an indomitable spirit that they could endure and survive all the hate and fury that the ForthRight had thrown at them and still have the strength and resolve to take on a new adventure.
Colonel Dabrowski was there with the migrants, leaning on the shoulder of a young woman. He saluted Ella as she passed. He looked spent but happy enough: perhaps, she thought, that was what Dabrowski needed, a fresh start away from all the killing and the violence.
As she walked towards the open Boundary, the crowd parted before her, the men and women of the WFA following Dabrowski’s lead and saluting her. It was a surreal moment and not one she particularly enjoyed; it was too embarrassing for that.
Trotsky brought Ella to a halt at the very edge of the Boundary and then in a loud voice addressed the people of Warsaw. ‘Lady IMmanual…’
Lady IMmanual? Where had that come from?
‘… you have revealed yourself to be our most Revered Messiah, sent by ABBA to lead the people of Warsaw from the jaws of death to a new life in a new world. For that we give thanks and the assurance that you will never be forgotten.’ With that he knelt before her and kissed her hand. As one, everyone else knelt.
All Ella could do was stand and shuffle her feet un -comfortably.
‘Will you say something before we leave this world of strife for ever?’ asked Trotsky.
Now they want me to start making speeches. What do you say to people who are about to venture into the unknown?
She turned towards the kneeling crowd, looking out over the millions of people. Suddenly she remembered a long, long time ago standing in this very spot with her people bowed before her. But she hadn’t been Ella Thomas, she’d been…
Who?
Then she had stood before her kneeling worshippers naked, shaven, her skin dyed a deep crimson and black snakes tattooed over her body. She could see herself: it was a revelation so real that it transcended deja vu. It was so real that it was deja vecu: the feeling that she had already lived… already lived as some type of pagan goddess.
Lilith…
And then in an instant the vision was gone, but the memory brought a change in her. Now the words simply flowed out. ‘We are very different,’ she said in her loudest voice. ‘The Demi-Monde is not my home and I came here reluctantly. But in the DemiMonde, living alongside the people of Warsaw, I have learnt many lessons. And the most important of these is that every man, woman and child, no matter how they are created and no matter how they look or think, deserves an opportunity to live without fear of persecution. My heart goes out to all those of you who have lost loved ones…’ She had to stop for a moment as the memory of all those poor men and women being murdered by the SS flashed before her eyes. ‘But now, thanks to ABBA and the IM Manual, you have all been offered a new start in a new world. I beg you, make this world one where there is no hatred and no animosity. Make it a world of tolerance and understanding, a world where differences unite men and women rather than divide them, where everyone, no matter what their colour or their gender, is treated equally. You have an opportunity to make a New World and I call on you not just to make it a New World but also a Just and a Peaceful World. May ABBA be with you all.’
Trotsky stood up and bowed. ‘We will always give thanks to the Lord ABBA and his most Holy Daughter, the one He sent to save us and to lead us to the Promised Land, our Messiah: the Lady IMmanual. Henceforward we will keep this day holy. Henceforth this will be the PassOver, the day when the people blessed by the Lady IMmanual passed over from the DemiMonde into the Promised Land.’
Sermon over, her congregation had got back to its feet and its members busied themselves making their final preparations for what they were calling the Great Pilgrimage. Ella sidled up to Trotsky.
‘Delegate Trotsky,’ she said quietly, ‘before you go I would like your advice.’
‘Yes, my Lady.’
‘You are a very knowledgeable man, so tell me why someone as important as Aaliz Heydrich should have been taken to a place called ExterSteine.’
‘ExterSteine is a place of immense occult significance, my Lady; it is UnFunDaMentalism’s holiest of holies. For Aaliz Heydrich to have been taken there means she is to be involved in one of Aleister Crowley’s despicable rites, and as it is so close to Spring Eve…’
‘Spring Eve?’
‘Freyja’s Night: the last night of Winter. It is, after Walpurgis -nacht, the most magical night in the UnFunDaMentalist calendar. It is the night when Crowley performs his most profound magic. It must be that Aaliz Heydrich is to participate in this year’s Freyja’s Night rituals: these always take place at ExterSteine, and must always be completed before dawn. Does this answer your question, my Lady?’
‘Yes… thank you. And may I wish you and your people every good fortune and every happiness in the Great Beyond.’ She looked up and frowned. ‘I think this is when we say goodbye, Delegate Trotsky. If I am not mistaken, the Boundary Layer is beginning to close.’
Trixie stood watching as the crowds that made up the exodus trudged deeper and deeper into the Great Beyond. She understood that Trotsky was intent on setting up the first settlement around the Blood Bank situated five miles from the Boundary but there were other, more adventurous spirits who had decided that they wouldn’t settle until they had explored all of the Beyond. These brave souls had already marched over the horizon: the colonisation of the Great Beyond had begun.
She felt the looming presence of Wysochi at her side and gave him a wry smile. ‘I thought you would have gone with the Pilgrims, Sergeant. I always had you marked down as the pioneer type, the sort of man who could tame a wilderness.’
A sheepish Wysochi shook his head. ‘Nah, Colonel, I couldn’t go.’
It took a moment for Trixie to remember who the ‘Colonel’ was that Wysochi was referring to. She’d only been given command of the remnants of the WFA half an hour ago. ‘Now that does surprise me, Sergeant. There isn’t some girl here in Warsaw who has stolen the heart of the brave and resolute Feliks Wysochi, is there?’
‘No… of course not.’ He shuffled his feet awkwardly. ‘What about you, Colonel? Weren’t you tempted?’
It was a disturbing question. In fact when she thought about it she realised that she had never for an instant contemplated going, which was odd because up until a few weeks ago the RaTionalist that had been Lady Trixiebell Dashwood would have leapt at the chance to explore the Great Beyond. How things – how she – had changed. ‘No, my place is here in the Demi-Monde. I’ve got things to do here.’
‘Like what?’
‘Avenge my father,’ she answered automatically and then realised that she hadn’t actually thought about her father for days… for weeks. All she ever seemed to think about was killing SS StormTroopers. ‘I’ve got to defeat Heydrich and the ForthRight. I’ve got to smash UnFunDaMentalism: I’ve had a bellyful of religion.’
‘Good,’ said Wysochi. He kicked the ground in an absentminded sort of way. ‘And what do you make of Ella Thomas?’ he asked casually.
Trixie moved nearer to Wysochi so that there would be no danger of their conversation being overheard. ‘I am never comfortable with religious types, Sergeant, especially those who have performed miracles. It gets the men confused: they don’t know whether they should obey their officers or their god.’
‘Still, it’s good for the men to believe that ABBA is on their side.’
‘ABBA is one thing, live saints are quite another, especially live saints who go around preaching democracy. And I still have a suspicion that when – if – she gets back to the Spirit World then it will go badly for the Demi- Monde. That Shade Daemon is bad news.’
Wysochi frowned as he pondered on what Trixie was saying. ‘I see what you mean. So what do you think we should do? She’s very popular with the men: they’re calling her the Messiah.’
‘And that’s what makes her so dangerous, Sergeant. We can’t allow her to infect the men with her stupid Daemonic ideas. Things like this democracy of hers…’ Trixie gave a dismissive laugh. ‘The last thing I want is for the men to start believing that they have some ABBA-given right to elect their Leader. The election of a Leader is a fatuous idea and will only result in anarchy and disorder. If the WFA is to survive and the ForthRight is to be defeated we have to unite behind one strong Leader.’ The way she said this meant there was absolutely no doubt as to whom she saw that strong Leader being.
‘Then it would be better if Ella Thomas was to…’ Wysochi left the suggestion hanging.
