The Entropy of Bones Page 18

  Some perverse sense of shame didn’t let me tell him it was Rice that had called Nordeen in. Instead I ate my meal in peace, looking over the bow to the boats coming in. I knew the Nordeen business was serious but I couldn’t help thinking of the Little Kid. The look on his face, his shame flowing, as he escorted his little DJ friend away from me, the biggest question mark in his life.

  “I can train you,” I heard the wind say, as the night proper was about to begin. A.C. sat next to me, his legs curled up, back against the mast. I didn’t look at him, just felt his presence.

  Had enough of strange men training me.

  “You’ll have to disguise your thoughts somehow. Nordeen is good but he still has to hunt down the truth. And he’s got to be subtle about it. They’re all probably still afraid that one of the old Elders is just waiting in the wings to fuck with them. The light touch is hard for that club-footed son of a bitch. He’ll go slow, trying to pick through your thoughts.”

  He already tried today. Didn’t go too well for him.

  “Short term, yeah, no doubt you can take him. But this might be a distance game . . .” A.C. started.

  You don’t know me in the future, do you, Wind Boy? If it was possible for the wind to jump, A.C. would have.

  “There’s lots of people I don’t know . . .”

  Yeah, but you never even heard of me before you took this mission, right?

  “What’s your point?”

  I know Narayana’s alive somewhere. The only thing keeping me from searching the earth for him is this business right here. As soon as it’s done, I’m going for the man. Now if you haven’t met me, and Narayana’s with your crew in your time, that means either I’m so crap at tracking people down that I can’t find him, or . . .

  “There are mountains of possibilities between then and now,” he interrupts.

  Fair point. All I’m saying is, I can see where this is headed. And, Wind Boy, it sure as hell doesn’t look like a long game. I put my bowl of food down and flew off deck with a folding leap.

  “Where are you going?” he called to me.

  To the reason I’m doing this at all.

  Mom’s house was smaller. Or I was bigger. But I wasn’t really. I stopped growing at sixteen and still had that body. Everything just seemed more compact, tinier. Smaller.

  She was at work but I still had the key. I remembered how clothes, clean and dirty, used to conglomerate on the couches, over doors, wherever there was free space. Now there was nothing but clean surfaces. Everything was folded. The carpet had been vacuumed not two days earlier. The faint scent of incense hung in the air. The only thing I could find to occupy my time were a few dirty dishes. Mom had changed. Somehow, some way, she’d left the drink entirely and the church mostly. By her bed were books now. About healthy eating and the story of Hannibal. There was no TV. But her little radio and her CDs were still in the kitchen. I put on T-Bone Walker, made some tea, and waited for her to get home, wondering when it stopped feeling like mine.

  She wasn’t just surprised to see me, Mom was thankful. Her hug was strong and long. Instantly I felt guilty about eating and not bringing her over anything. But she looked happy and solid. In need of nothing. She sat with me, poured tea, and just gossiped. I tried to apologize again for leaving the funeral the way I did, but she wouldn’t hear it. She just put on an old Bill Withers album and started singing with him. She held my hands and tried to get me to sing with her.

  “Baby, come on. We sound good together when we sing, don’t we?” she asked.

  Better than when we scream. I smiled, and she nodded in agreement, not wanting to leave Mr. Withers alone in the harmony. What changed, Mom?

  Her smile wavered but didn’t fade. My hand instinctively tried to pull back to protect myself but she wouldn’t let me. Not with strength, but with extension. Her hands went where mine did.

  “I’m going to tell you, Chabi. I’m going to be honest. But . . . Ok, fuck it. When Narayana left, even before that, I saw how you followed him, how he dictated every move you made and it reminded me of that . . . of your father. I fell for him so hard. The truth of it is, Chabi, I saw you in me and I hated it. And when your father left I was as broken as you were when Narayana left, only I was pregnant. I had so much hate, so much anger . . . at him, at my heart for falling for him, at you, at the world. Don’t get me wrong, love. I was so happy when you were born, but things just seemed so hard. I don’t even know why . . .”

  I wanted to tell her it was because I was mute, but I didn’t know how to explain what that meant for right now. My “speaking” was just so commonplace to her despite the connotations A.C. was giving it. Instead of speaking, I listened.

  “I drank because I didn’t know how not to. Everybody tells you, husband or not, good job or not, you’re supposed to be happy when you have a baby. The only time I was happy was when I was drunk. And I wanted to feel something other than angry. So I got drunk. And stayed drunk, until I saw you with the old man. But when I saw how you took to him, how he decreed when you ate, when you slept, how much you exercised, it brought me back to your charming-ass daddy. That gap-toothed Mongolian made pizzas for a living and couldn’t string a full English sentence together when he was sober, which wasn’t often. But I would have blown up a bus full of innocent children for that man. I stole for him, lied for him, and debased myself all so that I could hear his broken English version of ‘I love you.’ And when he found out I was pregnant, I only knew to be happy because his eyes rained tears on my face. He told me he loved me one hundred times every day that he saw me. He made a point of it. I knew he had other women, suspected even that he had other children, but my twenty-one-year-old dumbass self never even suspected he’d leave me. So when I saw Narayana’s hold on you, I freaked. Somewhere deep in me, I knew he’d do what your father did.”

  To prove I was ready for more, I poured more tea. Mom checked me over good. She wasn’t shaken by what she was saying and she needed to make sure I wasn’t either. It was the first time I realized I wasn’t hard because of Narayana. I was hard because of her.

  “I started straightening up because I wanted to confront Narayana . . . but I was afraid. I’ll admit that now, baby. I was so afraid of him I couldn’t tell him to get away from my baby. I went to church. I told them I thought he was evil. I explained the whole situation. They told me the evil wasn’t in Narayana, that it was in myself.” I did my best to stifle a laugh.

  “They said I couldn’t claim you unless I first started claiming myself. Getting my mind back, my soul. So I quit drinking. Slowly. You know I can’t mess with no meetings and all that. But the church had a band and you know how I feel about my music. You should come hear us play. It’s not all hymns and praise Jesus stuff; it’s good music with no fear of the Lord in it. It just . . . It felt good to feel something, Chabi, you know? Something other than rage and fear. That feeling took over for me when I felt like drinking. In the meantime I’d go to the parenting group at church. Never tried to make you go. Figured I wasn’t strong enough to force you. But just listening to those other parents, they helped me get perspective. They got me to see that, drunk or not, by fifteen you had a mind of your own. I could only set the rules and follow through on consequences. Did it the best I could. And then . . . and then he left you. And as much as that old wrinkled man scared me to death, I’d bring him back in a second if it meant you didn’t have to hurt that hard.”

  What did you fear in him, Mom? I asked, making sure she knew I was ok. What did you see that I still can’t? was what I wanted to say.

  “There are some people on this planet that are plain evil. In their core. Can’t be changed, can’t be helped. Best thing is to stay away from them. If you can’t manage that, then you bury them six feet deep then forget to mark the grave. Your daddy, he was one of them. Narayana, he was about ten times worse.”

  Chapter Thirteen: The Flexibility of Bone

  You don’t train me, I told A.C. early the next morning as he stood on d
eck. I’d gotten used to him always being around when I woke up. We spar. He grinned.

  I chased A.C. around the Mansai for a good two hours, him doing his wind tricks, me with my techniques, stamina, and speed before I was able to touch a single strand of his hair. Wherever I struck, he disappeared. Where I chased, he stood still. It was another hour before work and I was exhausted, a rare feeling for me.

  “Don’t feel bad. I’ve got more experience at this than you do,” he said, taking a long swig off a bottle of orange juice.

  You want to fight the Vish Kanya in two days’ time? I sighed, resting my back against the stern of the Mansai.

  “Trust, I’ve had my share of fights against those broads. Your technique will get you through the physical attacks easy enough. But Vish Kanya are clan-specific energetic sponges . . .”

  They suck up energy? I asked, catching my second wind.

  “Some may try to do that in combat. But I meant more that they gain their toxicity by being in constant contact with Alters. Imagine being in a house where you’ve got nothing but evil Narayanas around you all the time. Each Alter house has its own energies. The Alters form loose clans around totems to honor that energy. Not actual physical totems but energetic ones. They’re like symbols that the Alters relate to.”

  The Silver Snake, I said.

  “Exactly. Rice goes for the Silver Snake. His clan is reptilian. They appreciate the cold-blooded nature of the creatures. Without heat they don’t move. Alters are entropy beasts that—”

  Strive for the end of all heat in the universe. Yeah, got that. Poppy, she reptilian too? I asked, already suspecting the answer.

  “No. She and her family are of the rat totem. In fact, she wants to be the rat queen.” I don’t bother speaking. “Alters are made when humans view or experience an authentic connection to the entropy of the universe. Some time, before any of us could write or speak beyond a grunt, someone witnesses a Rat King . . .”

  A what now?

  “It’s when a bunch of rats get so intertwined by their tails that they can’t loose themselves. It’s a squealing, miserable hive of gross entropic failure. It is life growing into death.”

  That’s nasty yo!

  “I know, right? Well, this first witness of the Rat King was devoured by it both physically and symbolically. The energy of that person’s life was converted into two Alters forever in love and at war. One half of that fight is Poppy; the other is her brother Galvin. Last time the two avatars of the Rat King were on the same continent, plague broke out in China and ended up killing millions. Even the other Alters don’t like those two getting together. So this is the energy of her family. And they’ve trained a Vish Kanya, a human pet poisoned with their sickness to compete at this tournament.”

  Fine. I get back tonight; you show me some wind tricks. A.C. was about to protest but I was already belowdeck changing into work clothes.

  “Rosa-Maria is dead,” a note told me in Poppy’s precious handwriting. The small scrap was waiting for me as soon as I entered the door. One of the blank-eyed receptionists handed me the note. I ran up the stairs to Poppy’s suite refusing to cry. I hadn’t spoken to her, hadn’t even thought about her for weeks. But Rosa-Maria had been nice to me and had stood up against Poppy. I was tired of this rat queen bitch killing people I liked.

  I kicked open the door to her floor and saw the big black Fou-Fou standing by her suite door. When he saw my gait, the Buick-sized man squared up.

  “The lady is busy,” he said.

  You really gonna have those be your last words? I said, not altering my trajectory or speed.

  “You overestimate your skill, girl.” Just in range, Fou shot a hook at my head. I felt it coming, and the concussive blast of . . . something after it. But I didn’t stop moving.

  He was looking for a big movement, so I gave him a small side step. His eagerness to connect with my face made him overcommit and lose his balance. I found it. I trapped his arm between the top of my right shoulder and my left arm so tight that he winced. Before he could sound an alarm, I sent three fingers on my right hand into his neck with all my might. Once there I made sure what heat I could muster from the symbol in my back was sent directly into his trachea. Even before he dropped to the ground coughing blood and wheezing an unnatural sound, I knew he would never speak again. I didn’t care.

  I knocked on the door and Poppy and an angered Nordeen answered in under three seconds. He was flinching, snarling almost. His layers of sweaters were gone, leaving only a naked, bronzed, amazing chest in front of me. Bracing for an attack would’ve been a sign of the fear that I didn’t know was building in me. Instead I spoke.

  I think your boy has fallen. And he can’t get up. Making sure not to touch me, Nordeen shifted past me and into the hallway. I walked into the bitch’s suite to find her in deep red silk boxers, a black bra, and some thin, pale, pointless lace shirt. She lounged on her couch, both smiling and tearing in full fake sympathy.

  “I’m just torn up, Chabi. Torn. Up. That Rosa-Maria girl was just so kind.”

  What. Happened? I said losing the calm in my Voice.

  “Oh, don’t worry about the details, Chabi. You’ve got enough to worry about now, with the Vish Kanya almost a day away. You don’t need to hear the bloody details, what was done to her before she died; there’s enough time for that later. I just don’t understand who would want to hurt her so. She was always so polite, I mean except for that one time when I saw her in the hallway. Do you remember that, Chabi? Do you remember how rude she was? How disrespectful? She almost spoke to me as though I were a peer.”

  I took a step toward her and asked, Did you hurt her Poppy?

  The bitch stood her skinny ass up, deliberately, still leaving one leg on the couch, as though the act of actually standing up would be too much for her. Her multilayered rat teeth appeared in her mouth. Her skin twitched like a million tortured creatures were fighting for freedom from it.

  “Chabi, I do not hurt anyone. I never have. I didn’t touch Matt; I didn’t touch the maid. I don’t have to touch anyone to hurt them. Do you understand that, pet? What changes I want to make to reality do not require my direct action. Others do the work for me. A point you’re about to understand as you never have before.”

  “He’s mute!” Nordeen rushed back in the room his eyes alight with a dark power.

  “Now that is fitting.” Poppy smirked.

  I remember Nordeen saying something about showing me the birth of agony right before the black strobe light started working. That’s what it felt like; like a strobe light that could project total and complete silent blackness around me—no, around the universe. Getting into a defensive stance made no sense, the blackout heartbeat scrambled every sense second by second. There would be nothing. Then the deafening noise of my own breathing. Nothing. Then the craven itching of my clothes. Nothing. Then the crushing weight of gravity on my body. I went to my knees grasping for balance but knowing no one would come to help. I flashed and reached out in my mind along the sensory lines where Nordeen had been creeping earlier. When I felt the faintest push back, I screamed, Stop!

  My eyes were open but the vision only got clearer when Nordeen ended up on his ass. His nose was bleeding. Whatever language he cursed in, even my talent couldn’t decipher. I hadn’t touched him physically, but somewhere between my Voice and the imagination of my katas, I was able to strike back.

  “Now, Nordeen, you stop.” And there, Poppy again, sitting unhurt and casual in nightclothes. “I understand you’re upset about your minion, but Chabi is going through a rough time right now. This aggression is unnecessary. Scales can be balanced at another time.”

  “My lady . . . .” Nordeen’s attempt at civility was impressively inadequate as he stood wiping the blood from his nose. “This girl is a problem . . .”

  “And you will find far greater problems if you step out of the circle of protection by continuing to engage her.” The rebuke was harsh and complete, though Poppy’s
tone had not changed. To me, she gave the fake syrupy intonation again. “Now, Chabi, I am sorry for your loss. But please, Rice and his entire family are relying on you to be at your best during the Vish Kanya. Don’t get distracted by minor conflicts and these rather tremendous tragedies.”

  I’d been standing for a while. Not re-establishing my balance but rather learning to trust it again. What comprehension I had about the previous five minutes I let go.

  One day you’re going to come for me directly, Poppy. No middlemen, no innocent victims. One day it’s going to be me against you. When that day comes, don’t blink.

  “Chabi!” She laughed my name as I walked out the suite. Fou-Fou was gone but the bloodstain on the carpet remained.

  When I got back to the Mansai at the end of the day, A.C. was waiting for me.

  “What happened?” he asked desperately.

  Don’t you have a home? I said, climbing on deck.

  “Yeah, it’s about four thousand miles and fifteen years in the future. In the meantime, I’m stuck with you. Now what happened?”

  Why do you think anything happened? I asked, begging for one second of personal time.

  “It’s on the wind. Something about another liminal in debt to the Alters. Was it you? Did you . . . ?” he said slowly, realizing that I could be working for his enemy at that very moment.

  Relax, Wind Boy. I don’t owe them anything. I just got in a scrap with Nordeen’s gorilla. I went downstairs to the galley and threw myself on the bed. I’d grown used to A.C.’s lack of footsteps. So when he started talking, I just rolled over to face the wall.