Speak for yourself, I thought. But instead of saying it, I inclined my head in a “go on” gesture.
“The People of the Straight Ways were also called the Builders. They built with stone and unfired mud bricks, which were effective at the time due to the lack of rainfall in a glacial period. Their civilization flourished over twenty thousand years ago, at the start of the last glacial period, and they were destroyed at the end of that period, some seven to ten thousand years ago, when the earth warmed almost overnight and the glaciers melted.”
“Overnight,” I stated, careful to make the word a not-question.
He waved a hand at me as if waving away the word. “It took over a century or so for the glacial sheet to melt, and the resultant movement of the earth, as the weight of the glaciers vanished and the northern hemispheres rose, and the floods created as ice dams burst and millions of gallons of water rushed toward the nearest seas, and the permafrost melted from stone-like ground. A hundred and twenty years of flooded hell. The floods were everywhere as cold, dry weather became hot, wet weather in only two generations. There were many series of floods. The final one, the largest and most destructive, wiped the last of the Builders’ civilization off the face of the earth. Earthquakes rocked the entire world. Whole mud brick cities sank beneath the waves, cities buried in the alluvial mud and many feet of ocean, all evidence wiped away forever. It is the survivors’ memories of that last flood that are memorialized in carvings and friezes and paint—the rolling waveforms, the stylized-squared forms, the doubled-over waveforms—on the archaeological sites, the world over.”
My childhood in the Christian children’s home flashed before my eyes. “Noah and the flood?” I asked.
Gee made a little fluffing motion with his hand. “I was not alive at the time, but I have been told by the oldest among us that Noah was obedient, but a boring and untalented preacher, a drunkard, and an egotist. His redemption came in the fact that he listened when the Anz? messengers spoke of the final destruction and built his ark. He was among the best of the Builders. He survived. Many more perished.”
“The Anz?,” I said, again carefully making it a statement and not a question, though the question was inherent. “Not God.”
Gee pondered the dilemma of the question/statement for a moment but decided to let it go. With a bored shrug, he said, “According to the ancients, the creator spoke through the living long before there was writing to record the prehistoric stories.”
I wasn’t sure that he had answered my statement and also didn’t know what his nonanswer said about my beliefs, so I didn’t push it. “That’s answers to questions one and two. I’m ready for number three.”
“The arcenciel is a more difficult question. They do not come from this time or this world.”
I remembered that Rick’s cousin Sarge Walker, a pilot who lived outside of Chauvin, Louisiana, south of Houma, had once talked about liminal lines and liminal thresholds. “This isn’t a question,” I said. “I’ve heard of sites and places on Earth where the fabric of reality is thin, where one reality can bleed into another. Places where the coin stack of universes meet and mesh and sometimes things can cross over from one reality to another.”
Gee DiMercy zoomed a razor-sharp look at me, one worthy of a raptor with a bunny in its sights. I put two and two together and added, slowly, “Like maybe . . . the Anz?. And the arcenciel. It bit you like it did Leo, but didn’t hurt you near as much. And then it . . . licked you.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Tasted your blood with its tongue. Like a dessert, a petit four,” I accused.
Gee did a little pifft of sound. “I am delectable, yes; this is true. Liminal thresholds are theoretical, the type of conjecture toyed with when physicists have drinking parties and alcohol loosens their tongues.”
I sat up and dropped my hands into my lap, palming a steel blade, a small three-inch throwing knife, though I held the blade back, against my inner arm, for close-in work, not throwing work. Just in case I really did understand the truth and he decided to kill me for it. “I was told that the Earth has three liminal lines. They supposedly curve across the Earth. One starts in southwest Mexico, curves across the Gulf of Mexico to Chauvin, Louisiana, then follows the Appalachians east and north in a curve like the trade winds sometimes make, but more stable, static, bigger, and smoother. Then it curves across the ocean.”
Gee stared at me with an expression I had no way of deciphering, except that he didn’t look like he wanted to rip my insides out and eat the chunks anymore. Or not as much. Still Gee didn’t respond, but I could see things happening behind his eyes.