The Magnificent Bastards

II | The Dagger and the Chalice-3

THEY WERE ON THEIR third bottle when she finally finished, and at first no one said anything. At last Jasper started to chuckle, quietly at first, then more and more brazenly ... until that too subsided and the silence reasserted itself. At length he said, “We have precisely the same problem.” He reached across the table, still tittering a little, and refilled her glass. “So this, Sister Samain, she’s an extortionist, basically.”

“Essentially, yes,” said Satyena. She swished the wine around gently in her glass. “Her power is unlimited because everyone knows that if anything happens to her, we become visible to your machines.”

“But your covens have been visible to our machines,” said Jeremiah.

“Some of them,” said Satyena. “Her political power may be unlimited, but her spellcasting is not, and so the protective umbrella waxes and wanes. At least, that’s the Party line. The truth of it, I suspect, is a little more select: the fact is, only the covens who have stepped out of line have found themselves open to attack.”

“Yes, attack by our own Sister Samain who holds his people hostage, as well,” said Jasper.

“I don’t understand,” said Satyena.

“Well, don’t you see? Surely you’re not going to tell me the sudden dearth of heart attacks or flesh-eating bacteria in New Salem is because the witches merely lost interest?”

“No,” she said. “Of course not. A shield has been erected, a barrier through which we cannot see and cannot cast. We call it the Transom.”

“Precisely. The White-noise Generator. The very source of Kill-sin’s power over us: It creates a static field through which curses cannot pass. Nevermind that it requires more power than our little station is able to provide—leaving us in a perpetual state of brownout—nor that it is wired via neural-link directly into Kill-sin’s own skull. The fact is, because of it, we are as beholden to him as you are to Samain.”

“Indeed, you are,” said Satyena, and marveled at the irony. “For not a day goes back that we do not try to penetrate it. Pray that they do not, dear Jasper. For if they do, New Salem will suffer an attack—the likes of which has not been seen since the Hot War.” She tossed back her glass, swallowing what remained, then turned it in her hand, studying it. “So, yes: We have precisely the same problem.” She added, “Oddly fitting, isn’t it? That two camps unable to get along should both wind up victims of their own excess?”

Again, silence lay like a fog over the room.

And then something happened that both terrified and elated Satyena: terrified her because it further reinforced that the one thing unique to witches (beyond their white eyes and pale skin), the only thing which had enabled them to survive—their ability to access the Third Eye—was not so unique, elated her because it further blurred the line between man and witch, which was the only way, she was now convinced, either would survive.

For, amidst the silence and semi-dark of the room, a light began to flicker, a fire light, a light whose source was in the palm of Jeremiah’s own hand, and which disappeared as he closed his fingers, saying, calmly, “There is a third way.” He looked at each of them. “Which is that we combine our efforts ... and kill them.”

Nobody said anything. Moments passed and still no one spoke.

At last Jasper said, “The game appears to have changed.” He looked at Satyena. “Did you ...?”

She shook her head. “He did it himself. Nor is it the first time. I merely gave him a push, during the raid.”

“And could you also ... give me a push? The same way you did with him? And do you think it would work?”

She glanced at his paintings. “Yes, to both.”

Jasper arched an eyebrow. At length he stood and approached the window, and remained there for what seemed a very long time. “As Jeremiah knows, I am ... connected to Kill-sin ... and by more than mere racial ancestry. I—I worked for him once. In the very manse he still occupies today. I know its floorplan as well as I know the strokes of my own paintings. So, too, do I know its booby traps and its security codes—the latter of which have undoubtedly been changed, but which can be bypassed.” He spoke slowly as though managing multiple trains of thought. “I was his assistant, you understand, his Eichmann, and in that capacity I coordinated numerous aspects of the Pogrom—from the acquisition of targets to the interrogation of prisoners, when we still took prisoners—I’m sorry, Satyena.”

“We have all done our share of killing, Jasper,” she said. “Please, continue.”

“There’s a machine on his desk which scrambles radio signals; hence, I have never approached Jeremiah about serving as my hand—just as he does with my paintings—in an assassination attempt. Besides, this ... outlook of his, is new. I’ve done what I can to educate him, but the will of the Proctors is strong. Too strong, Satyena, for most men to resist. That is why they kill without question.” He paused, appearing almost to be in a trance. “Ironically, to kill without question is precisely what would be required of you both, if we were to ... bring change. Do you understand?”

“We do,” they said.

“For both would need to be killed at the same time. If Kill-sin is assassinated and the White Noise Generator rendered inert while Samain remains alive, it would leave New Salem utterly helpless before the witches. If Samain alone is killed and her cloaking spell undone, the witches’ Home Coven will be open to attack. Satyena, I must ask: you said the half-breeds do not share the same kind of bond with full-blooded witches as they share amongst themselves. Does this mean your mind is closed to Samain?”

“No, alas. But it does mean she would have a difficult time accessing it. It means she might project to me and that I might project back, but that she wouldn’t be able to see my surroundings or identify my location.”

“And if I projected to you? To monitor your progress? Would she be aware of it?”

“Yes, she would immediately identify you as a masculine presence. But there are certain images, certain feelings, that are thought by the witches to be exclusively feminine, or nearly so. If I were to fill my mind with these I might mask your presence, at least for a time.”

“Very well, then. Therefore, I propose the following: That you give me this ‘push’ you speak of, so that I may communicate with the both of you even when we are separated. Jeremiah, you will start by burning the Doctors’ complex to the ground—at a time when all the War Wagons are out on raids ....”

And he outlined the plan, which he dubbed “Operation Trust,” until Satyena at last began to nod off.

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