Good. If you need anything, please let the crew know. Do you want to see the rest of the ship?”

  Father Griffith assented readily, and once again got in step behind her, obediently following her lead and emitting vague appreciative bleats as they moved through meandering corridors, up and down steps, over neatly coiled or knotted ropes, all the while listening to Patron’s detailed and technical-sounding descriptions.

  “I am afraid I am unable to follow much of this discourse, Patron,” he finally admitted, taking advantage of a pause in the soliloquy. They were standing before a closed door: indistinguishable from all the other doors they had passed.

  “This is a special room,” Patron said gravely, opening the door. “We are now in the heart of the ship. No, Father, you may not go in,” she added as he readied to step across the threshold.

  “But it’s empty,” he said taking a small step backwards, puzzled.

  “It is not,” she replied briskly. “You just can’t see what it’s full of.” She gave him a curious, appraising look.

  “It’s empty…” he repeated softly. “I think you must be mistaken, Madam,” he added gesturing towards the interior of the room. “In the sense that there is nothing to be seen in there,” he laid careful emphasis on each word.

  Patron smiled. “This is the fuel storage room,” she said. “Come along, there’s one more place I want to show you.”

  “Excuse me, Madam–” It was Father Griffith’s turn to stay her progress. “I need to trouble you with an explanation,” he said sternly. “Fuel? What fuel? Is this a joke? Do you mean to say that we are traveling on nothing but thin air? I mean wind!”

  “Don’t worry, Father!” She laughed as she patted his arm. “We have plenty of fuel – with or without wind – to last us this journey until we reach the Light Veil. I’ll show you,” she said, noting his look of profound concern and disbelief.

  “Please do,” he said pointedly. Patron reassured him that there was plenty of traditional fuel in the hold to get them to their destination. “The contents of this room are not relevant until … we pass the Veil,” she said cryptically.

  “Ah,” Father Griffith nodded sagely. “The mystery of the Empty Room… and we are to be kept in the dark ’til then?”

  Patron laughed happily. “I can tell you, absolutely, but it will mean nothing until it comes to be,” she smiled slyly. “You see, the lightberry is stored in that room. And it will be hidden until we cross the Light Veil. Then it will be used to fuel the ship.”

  “The lightberry?”

  “Yes,” she replied with a touch of impatience. “I don’t have time to explain properly right now as we have to set sail shortly. You will have plenty of time to learn and ask questions once we’re at sea.”

  Well, you were the one who brought me down here, he thought indignantly. “Very well,” he said out loud. “What about the other place you said you would show me?”

  She turned abruptly to face him, and appeared to contemplate his question. “No. Later,” she decided. “Come. We should start soon.”

  She is certainly accustomed to giving orders, thought Father Griffith with resignation, falling in step behind her to rejoin the others on deck.

  “So, what did you think?” Cat prodded Father Griffith expectantly, pulling him aside.

  “Of what?” Father Griffith asked.

  Cat rolled her eyes and stamped her foot impatiently. “Of what? What? The ship of course!”

  “It looks fine,” Father Griffith observed cautiously.

  “Well? What about the ‘fuel room’?” she prompted. “You know, the empty one!”

  Father Griffith described his reaction, also recounting how Patron had explained that the ship was fully-fueled.

  Cat gave him a curious look. “Hmm...” she murmured indistinctly. “What did you–” she began but whatever she had to say was interrupted by a loud bellow announcing the start of the journey towards Pera …

  13

  “What’s our course, captain?” Bruce asked. They had left land behind some four hours ago. “It will be dark soon,” he added, leaning against the bulwarks while Sofia, her glossy black head thrust joyfully forward, was enjoying the sea breeze. Cat and Father Griffith reclined comfortably on nearby deck chairs.

  “I have the charts downstairs. I can show you after dinner, if you’re interested,” Patron told them. “But to summarize: basically, the first leg of our journey will take us south to Bermuda. This should take us no more than a day or two at the most. From there we will pick up the westerlies and head out over the Atlantic towards the Azores. If all goes well, that should take us about four days … possible five… Once we pass the Azores – some of my favorite islands...” she sighed wistfully. “I wish we had more time. I would have taken you on a leisurely tour. Never mind, another time!” She laughed and continued to inform them that after passing through the straits of Gibraltar, they would sail for another day along the Mediterranean Sea and up north through the Aegean until eventually reaching the mouth of the inland sea of Marmara.

  “And that’s where we will pass through the Light Veil,” Patron announced. “All in all the voyage should take less than a week, or a week at the most.”

  Bruce looked at her curiously. “How does it work, this Light Veil? What is it?”

  “Don’t ask me. I don’t understand the technical details. All I know is that there is a point on the Marmara that only this ship can pass through, to reach Pera, and all the lands beyond...”

  “But how?”

  “The ship is coated in a special substance: the essence of the light tree as a matter of fact. Well, and something else which I can’t reveal.” She grinned mischievously.

  Bruce sighed. “It will take me some time to get the hang of all this new terminology. The light tree, lightberries… But before we get to that, how is it that this is the only ship that can pass through the Light Veil. Is that really true?”

  “Of course it is true!” Patron gave him an injured look.

  “I did not mean to offend you,” Bruce offered in a conciliatory tone.

  “All right.” Patron grinned, easily mollified. “As it happens, I – as the captain of the Flying Fish of course – was chosen to be the new Guardian! It is a great honor,” she added gravely looking around at her small, rapt audience.

  “Do tell, Patron darling,” Cat smiled sweetly.

  Patron took a deep breath and it seemed – perhaps it was a trick of light – that she increased in stature, grew taller perhaps as she told her story…

  The Guardian

  “The selection of the Guardian is a momentous event in the life of Pera. Although ‘the Guardian’ is generally understood to refer to the ship that can cross the Light Veil, this is not accurate. The Guardian ship and its captain are one. It is the captain who is chosen, although the capabil
ities of the ship are an important part of the selection process. Because of its importance to Pera’s safety, when the captain of the chosen ship dies or wishes to retire from his (or her) responsibilities, the ship too, is retired.”

  “Retired?” Bruce inquired. “How so?”

  Patron coughed and looked away. “Destroyed. Burned, actually. When the captain is gone, the Guardian is destroyed and there is no crossing the Veil until another Guardian is chosen.

  “And the choosing is a lengthy business. It consists of many layers. Because the Guardian’s remit is nothing less than the safeguarding of Pera’s most valuable resource, its beating heart, if you will. The Guardian must be strong and capable and, above all, absolutely trustworthy.”

  “Pera’s beating heart?” Father Griffith asked.

  “The light tree,” Patron replied. She explained how the light tree provides Pera with abundant, naturally occurring energy necessary to sustain life.

  “From whom or what does the Guardian protect the light tree?” Bruce asked.

  Patron made generous waving gestures. “Protect the light tree? From everyone. From the world beyond the Veil. Pera has a special role in our world: because of its placement, it is the guardian of the Light Veil!”

  “Why is it deemed necessary to guard the Veil?” Father Griffith asked, perplexed.

  “Surely, Father–” Patron gave him a pitying look, “surely you are not so naïve, so innocent, as to suppose that our light trees – the living blood of Pera – would remain unmolested if others from beyond the Veil knew what they were.”

  Father Griffith continued to look puzzled.

  “Energy…” Cat said quietly, nodding. “Natural, easily-accessible, abundant fuel. Isn’t that what you mean?”

  “Of course,” Patron assented vigorously. “But Pera’s light trees are ensconced firmly and safely behind the Light Veil!”