Chapter 12 — Remnants

IF YOU’RE NEW HERE, YOU ARE LATE TO THE SAGA OF A TALE OF TWO TIMES. WE ARE NOW BEGINNING THE 9TH AND FINAL VOLUME OF THE NARRATIVE, WHICH WILL WRAP UP IN THIS POSTED FORMAT IN JUNE 2025.

TO START READING AT THE BEGINNING, THE FIRST VOLUME, THE MENACE OF THE ANCIENT FOE, CAN BE FOUND BY CLICKING THE BUTTON:

*****

~ 1 ~ Fondling his swaddled infant—the case containing his violin—Eckhart Evangelista di Faenza stepped briskly up the ramp which had been rolled to the door of the small passenger plane. He slowed, nearing the smartly dressed pregnant young woman ahead of him on the ramp.

Winthy had invited “Ed Heart”, who had been her violin instructor before World War II, to visit for a few days in her family’s summer cottage on Martha’s Vineyard, which he knew would be full of houseguests.

~ ~ ~

It had been many months since Winthy had accompanied him to Italy, where he had gone to attend to some family business. The trip had been restorative for her, but it had not proved to be a romantic adventure for them. In truth, Eckhart was a solitary person, a “musical contemplative,” as he styled himself. While they were there, he had been able to convince Winthy that her son was involved with Oscar in a perilous enterprise “of a bad odor”, and that she would be wise to leave them to it and not get involved, herself. She had left her Ed Heart to his affairs in Italy, and had returned to resume her busy social life without involving her son or his father.

~ ~ ~

After receiving Winthy’s invitation, Eckhart had asked his friend Giselle Miller to make his travel arrangements and then bill him. He had felt some hope that the businesswoman would be too busy to do this for him, which would have given him an excuse to invite Winthy to visit him instead, later on Catalina. It was, after all, an island like Martha’s Vineyard. To his surprise, Giselle had said, “Ed Fanza, I myself have some business on the east coast, so you can travel with me on my private jet. You will have only to book the short ‘puddle-jumper’ flight to Martha’s Vineyard, and the fare for that is on me, for old times’ sake.” Back in his heyday with Oscar, Eckhart had been cared for in a similar way by other wealthy people; obedient to the hand of Providence, he had accepted Giselle’s offer.

Seating himself in the “puddle-jumper”after the smartly-dressed young woman had taken the other first-class seat across the aisle from his, he saw that in the smaller seats aft, there was not proper space for his priceless violin. Thank you, Giselle. He was grateful to his friend, knowing how expensive were first-class seats on flights to Martha’s Vineyard.

Seeing the young woman staring intently at him from across the aisle, Eckhart returned her gaze. Recognizing in her eyes a striking and familiar intelligence, he was not surprised when she leaned across the aisle and extended her hand, saying in Russian, “I am the daughter of Oscar Nerzhin.”

“Truly, your eyes tell me that you are Oscar’s daughter, Isabel Tavares.” Eckhart kissed her hand.

“Isabel Tavares Mendoza,” she corrected in Portuguese.

“Our loves lead our hearts, do they not?” he asked in Italian.

“Si, Signore de Faenza.”

Isabel withdrew her hand, allowing a woman to pass in the aisle between them. The woman glared at them for causing her a momentary delay.

~ ~ ~

Winthy came out to greet Eckhart and Isabel as they alighted from the taxi at the front of her family’s summer cottage. The cottage was a large and charming Cape Cod-style dwelling, its location allowing an unobstructed view of the sea. Near it was an immaculate red barn, and stone fences surrounded and divided the property’s rolling land. After greeting Isabel and exchanging with her a few words about the coming baby, Winthy took Eckhart’s arm, gripping it with such feeling that he knew she had invited him here to be her emotional support for the coming meeting.

~ ~ ~

More than a month earlier, Winthy had received a letter from New City University. In it, Dr. Sedgwick had informed her that Het had been missing for several weeks; he had asked if she knew Het’s whereabouts.

Through her inquiries, Winthy had been able to learn nothing about Het. Soon she had discovered that Esther Rosen also was missing, and her thought that they might have eloped had done little to mitigate the dark apprehension about her son’s fate which was growing in her heart.

She had called Eckhart, who had told her that he also had heard nothing from Oscar. Then, recalling her evening with Esmeralda and Alberto, Winthy had telephoned Alberto Mendoza’s number, learning only that he had been missing for as long as had Het and Esther.

Telephoning Esmeralda Montgomery next, Winthy had, after telling her about Het’s unaccountable absence, waited through a long silence. At last she had heard, “Winthy, not long after our dinner together, I washed my hands of the business in which your son was involved. Since then, I have been looking the other way as much as I can. However, for your sake I will find out what I can and get back to you.”

In fact, Esmeralda had already learned more than she wanted to know, so she had been able soon to inform Winthy that the matter was being investigated by the New University president, Dr. Gebhardt, who was trying to keep the matter out of the public eye. Dr. Het Kerrigan was not the only member of the university’s staff who was missing without a trace. Missing, too, was Het’s colleague in Natural Sciences, Dr. Sylvia Keane.

Winthy had told Esmeralda then that she had learned also of the extended absences of Esther Rosen and Alberto Mendoza. Esmeralda had known, of course, that they, too, were missing.

Esmeralda had been unwilling to tell Winthy about her recent visit from Yohanna, knowing that doing so would draw her back into the matter from which she had sought to “wash her hands.”

“I suppose, Esmeralda, that Miss Rhoda Knox must know a great deal about what has happened. Have you talked with her?”

“She, too, has been reported missing.”

“By whom?” Winthy’s growing fear and exasperation had caused her to snap ungraciously.

Esmeralda, wanting badly to slam down the telephone receiver, had spoken carefully: “Miss Yohanna Okubo has recently come to my office and has discussed with me the things about which you are concerned. She informed me that Miss Knox is missing, as are Het and the others, and she said that you most likely would contact me—as you had done already—seeking information about Het. Miss Okubo has provided me with a means to contact someone who can provide you with as much information about Het, ‘as is possible’.”

“Another god-damned Sorceress?”

“Perhaps, Winthy. This person is Het’s half-sister.”

“Isabel Tavares?”

“I believe that is her name.”

“Well, we got along well enough during my one meeting with her—despite Oscar, who also may be missing.”

“I don’t know about your dear Oscar, but Miss Okubo did mention to me another person who appears to be missing in this business.”

“Flavia Tavares?”

“That is a good guess.”

“Do you think, Esmeralda, that Isabel has lost both parents?”

“In this business, I don’t know what ‘lost’ means.”

“Well then, Esmeralda, I shall share in your modest optimism for the time being. Are Thersa and Alice also ‘missing’?”

“I think Thersa is a goddess, so how can she go missing with anyone knowing?”

“What I have seen suggests to me that she and Miss Okubo are birds of a feather. Esmeralda, am I distressing you with this business as much as I am distressed? No. Do not answer that. Just tell me how I can get in touch with Isabel.”

“She’s somewhere in South America, and Miss Okubo has told me of one person on campus through whom I can get a message to her. Name a time and a place for you to meet with Isabel Tavares, and I will inform this person, who will inform Miss Tavares. Miss Okubo has said that Miss Tavares will travel to the place that you specify, to speak with you.”

“Thank you, Esmeralda. Tell me: What do you gain by helping me?”

“I pray that by doing so I will have washed my hands of Alberto’s ‘Knox Aviation story’".

~ ~ ~

Winthy and Eckhart had settled together on a wicker sofa across from Isabel on the spacious porch, when a cool breeze from the sea had sent them inside for warmth. There, Isabel saw, through a large multi-pane window behind Winthy and Eckhart, a legion of small clouds racing across the sky above the seacoast. The active atmospheric view reminded her of the Commons.

“Isabel, can you tell me why my Het is missing? I believe that is what you have come to tell me.”

“‘Why’ is a big question that I can’t answer, Winthy. I can tell you that I was the last person to see him.”

“Have you informed the authorities? No one seems to know anything about what has happened to him.”

“Winthy, the ‘authorities’ have been informed, and I believe it was they whom I saw carrying him...out of the pit.” Isabel looked at Eckhart, as if he could help her find the right words.

Eckhart asked gently, “Were the circumstances unusual, Isabel, in which you saw Het?” The distress on Isabel’s face then, suggested a state of mind similar to his own at times when a melody which he was seeking remained just out of hearing.

“What pit?” Winthy demanded.

Isabel sighed. “You’re a very practical person, Winthy. If I hadn’t gotten to know the place, I wouldn’t believe it either.”

Winthy stood up and turned her back to Isabel, looking out at the view of sky, sea and land. Coldly she asked, “I will never see Het again; will I?”

Isabel answered softly, “Not in this life, Winthy.”

Eckhart stood up, watching Winthy, who was looking through the window, and Isabel, who was looking with anxious concern at Winthy’s back. Winthy reached out her hand to him.

“It was a scuba ‘accident’ having to do with that Aztec gold, wasn’t it?” Winthy asked.

Eckhart set his finger to his lips, warning Isabel not to express the vehement denial blazing on her face.

Isabel, seeing Eckhart’s look of profound sympathy—for both of us!—relaxed and said, “You could say it was like that.”

Eckhart, observing Winthy’s facial expression, nodded slightly at Isabel, who saw Winthy’s body relax slightly.

“Oh! Our other guests are arriving.” Winthy had seen two automobiles park in her driveway; from them, drivers and passengers were spilling out. “Ed Heart, my Martha’s Vineyard friends dearly wish to hear you play your violin. I have been warming up my voice, too. It’s an old lady’s voice, but it will serve. I have been practicing some of the songs we used to perform.”

Winthy went to Isabel, saying, “Thank you, dear,” and gently embraced her. She turned away quickly to dry her eyes and touch up her makeup, looking into in the hall mirror. Then she took Eckhart’s hand and descended the stairs to greet her guests.

Isabel took a deep breath, then used Winthy’s telephone to call for a taxi. Carrying her travel bag, she left by the the back door and slowly circled around behind the large house while people were entering from the front, including passengers of a third car. After everyone had entered the house, she was waiting at the road before a grove of wind-trained pines when Eckhart found her, just as the cab was approaching.

“Winthy understands, Isabel, that you wish to leave now. Please allow me to ask: Have you also witnessed Oscar’s departure?” Isabel raised an eyebrow at his way of putting the question. “Isabel, I have been on the fringes of the thing of which you have been in the center. I do not doubt that there is much that you can say, which few can comprehend—especially Winthy, who does not want to hear it. But, in spite of all, Oscar was my friend.”

Isabel lowered her eyes. Then, looking directly into Eckhart’s eyes, she said, “I know that Oscar my father and Flavia my mother—as well as Alberto Mendoza, whom I understand you have met in Winthy’s company, and Sylvia Keane, an academic colleague of my brother—all have met the same unhappy fate which is not exactly the same fate as Het’s. Although I didn’t witness it, I know that none of them is likely to return to this life.” The taxi arrived and Eckhart opened its door for Isabel, observing that the driver was the one who had brought them to Winthy’s two hours earlier.

“I shall mourn Oscar with you, my dear.” Eckhart closed the taxi’s door and returned to the house, where he found Winthy waiting for him in the doorway. “Our messenger has departed, Winthy. Are you ready to sing?”

~ 2 ~ Witteric felt as though he had stepped across the threshold of a slight tectonic offset. In Marge’s empty office, he closed the door behind him and stared out through the east windows at the Turret, watching the view flicker about a half-dozen times before it stopped on a sunny day—unlike the rainy day on which he had entered. Marges’s desk was clear except for a large, fat, sealed envelope. Clipped to it was a note: “Witteric, you have inherited all of Marge Hemming’s enterprises, except for the Hemming Chemical enterprises. If you wish to assume ownership, the necessary papers are in this envelope. You know the lawyers. Giselle.”

Inherited? Turning his back to the Turret of the Keep, Witteric walked over to the west windows and looked down into the Arch Company parking lot. He watched Giselle get into her car with Eugene Hemming and drive off. I must follow them.

He looked back at the Turret of the Keep, knowing that the Circle no longer held it. Liubagilds and the Hands—the last of his old band—must have met in the Commons with Swinthila, Gabrielle and the Soma. Is the battle lost, or is it in the balance until I add my weight. …Which death do I seek? For a moment, Witteric felt immeasurably weary.

With the envelope in his hand, he opened Marge’s office door to leave, and came face-to-face with a delegation of Giselle’s staff members, politely blocking his way. Their faces told him that they were prepared to assist him in taking charge of Marge’s legitimate enterprises. Witteric tapped the envelope against the palm of his hand. “I have to study this matter for a few days. Please carry on until then.”

One man stepped out of the group, holding out to him an open ledger. “Then, Mr. Witteric Hemming, please sign here to acknowledge your receipt of the offer packet.”

Having expected no less of Giselle’s operation, Witteric quickly signed in the ledger. Noting that the date written next to the space for his signature was a week later than the day upon which he had entered the office, he knew that he was back in Earth’s Province.

“We await your return, Mr. Hemming.”

“How long do I have?”

“Miss Miller informed us that the offer is good for a year.”

Witteric nodded and left quickly in pursuit of Giselle, whom he expected to be on her way to her discretely hidden offices in a Santa Barbara neighborhood which he had never visited.

It was not long before he spotted Giselle’s automobile ahead of him on the Coast Highway, moving at a sedate pace. No doubt she was carrying on a long conversation with Eugene Hemming, who he thought might become the new head of Hemming Chemical. Although he felt certain that Giselle was aware of his pursuit of her, he maintained as great a distance as possible without losing sight of her automobile.

Witteric’s mind drifted, following his memories back through the ages to the day on which he had been sent by the Friend to Thersa’s camp, where he had seen Ingundis the Fair looking out at him from Thersa’s tent. He was struck by the thought that Giselle was like one of Thersa’s camp maids—like the one named Imogen, who had rescued him from the wrath of the camp guards. Would his pursuit of Giselle lead him to Thersa? He hoped not. Was he following her for another glimpse of Ingundis the Fair? How could that be? Once, years after he had visited Thersa’s camp, he had seen from a great distance that Ingundis the Fair had become old—although stately and handsome. She had been dead now for thousands of years, for she had not taken the Elixir. Had Thersa offered it to her? Why was he following Giselle? He knew what the Friend might want him to do. Was he not seeking the time and the place for doing it? Need it be done? The Friend was silent, as he had been to Witteric for thousands of years.

“How will you die, Witteric? By the Friend, or with those who are friends?” asked the woman’s voice in his mind.

“I have no friends,” he replied.

“Those who have kept their word to you are your friends.”

“Ingundis!”

There was no response.

Several other cars were parked at the house into which Giselle took Eugene while Witteric waited in his car farther down the street. He had learned from Marge that Giselle maintained, among the houses in this neighborhood, her intimate staff who oversaw the highest level of Arch’s many enterprises. He did not know that the dwelling entered by Giselle and Eugene was the dwelling in which Thersa had lived as Alice for many years. It now belonged to Evelyn, whom he knew only as Laura Payne, not knowing that Laura was a Persona. Wondering what he might learn from Giselle, Witteric got out of his car. Immediately he sensed tectonic offsets all around him, much as in a primitive Maker’s Camp. This is Thersa’s camp! It feels the same.

Witteric opened his car’s trunk and removed the leather shoulder satchel containing his ancient, primitive Maker’s Calipers and the merchant’s robe which he had worn while dealing with customers wishing to purchase the Devices fabricated by his band. The satchel Device and its contents had not aged. He had kept these things as mementos of his early years, before he had fallen in with the Friend. He had kept the Calipers thinking that they might yet be useful, and he had kept the robe because it had been fabricated for him by Ingundis the Fair to prove her skill when she had offered to join his band. Their relationship had lasted for only a year, but in that year she and he had discovered how to shield against fractionation by using Animas fabricated from martens. She had not betrayed his dark secret of coaxing nearly dead humans into Animate form in order to construct extensive fractionation-free spaces in the Commons. Ingundis had called his application, “an abominable art”. It had been perfected under Gesalec’s direction in the slow construction of the Wild Way by Swinthila for the Friend. At least, the men and women whom he had used for the foundation of the Wild Way had been mortally wounded accidentally—not by his hands.

Now that Swinthila had disappeared into the Commons with the other members of the Circle and with the Soma, the last Keep of the Friend had been abandoned. Witteric wondered where and when the Soma would burst into Earth’s Province. Gesalec (Herbert Schooner) was dead, and Witteric had become sure that his death had occurred while he was using the devil croc Anima, for he had not found the Anima in searching with Leo through Herbert’s quarters and in the big pool. Witteric sensed a vortex of new tectonic offsets radiating from the old temple cornerstone, which no doubt reflected the strife in the Commons into which he had sent the Left and Right Hands, as well as Liubagilds and Retimer and his troops, to become the Soma’s convoy.

Slinging his satchel over his shoulder, Witteric walked up to the house and ascended the stairs to the veranda, deciding to wait on the porch swing for Giselle to exit. Grasping the swing’s chain in the very places which had been held by Thersa’s hands in her Alice Persona, he found himself frozen in a Vision: the workplace of his band of nearly thirty primitive makers, in the aftermath of its fractionation.

At his feet was the edge of a rough crater. It was nearly one-hundred feet across, with furrows converging on its center, near which almost all of the Makers had been flung together in one twisted, mangled, bleeding heap from which groans and wails were issuing. A few other bodies lying scattered around in the crater were in a similar condition. At the end of an untouched finger of land projecting into the crater was Witteric’s own workplace bench with its canopy of marten Animas.

On that day, the canopy’s glowing six-inch sewn-together medallions had caught his eye and his jaw had dropped. His mind had spun with the idea coming to him while he stood there with his two burly young apprentices who were serving as workplace guards on that day.

The three of them had just returned from chasing off some intruders—thieves, or spies from another Maker’s band—to their workplace within its high fence, when they had heard the screech of a massive fractionation.

Witteric had pointed to the nearest body. “Pick up Wallia. Is he alive?” The two apprentices had shuffled through the ankle-deep powdery soil of the crater and had lifted up the mangled body. Wallia had groaned. “He’s not dead yet; bring him after me,” Witteric had ordered, running to his workbench, where he had opened the canopy and cleared off the bench’s surface.

After they had lain Wallia’s body on the workbench as he had directed, Witteric had handed to each apprentice a pair of leather Calipers, each Arm of which had three sharp fingertips. In the absence of Ingundis the Fair, Witteric had wrought these Calipers for rapidly rending apart animals larger than martens. Earlier he had made, with the help of these two men now eagerly donning the Calipers, a medallion fractionation shield Anima from a camp wolf-dog. The wolf-dog medallion had been neither larger than nor more effective than the marten medallions.

After surveying the crater and the supply of bodies, Witteric had developed the idea that the animal’s intelligence, not its size, would translate into the size and effectiveness of the shield medallion which could be made of it. His two sly assistants, seeming to have picked up his thought, had been eager to rend apart their recent colleague Wallia just as they had rent the wolf-dog. Witteric had pulled from his Maker’s satchel, his Master Calipers and the script for the rending and fabricating Chant. He had stepped into the safety of the shield canopy and had chanted while his two assistants at the far end of the bench had intoned their part of the Chant and sunk the sharp tips of their Calipers into Wallia’s flesh, pulling him apart.

When a marten had been rent to this Chant of Fabrication, the animal’s body and the hands of the Calipers had been joined momentarily in a glowing, active orange mass which was difficult for the Maker to hold while it flailed about. As it had flailed, Witteric’s Chant had given instructions to the workplace’s Powers for ordering the dying animal into the form of a fractionation shield. The same had occurred when the pair of assistants had worked on the wolf-dog. But in working with Wallia’s body, the assistants had been fully engulfed in the glowing mass! Witteric had been aghast!

Witteric had grasped the throbbing mass with his Master Calipers and, following a dark inspiration, he had intoned the initiation rite Chant which would promote his neophyte apprentices into his “right and left Hands”—as full-fledged apprentices were called. Witteric had hoped that by this act he would bring them back and bring the fabrication to completion.

He had succeeded, but Witteric’s assistants and Wallia had been transformed. Wallia had become the first sacrificial brick of the Wild Way—a very large medallion, larger than the workbench, consisting mostly of his distorted face. Witteric and his new right and left hands had then treated their former work comrades in the same way, and by the end of the day, Witteric’s two apprentices had begun their transformations into the hideous creatures who had come to be known, a decade later, as Swinthila's Left and Right Hands.

~ ~ ~

Witteric struggled to release his grip on the porch swing’s chain. He knew that it was Thersa’a own hand holding him in the presence of this Vision, for her hand had touched his in those days when he had received the flask of Elixir from her. Then he felt the touch of Ingundis the Fair where Thersa’s hand had been—and he was free.

It was then late in the day; no car other than his own remained near the house. Witteric began descending the veranda’s stairs, and a car was driven up and parked near his own. A young woman emerged from it. He did not recognize her, but he did recognize the sturdy young man following her. He was David Howard, the movie star. Witteric knew nothing of David having aided Praskovya and Walter in repulsing Capricia’s attempt to snatch the Soviets’ two genuine atomic bombs at Quinceañera Beach. Witteric also did not know that the young woman, Evelyn, had acted as the Persona of Laura Payne. Witteric and David exchanged nods of recognition while Evelyn strode boldly to Witteric.

“You appear to be lost, sir. This house is my property. For whom are you looking?”

David set his hand on her shoulder. “Evelyn, this is Mr. Witteric Hemming. I met him at the Beach where we had all that excitement I told you about.”

Evelyn smiled at David and turned to again to Witteric. “Mr. Hemming, was it as exciting as David has said?”

“Evelyn? …Evelyn Schroder, Eugene Hemming’s fiancée?”

“Oh, that’s over. Are you looking for Eugene?”

“No. I’m looking for Giselle Miller. I had heard that she lives at this address.”

“She doesn’t live here anymore. You’ve just missed her; she was here earlier today to clear out the last of her things. I’ve purchased the house from her.”

Witteric looked back at Evelyn’s house and realized that he was no longer sensing tectonic offsets. “Thank you,” he said, and walked to his car.

~ 4 ~ On the next day, Witteric returned to Marge’s office on the Arch side of the Keep. In her office, which was his now, or soon would be, he found Giselle standing at the window waiting for him.

“Witteric,” she said, “yesterday I saw your car parked at Evelyn Schroder’s, so I think you must have some questions for me that aren’t answered in the packet I left for you.”

He said, “I’ve hardly glanced at the packet’s content, Miss Miller, but I do want to know why I’ve been given my mistress’s enterprises.”

“You did not know that she is dead?”

“I know that Gesalec is dead.”

“I believe that it is Gesalec who killed her. Although he told me that she had been assassinated by the Clan’s witch, Yohanna Okubo—and that I must put Miss Hemming’s business affairs together for him—Thersa has informed me otherwise. Thersa requested that you be offered all of Marge’s legitimate businesses, except for the Hemming chemical enterprises. Her words to you are: ’As you were Sunderer’s first Elixir slave, you will be his last. Consider wisely your fate.’”

“So, you are still working for her?”

“No longer. Recently, she and I have been sundered.” Giselle smiled enigmatically. “I am mortal now, as are you, Witteric. I shall follow the advice of the Clan’s Fr. Sigurd, to contemplate daily the meaning of my mortality.”

Giselle picked up her purse, preparing to leave Witteric alone.

As she closed the door behind her, Giselle recalled her first meeting with Ottilie Krüger on the streets of Pilsen. She had sensed then that her sundering from Thersa was coming upon her.

Thersa had deeded the Keep to New City University—all except for the Clan’s relics.

After Giselle had left him, Witteric went to the window and aimed Marge’s binoculars at the Turret of the Keep. In Mortimer Kane’s former office he saw the new Head of the Institute for Ancient Art and Relics, Dr. Arlo Ferguson, speaking with Eugene Hemming. Witteric picked up Marge’s telephone and dialed Mortimer Kane's private number. Arlo answered and explained that Dr. Kane was no longer available at that number. The number was to be changed by the telephone company later that day, and Dr. Kane had left no forwarding instructions.

“I do not wish to speak with Kane, Dr. Ferguson. I understand that Eugene Hemming may be there with you; I would like to speak with him for a moment.” Through the binoculars, Witteric watched Arlo pass the telephone to Eugene.

“Eugene, this is Witteric. Will you kindly meet me for lunch? There are a few things that we might talk over.”

~ 5 ~ Several years later, at Quinceañera Beach, a Home Construction crew was working at a steady but leisurely pace, rebuilding the Beach’s structures in a remodeled form under the direction of Leo and Antonia. The couple’s home was now the Cortez Cottage, which would serve also as a Thing House for the Clan. The resort would no longer serve arms merchants and gamblers, but would be used instead for family vacations by Clan members and their friends.

A special crew led by Hans and Everett were working on controlling the fractionation potential of the area, which Everett had determined to be radiating from Swinthila’s cornerstone in the abandoned camp of the Left and Right Hands. Hans would not allow the cornerstone to be refined to dust, explaining, “If it were virtually present, it would be, in its No-thingness, a greater hazard than its actual presence is, in a place where a watch can be set on it.”

It seemed to Everett that Hans had been speaking and acting more and more like Ricardo since he and Yohanna had become Heads of the Clan.

~ ~ ~

Leo was waiting one day at Quinceañera Beach’s seaplane berth, having been informed by the seaplane service that Witteric Hemming was a passenger on the presently arriving flight.

After they had shaken hands, Witteric asked, “What has happened to my gold, Leo?”

“Well, Wit, we had to give all the money to the Mexicans in order to maintain our title to the Beach’s property. Lawrence has been bought out by Laura, and Laura has been bought out by Home Construction, receiving in exchange a nice place in Sri Lanka. The Mexicans returned most of the money to the Chinese-Indian syndicate so that the Americans would be able to follow the money trail and perhaps come to know better their next generation of enemies. The Soviets paid only enough to cover Aeronautica’s costs, so you and I have come out even—with our lives and an honest livelihood.”

While the two men stood on the dock talking, the seaplane was being unloaded. Witteric said, “I had thought that would be the case, Leo, but I wanted to hear it from you. Now, before I return on this same plane, I want to leave a legal matter with you: Cherokee had not been a squatter on the Beach’s property; he had made a word-of-mouth agreement with Isaac Payne, who—as you probably know—founded and then abandoned the Clan’s settlement here. The agreement was for rights and access to the inland property where the Left and Right Hands subsequently established their camp.”

“That’s news to me, Wit. I’ll look into it. What do you want?”

“Liubagilds’ mansion.”

“I’ll present your request, and I’ll let you know what the powers that be have to say about it. I won’t raze the mansion as I’d planned to. I expect it will take a while for the Clan to research your claim and come to a decision.”

“Thank you, Leo. ” Witteric returned to his seat in the seaplane and waited patiently for its departure.

~ ~ ~

Later in that year, Hans and Yohanna—worldwide Co-Heads of the Clan—decided to build their new Clan Keep on the Guild’s coconut plantation in Sri Lanka. On the recommendations of Ambrose Chapman and of Martha, they suspended the lifting of the Ban of Swords, while secretly not officially reinstating it. Thus, the War Thing of Rhoda and Ricardo was left in a suspended state, for—although Rhoda and Ricardo were presumed dead—there remained unresolved matters of that War Thing with which to deal. Clan life went on as if the Ban had been reinstated, and soon Yohanna informed Leo that they had decided to honor Witteric’s claim to Liubagilds' mansion. “Leo,” she said, “it is a loose end of some sort which Ricardo has left with Hans.”

~ ~ ~

Twenty years later, Witteric drove up to Liubagilds' remodeled mansion, which was now connected by a narrow driveway to the land access road to the Quinceañera Beach resort. Witteric had decided to forego re-involvement in the arms trade, having found that the legitimate business enterprises which he had inherited from Marge Hemming were sufficiently lucrative.

His driver walked around the car to give Mr. Witteric the cane which he affected in order to appear, to his business colleagues, to be aging. The flask containing his remaining Elixir supply had been mailed to him. The contents of the flask, which he had received from Thersa thousands of years earlier, were sufficient for many more decades. After he had used up his supply, he would age quickly. Will I die naturally, or does one die differently as a Shade? He was unable to shake a slowly growing conviction that a natural death was somehow better. Or am I, like other people, just afraid to die?

The mansion’s caretakers, a middle-aged couple, came down the stairs and the driver helped them unload Witteric’s luggage and take it to his room. Following them into the building, Witteric set aside from his mind the concerns over his mortality. I am the human who is indispensable to the Friend for gaining a foothold for his personal presence in Earth’s Province. It is my Wild Way which will save his skin. Witteric chuckled at the irony of the expression, as he always did, after which he remembered his problem: He must recover the ancient Anima Device which Herbert Schooner had desecrated by recasting it as the devil croc Persona. He felt certain that it was hidden in a nearby fractionation Niche caused by Herbert’s misuse of the Device.

On each of his roughly biennial visits to the Beach, he came a little nearer to finding his Anima. He had only his primitive Maker’s Calipers with which to work, and it was necessary for him to work slowly and very carefully in order to avoid a fatal fractionation. He had discovered that waiting at least six months between his sessions of delving work allowed the threat of fractionation to diminish. Witteric’s keen sense for the potential of fractionation was like the sense possessed by some people for the approach of thunderstorm weather.

He knew that decades more would pass before the achievement of his goal. Then, using the Anima to make one fitting sacrifice, he would draw the Wild Way into Earth’s Province. The personal presences of the Friend and his Thanes would rush in to lodge in the Anima. Controlled by him, it would become the true primitive ‘devil croc’, the snap of its jaws sending forth a burst of fractionation. It had taken the Clan’s Makers a decade to seal off the fractionations emanating from the cornerstone of the Friend’s temple, and they would need to do as much in seconds if they were to defend against each snap of the devil croc’s jaws. In days, the Beach would become the Friend’s impregnable territory, and at last he, Witteric, the true owner of the Anima, would be the foremost and indispensable human of the new Circle of the Friend.

“But how will you die, Witteric?” Her voice asked him the question more frequently now. Was the voice that of Ingundis the Fair? Or was it his imagination?

~ 6 ~ In confused, abject fear, Alberto and Sylvia each clung to the other’s hand, staggering out of the grove into the light. “Oh, God! Sylvia, I’ve been here before! We’re in Texas.”

“What happened to us? It was horrible! But I can’t remember…I don’t want to remember.”

Sylvia’s a mess! She looks like she’s been living in those clothes for a month! Alberto looked down at his own clothes and saw them looking the same. He felt his unshaven face.

“You’re a mess, Alberto.” Sylvia felt her hair and looked down at her clothes. “Oh, God! I’m a mess, too. I don’t want to be seen like this!” She pulled him back into the grove.

Peering out at the highway before them, they saw it curving out of sight in both directions, with no sign of traffic.

“Sylvia, there’s water farther back in the grove. We can get cleaned up a little. We have to flag down someone, but we need to look better than this or no one will stop.”

“I done’t even have a purse.”

“My wallet’s gone, too; it was in my jacket.”

They laughed uneasily.

“We’re out of that nightmare of being twisted up with those others…Aren’t we, Alberto?”

“I feel like we are. Oh, crap! I’m remembering some of it. Did you see her?”

“Don’t!…Yes. I can’t keep from remembering. But don’t say any more. I think our minds were all twisted together. We were being forced to be the eyes, the senses, of that horrible giant…snake!”

“Did you think she was a goddess?”

“What? Yes. She beckoned to us, Alberto.”

“And suddenly we’re here, free of that thing.”

“Wasn’t our snake trying to seize her as prey?”

Alberto nodded.

A truck passed them on the road, and Sylvia stared at it from the shadow of the grove’s entrance. “Texas plates, Alberto. You’re right about where we are. Why Texas?”

“Sylvia…” Alberto stepped out of the grove, watching the truck disappear.

“Yes?” She followed him, still clutching his hand.

“I think I’ve actually interviewed our goddess.”

Behind them, they heard an automobile exit the road into the clearing between the road and the grove. After it had stopped, with its engine running, they released their hand grip and turned to face it. Staring at them through the windshield was a woman in her seventies, her braided grey hair wrapped neatly on her head. She reached down and picked up a carphone, into which she spoke briefly, still watching them.

“We’ve been reported as vagrants, Alberto, by the local vigilantes.”

The woman returned the phone to its place, alighted gracefully from the car, and approached them with stately strides. “Alberto Mendoza and Sylvia Keane, we’ve been expecting you. Hans Beckerath calculated that you’d appear some time this month. I am Señora Knox, and I’m truly sorry for your having become entangled in our affairs. I assure you that we’ll do what we can to assist you.”

Emphatically, Sylvia exclaimed, “The first assistance I want, Señora Knox, is in calling my lawyer!”

Señora Knox smiled sympathetically. “It’s not so simple, Miss Keane. Mr. Mendoza, I’m sure you’ve recognized me now, and you recall speaking with me at this same place. How long ago was that?”

Alberto answered by saying to Sylvia, “Señora Knox wasn’t so elderly when I spoke with her here two years ago.”

“What are you saying, Alberto?” Sylvia gripped his hand again; he, too, was trembling.

“I’m afraid, Sylvia, that we may have jumped a quarter of a century into our future.”

Sylvia fainted, slumping against Alberto, who was himself swaying.

“Mr. Mendoza, hold her up so that I can help you get her into the car.”

They managed to lay Sylvia on the back seat, and Alberto was fighting against delirium as Victoria guided him into the front seat. “Medical help is coming by air, Alberto.”

“Is your daughter safe and sound in Home Ranch, Señora Knox?” Alberto asked. Then he heard the sound of an approaching Bush Hopper.

“No. Rhoda has been missing as long as you have. She may have died.”

“But I saw her back there—when we were part of that snake.”

“Yes. Perhaps. Save your strength; you’re suffering from traumatic shock.”

The Bush Hopper landed on the highway and taxied over to the car. Four medics leaped out, bringing stretchers to Sylvia and Alberto. They carefully lifted the two of them onto the stretchers.

Alberto moaned, “Where are you taking me?”

“To Home Ranch’s hospital,” answered one of the stretcher bearers.

Alberto closed his eyes, remembering his attempt to get into home Ranch, when the bus driver had told him that all ways into it were “kinda snake-like”.

Victoria said to the pilot, “It’s as you had thought, Hans. Martin and I will never again see Rhoda.” Gently touching his head, she said, “You, too, are beginning to grey, Hans.”

~ ~ ~

Leo would soon follow his secretary, Tanya, into retirement. Long after the excitement of the War Thing, Home Construction had remained his Thing. Now, he and Antonia would soon be moving to New Home Ranch in Argentina, where their son had become Diego’s apprentice ranch foreman. Tanya would leave in a few days, and Leo and Antonia would leave in the following week. Their replacements were already doing all of their work here.

In her office, Tanya was packing up her personal items and Leo was telling her again the story of his decision to retire to New Home Ranch in Argentina, when two people burst into Tanya’s office. The young man stopped abruptly, gaping at Leo, and the young woman barely avoided crashing into his back. Tanya saw her disorientation, her fear and anger, and her desperation. Dropping the items from her hands, she drew the young woman into her arms, where Sylvia burst into tears.

Leo stepped across the decades separating them, and gravely shook Alberto’s hand. “Leo Roberson, at your service, Alberto.”

“You are Leo!”

“I heard you’d been swallowed by the jaws of deception, Alberto. I’m sorry to hear it, and I’m sure glad you’ve escaped.”

Alberto dropped onto the sofa next to Tanya and Sylvia. Leo pulled up a chair facing them and Sylvia stared at him, sobbing and holding onto Alberto’s and Tanya’s hands. When Leo smiled at her, Alberto saw her smile back; he had not seen her smile since they had left Home Ranch. Despite the financial resources with which they had been provided, they had been unable to reestablish themselves in their old identities. It had been a nightmare.

Wherever they had turned, they had been treated like frauds. Alberto had begun to take notes about these experiences, thinking that it might be a way to get back into journalism. Sylvia had torn up the notes and flushed them down the toilet of their hotel room. They were unable to leave each other, knowing that the experience of being alone in the world would have been worse. Then Alberto had read in the business section of the Times that Leo Roberson was retiring as head of Home Construction. Although they had vowed to have nothing to do with the Clan beyond receiving their financial support, Alberto had said, “I knew Leo Roberson, Sylvia. He’s not like the others. He was only on the edge of it, too; he might be able to help us.”

She had replied, “Okay. What do I care anyway,” but Alberto had detected a trace of hope in her voice.