Part Four: Making Contact ...Again
I struggle to sit up, adopting a pose not so unlike hers – a little stiffer, sure, but comfortable enough.
“I have a different idea.”
“All right. Yes?”
“You say you want me to talk to the Goddess, right?” I ask. She nods. I bracket her hands with mine. “Stay just like this, all right?” I hold up a finger between us. “I talked to her this way, once.”
“Rob—“
“I need you to focus on my finger and to take deep breaths for me.”
Peitho takes my extended hand and pushes it down onto my legs.
“No.”
“It's worked this way before,” I insist.
“What? When?”
“The day you— In Genoa. With Regina.”
“With Regin— Stop. Tell me the whole story. From the beginning.”
Funny, hearing someone say this to me. But I do – I tell her the whole story. Regina and the Lamia Spirit, call it.
When I finish, Peitho is looking down and away from me.
“Why did she do that?” she is muttering. Then her eyes dart to mine as though caught unaware that storytime was over.
“Was that— I see. I suppose you didn't tell me what she said because you don't think it's pertinent to me?”
Ahhhhhh. He isss not an idiiiot afteralll. An asssssshoolllllle, perhapssss— But not an idiot.
I... am the Lammmmiiia sssspirit.”
What did I do? I did nothing.
I killed him.
With her, of course. I used her body. One bite was all it took.
She is a beauty, isn't she? Young, supple body. I remember bodies like this. Young girls.
How easily you send her to this trance-place. How easily indeed.
Do you put her under like this, send her mind away so that she will not resist you in what you want?
Will you do it with me Fulcrum? Would you take me as you have taken so many women before? It's been sooooo loooong.
Time is running out, Fulcrum.
How fleet are your feet?
Lamiya's – the Lamia Spirit's – voice plays in my head, a sort of medley of her Greatest Hits.
“Yeah,” I say. “Something like that.”
There is a silence between us, then Peitho lets go of my hands.
“If I let you do this—“ Our eyes meet. “Will you try to Dream for me?”
Peitho's eyes always dominate her face. They're too big. They shouldn't be this beautiful – or this emerald.
I close my eyes, shake my head like a wet dog.
“I don't like it,” I finally say, looking back at her face – but not quite her eyes. “But yes. Fine. If you will let me try this – and what I learn if I succeed is not sufficient to your taste – then I will try to dream for you.”
“Do you really understand what you're trying to do?”
“It worked once before.” My voice is defiant – I hope my gaze is.
“Yes. But— The circumstance may be different. No, Rob—“ she continues before I can say anything. “Do you understand what you're actually doing? Whom you're actually trying to contact?”
“The... Goddess?” I ask, side-eyeing the ground.
“Wrong. What did she call herself when you asked her name?”
“She called herself the Lamia Spirit,” I freely admit, feeling a little dumbfounded.
“The Lamia Spirit. Hm.” Peitho makes a thinking noise and her attention finds the grass for a moment. “That isn't the Goddess – not Wadjet.”
“It's... Wait.”
I'd assumed—
R – That the Lamiya Spirit and the winged-cum-Egyptian hieroglyphic-mounted-serpent were the same being?
S – Well....
I – Are you stupid?
S – I couldn't have been—
“That was not Wadjet. It was not the Goddess – not in any of her immaterial forms. It was the Lamiya – Matere – my Mother.”
S – Shit.
R – You knew this.
“How is that possible?” I hear the quaver in my voice.
I – Maybe this isn't as good an idea as you thought.
R – It worked twice before.
“How it is possible does not matter. Magick is how it is possible. I had a—“ She breathes, hard, through her nose. “I was able to contact her – for a time. Metus – if it was Metus who ransacked my room – took that from me.”
I'm thankful that the Figurine is no longer on my person – if only because I don't want to feel its heat, now that we're talking about it.
R – Could just come clean and use that.
I – We know it works.
R – Honesty is the best policy.
“Then she can watch me,” I breathe.
“What?” Peitho says, apparently pulled from private thoughts of her own.
“Lamiya – Matere – whatever. She can watch me – in real time. Like you said.”
“Like I said.”
“And she was in the body of my – of Regina?”
“Seems like.”
I sigh.
“Do you still want to try this, Robert? I cannot promise she is doing the same now. In fact, I can all but—“
“You said that you can't make a protection sphere or whatever that could keep her out.”
“I did....”
“Then if she's watching, this will be easy. If not, we'll try to reach out to her. Certainly you're—“
R – She what? Connected to her?
I – Like a spider on a web. Pluck a string and see if she will come.
R – And eat us?
P - This is the nature of Chaos – the allure.
Now I really wish she hadn't said that.
“I'm what?” she asks when my pause goes long.
“Nothing.”
“Now – you can't just say something like that and—“
“I can. Forget I said anything.” I look at Peitho, my face a little angry, definitely defiant.
But in my head I'm thinking about women. I'm thinking about what I know of women – from the conversations I've had with countless husbands and boyfriends and paramours – to those very same I've had with wives and girlfriends and paramours. I'm thinking about my own – admittedly limited – experience as a husband.
And I'm wondering just how old Peitho really is.
Her face is lineless and, apparently, ageless. She could be any age between sixteen and thirty-six and I would not be surprised. But when she looks at me like this – with the promise-not-a-threat of a wife who knows she won the argument you've just opened the door to days ago – I have to wonder. Is she just... that entitled to those particular entitlements to which women are entitled? Because it's more than belief which causes women in conversation – from discussions to arguments to casual – to announce that the topic – or this very talk – is off limits, verboten and also expect to be obeyed. The worst kinds of men are those who tread upon the very real taboos which are... well, whatever each individual woman decides they are.
But women.... There is no line in the sand a woman isn't allowed to cross.
While I'm on the subject, I'm not going to patronize you and tell you it's your prerogative or whatever, or give you an unwelcome and not-really heartfelt huzzah. It's annoying – but it is what it is. And you can't love women without at least tolerating them for their idiosyncrasies – like you can't love anything without loving what makes it uniquely it.
And let me tell you. I have loved women in my life. None more than— Well.
I shift on the grass in front of Peitho, releasing a slow breath. Is it my imagination, or is Peitho's breathing always deep and rhythmic like at any moment she might allow herself to slip into a trance state?
R – Is this a violation?
S – What?
I'm shocked to imagine myself suggesting it might be.
S – She agreed.
R – She agreed. But what is to stop you from poking around where you aren't welcome?
I – She can defend herself against that. Don't think she can't.
For just a second, I catch myself drawing breath to shout something over my shoulder at the Voices. I pause, with Peitho's questioning eyes on me, and try to smile while slowly leaking the air out of my nose – like trying to control the release-flow from a balloon without it making either of its terrible noises.
S – Why would I do anything other that what I said I'm going to?
I – You'll get curious when it fails.
R – Agreed. Even if it doesn't, you are incapable of finding a fire without sticking your hands in it to see if it's hot.
S – I didn't get curious when I stole her purse.
As though this were some kind of winning argument, the Voices seem to concede – and I turn my focus to Peitho. I hold up my hand, a single finger raised.
“All right. So what I need from you is for you to—“
“I know how this is done, Rob.”
I blink. But her eyes are already trained – and slightly crossed, the expression exaggerated in her exaggerated eyes – on my finger. And, indeed, she seems to have crossed her legs beneath her at some point, and now holds her hands in her lap. Trying not to look at the exposed flesh of her inner thigh, I begin to trace a horizontal line, back and forth, about the width of my shoulders. Peitho's eyes follow it, slowly ticking like the eyes of one of those vintage cat-clocks.
“All right, Peitho. You're doing great. Just keep breathing for me. Watch my finger. I'm going to count down from five. At one, I want you to close your eyes. Can you do that for me?”
She doesn't say anything. I think I can already see the far-off stare behind her pupils. She nods, slowly, but decisively.
“Great. You Ready? Five....
“Four....
“Three....
“You're starting to feel tired. Your eyelids are heavy. Why don't you close them?” She does. “You can already feel the pull of dreams dragging you toward the ground.”
Peitho's body sags a little bit, her chin dipping toward her legs.
“Ah, I need you to stay sitting up, please.”
Her spine straightens. Her neck, only fractionally.
“Thank you, two....”
I pause, watching her. She seems... suspended, almost. Not exactly between consciousness and un-, more like she's being held from folding entirely in half by invisible strings.
“One.”
Her head drops, as though hacked at the base by an ax, so that her chin rests nearly between her breasts – but her spine stays as straight as I'd asked for.
R – So she's out, genius. What do you think you're going to do, now?
I – Call for her.
Instinct was right. Of course they were. But.... Who was I calling for?
R – Decide. You don't want to sound timid.
I sigh.
“Great job, Fulcrum. Really. Just—“ The sound of Lamiya's voice snaps my attention back to Peitho like the sound of a dagger scraping in a nearby sheathe might have.
Peitho's got her hands in her hair, holding her head upright so another woman can gaze her own shining leer at me through the now very dim emeralds of Peitho's eyes.
“Great job. I never— Well, of course I saw it, but I really never really believed that this was the direction in which this would all play out.”
“What do you mean,” I demand. “How what all would play out.”
Peitho's hands release her hair, and her head doesn't flop, ax-wounded, again. No, Lamiya postures defiance in a way which is similar to – but decidedly not – Peitho's body language.
“Don't worry yourself with all that right now. Congratulations. Really.” Lamiya does a slow clap with Peitho's hands. “Just— I'm really just astounded with you, Robert. You're on the knife's edge, aren't you? Gosh, just— You just can't avoid skirting disaster, can you? It's like—“ She puts Peitho's finger to Peitho's lip, and for the life of me—
I would swear on everything I believe in – which, again, admittedly isn't much, but I would swear – that I knew this woman. Not that I knew this woman – of course not. But that I knew this woman.
P – As above so below, Robert, I hear Peitho say in my head, more impatiently than maybe she actually had aloud. This makes my face quirk – a flinch of the left eye and cheek.
S – Right. It's like Lamiya is the Ideal, the template from which all women have modeled their behavior. Which—
R – She is the Goddess, is she not?
S – No. She's the Matere – the Mother.
I – But what does that mean?
“It's like you want to see the worst possible contingency play out. Do you want to see all those men die, Robert?”
“Of course not. And how do you— How do you know about—“
“Don't be stupid, Robert. I am the Lamia Spirit.” Peitho's eye flinches in a coy little wink. “Of course I'm also an oracle. We have discussed this. Should I do these little chats we have in pentameter? Would you take me seriously then?”
“But you aren't the Lamia Spirit. You're the Matere. You're some kind of not-high priestess.”
Peitho's eyes blink, a slow, condescending— no, more than that, a How dare you question me, you insignificant little— blink, which seems to shrink me to the size of – well, the size of the smallest thing I can imagine. She doesn't say what, does she?
“Did you or did you not put my Peitho under so you could speak with me?”
Peitho's hands are on her hips. Her lips bunched and twisted, eyebrows raised, in the classic Well? Hmmm?
“Clearly you know I did.”
“Then why would you begin to presume that my knowledge is limited in any way? Child—“ Lamiya sighs. “What do you want?”
“I really don't know,” I admit. “I tried this assuming it wouldn't work. Or that it would be....”
“Easier than this. Right. You think I'm just going to make this easy for you? No. I tried to make it easy for you. I provided you the Plant, a fortune in gold, your ideal female, I even removed the distractions from your life.”
“Francis and Regina,” I hear myself say.
I – Why did she call Peitho a female?
“And Giorgio – and Stefano.”
S – Stefano?
R – The tavernmaster? Remember? Peitho—
“But— Why? So I would—“ I try to ask.
“We can talk about why when you have returned my Rod.”
There is a finality in Lamiya's tone – a promise. Is this my payment? Is this what will make me rich beyond my wildest imagination?
“Is it really—“ I start to ask.
“Yes. You know it is. How many people do you need to tell you it is before you believe? You do not believe a goddess, you do not believe my Daughter, you will not believe the Metus— Who do you need to tell you? I will send them to you. Would you like the Ar—“
“No. Thank you. And it's just like the Visions.”
Peitho nods. Her face is solemn, now. Is she... empathizing with me? With those who will die if I am not fast enough?
Is she – is she insane? Or is she pretending to be? What the hell is going on with this Lamiya person?
Hurry, Robert. Please.
Oh great. Now I have Wadjet joining the conversation.
“Just exactly. Rob—“ Lamiya sighs with Peitho's body – and if I were still looking for proof that I'm actually talking with someone else – which, of course I am; I was taught to be skeptical, to think rationally, and never to believe anything at first glance – why do you think I'm in trouble, right in this moment?
This is not Peitho's sigh. This is not Peitho's exasperation.
The motion is much... how do I say this? Grander. Much more dramatic. Much more animated. And she moves and angles herself so that at nearly all times the curves of her body are accentuated and exaggerated in the shadows of the night. Like she knows the Male Gaze better than I do – and wants mine to really (really) enjoy what, less than who, is in front of it.
Not Peitho at all.
“You and I need to have a talk. The Archi would not let me meet you – until now, it seems. I could have taught you— It does not matter. You could have avoided all of this if you had just helped Peitho in Genoa. You know this now, yes? If you had left Venice when you first learned Pepin was there, you would have beaten him to Verona and been amply able to capture him there. But you did not do these things. You have insisted on following your own nose, on exploring your own path.
“And this is fine.” Peitho's smile is indulgent, a mother telling her son who is failing out of university that it's okay, he'll find himself someday. “But your torment is of your own making. If you want real answers to your questions – if you really want to know about magick, for instance, about Fate and the Weave – and maybe I'll even tell you a little about your place in it. But only if you get my Rod and safely return it to me.”
My mouth opens, and I click it shut.
My palms and the back of my throat itch.
R – Is that an opportunity you're willing to pass up?
I – One conversation with this woman is worth more to you than Peitho?
I quirk my face, feeling this poignantly.
S – Maybe. Yeah.
“Are we done here, then?” Lamiya asks from Peitho's mouth.
I nod. “Unless you're planning to tell me anything actionable.”
“Actionable? Like what? You have been told to go to the mountains west of Turin as quickly as you can get there. You have been taken to a pass with three branches and shown two armies slaughtered by a madman. What more actionable do you need than that?”
I was hoping for you to tell me it's all actually real – actually happening isn't the sort of thing you say to a voice speaking from someone else's body. It's either real to you at this point or it isn't.
“I guess nothing,” I mumble more than really is appropriate, given whom I'm addressing.
“Good,” Lamiya says, looking at Peitho's nails and twisting her lips disapprovingly. She turns around as though to walk away, but goes nowhere. Looking back at me over her shoulder, she says, “Oh, and do try to keep the Rod a secret, can't you? It would be best – for me, for sure – if it didn't get out that I have an artifact of infinite power in my possession. It's tumultuous times – you never know what kinds of things barbarians might do. They don't even know the Rules.”
Lamiya winks Peitho's eye and—
****
“Rob?” Peitho's voice asks from Peitho's throat a few seconds later – after Lamiya had turned her head away and let it slump to her breast. “Why am I turned away from you?”
I breathe a sigh at the sound. I didn't want to do this anymore – and I had really been hoping Peitho wouldn't be under anymore. And not even because I didn't want the temptation – I just wanted all of this – all of it – to be over. Over and done with and behind me and—
“I was hoping you might ask that,” I say like I mean it. Of course I don't – sometimes you just say things. “I had a little chitty-chat with your Mother.”
“Oh. Is that so?” Peitho turns around. I can't tell what is in her eyes – she's keeping them from me.
“It is.” I'm watching her, and can't stop myself from toying with her, now that I've noticed her squirming a little.
“How long was I under?”
“Not very. Coupl'a minutes, no more.”
“Hmm.” Peitho looks up at me. “What did she have to say?”
“Nothing actionable,” I shrug. “Just more of what I already tried to tell myself I didn't know.”
“I see.” Peitho's gaze is probing, but she doesn't seem to find anything – there's not really anything there to find. “Then you will do as you said and you will dream?”
Somehow, in all the fun, I'd forgotten about that part.
A pit opens in my stomach, and everything I've been feeling since I made that agreement falls into it. That pit is despair, and I'm clinging to the lip, certain that Peitho's about to come stomp on my fingers.
My eyes quest to the horizon, but there's nothing there but more night.
Shit.
“Yeah,” I finally say, sounding like I've just agreed to hold an apple in my mouth for her to shoot – but she's not at my side – she's directly in front of me.
“Well?” Peitho asks, her eyes darting between me and the grass behind me.
“Right,” I nod, trying so very very hard not to roll my eyes – at least, not to let Peitho see me rolling them – and not to sigh. Let her see that I don't want to do this, but don't make it so obvious that she offers to let me off the hook.
R – You agreed to this.
Consent, man. What a tricky bitch.
S - I did. I am going to to go through with it—
I - now that you've been reminded.
R - If she hadn't said anything, you wasn't going to volunteer to remember, that's for sure.
S – I wish sometimes that I were just dead.
I – Are you really going to risk doing that again?
The River of Fire flashes through my mind – a single frame, but enough.
I lie on my back in the grass, my feet kicked out in front of me, hands crossed over my belly. Looking for all the world like I were about to be laid into the earth for the long rest.
Peitho looks over at me. Her face is solemn as she kneels. For just a moment I imagine her in funeral garb.
If I died, would she come to the funeral?
S – That might be nice.
R – Why do you care?
I have to resist the urge not to shrug. You can't help whom you get crushes on – well, it's significantly more difficult when they're hand-selected for just that purpose.
“Do you need me to... do you? Would that help?”
I nearly swallow my tongue and have to close my eyes.
“Do me,” I nearly squeak, “Peitho? What do you mean, do me?”
Peitho frowns. “Put you under. What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing. Not—. And, no – I do not want you to do me. Thank you.”
“Yeah – whatever. I just thought I'd try to help.” Peitho says this, looking at me like I'm a crazy person.
“Well, why don't you – I don't know.” I can't get the thought of her doing me out of my head, now. “Why don't you let me put my head on your lap and you can tell me a story. Tell me more about how to wield magick. Tell me more about how shitty I am as a wizard.”
I say this last as I'm placing my head on Peitho's thigh. I think I'm being funny – she doesn't.
“That's not a nice thing to say, Rob. I'm not saying you're shitty at anything.”
“I know. I was— Nevermind.”
“If you say so.”
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