Paragon

by Rowan Rook

  "You all share the same hearts, you all share the same Heaven and Hell, you all share the same feelings and fears and dreams," the Author hissed, "and you're all equally despicable."

  I wanted to fix it! Anson screamed. I wanted to stop the fighting! I didn't want this!

  "You are all the same," the Author reminded, "and yet, the society this world has made wants to separate everyone. Young and old. Male and female. Pale and dark. Rich and poor. This sickness runs deeper than merely Humans and Lyrum. Even if you were all essentially one species, do you truly believe anything would change? No matter how much you rewrote it, Auratessa would continue to loathe and kill. That's simply the kind of world this is." The Author turned inwards, toward Anson. "After all, you're right about one thing—it wasn't supposed to be like this. It's filled with too much hate." The Author smirked. "It would never accept someone like you."

  Everything inside Anson drained away. All that remained was anger. You're wrong... Familiar fire burned through him. If I'm wrong, then so are you! People can still change! If you give Auratessa a chance, the world can still get better!

  The Author laughed, Anson's own voice light on its lips. "How can you say that when you're the worst of all? You, who would claim to end killing with killing. Who would murder in the name of your ideals. Who would steal free will from others. Who would play god and mess with so many lives only because you couldn't accept your family's fate and your own." The Author's hate, as cold as winter, surged in on Anson. "You—the most selfish man I've ever met."

  Anson wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't.

  He wanted to go back to the beginning. He wanted to chase his dreams in different directions. He wanted to do everything all over again...

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  Aydel's arrows glistened in the autumn sun, her wrist poised to strike like a snake. "Make this stop!"

  Rickard tilted her head at her. "Okay."

  That simple word pierced like a bullet through Shakaya's shock and shot her down to reality. She whirled. "No!"

  Rickard pulled a strange, square device from her pocket. The Medium. She flipped a switch.

  Shakaya opened her mouth to shout, but it was a scream that tore from her lungs. Agony razed through her, radiating from the nape of her neck. Every muscle clenched. Pulsing. Throbbing. Her body struggled against her brain, fighting to fold in on itself. She collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath through her constricting lungs.

  Rickard smiled at her. "Don't worry, dear. Your pain will end soon enough."

  Jeriko shoved himself off the ground, his knuckles singed. "What the Hell is—"

  Rickard held up a palm, "I'd suggest you leave me be if you care about Auratessa. Think carefully about it. With the help of my Medium, I'm the only one capable of stopping the Author. Isn't that what you want? That's what you just told me you wanted." She smirked. "I'm going to edit Auratessa as I see fit, but that's better than complete destruction, yes?"

  Aydel bared her teeth. "You fucking traitor!"

  "Well, yes, I've earned that title. But don't you all act so righteous. If you hadn't already hated your lives, you wouldn't have joined me. All I'm going to do is make Auratessa better in my own way. I'll make it mine."

  "Rickard?" Shakaya's voice was barely a whisper, all of her strength sapped by the effort of simply staying on her knees. "What have you done to me?"

  Her stinging eyes honed in on the Medium in Rickard's hands. Rickard had told her about her plans to overtake the Draft...but had Rickard known that the Author would overtake the Editor? Had she known that the Editor never even had a chance? Shakaya gritted her teeth until she drew blood. It would have been so easy to stop Rickard, but now... If they did, the Author would wreak its own destruction.

  Rickard looked at her with a maudlin sort of sympathy. "I'm sorry, dear, but my Medium's signals can only be produced by a living brain and body—Human or Lyrum. This here is just the remote. It broadcasts my instructions, but it can't do anything on its own." She waved the device in her hands. "I implanted you with the Medium during your last visit to my office. After all, I've been experimenting with the idea since you were just a girl."

  "You can't be serious!" Jeriko growled, his blank stare betraying the rage in his voice. "I've worked with you for all these years, and I never—"

  "Oh, I've been preparing for this one day for most of my life!" Rickard's eyes gleamed. "It's not as if I wasted all those hours in my private lab. I even made myself Elavadin's mayor to get the Rune I needed to finish the Medium. Time was running out, but I managed, like always." She smirked. "Thank the Author for that."

  Shakaya's nails dug into the soil. ...Rickard hadn't told her about the implant. The device in her hands had been only the tip of her glacier of secrets. She'd shared just one truth with her to hide so many other lies. Shakaya strained to force air through her lungs. Lord, she wanted to kill Rickard. She should have done it a long time ago, but... The pain pulsed through her, shaking her bones. She...could barely move. She'd failed, in so many ways. Hot tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to shed them for Rickard.

  "Why not use your own body for the Medium if this is what you want?" Jeriko kneeled down beside Shakaya. "Why—"

  "Because the body it uses will likely be destroyed in a similar manner to the Editor's, I'm afraid." Rickard offered Shakaya a sad smile. "At least the two of you will die together."

  Shakaya closed her eyes to escape the sight of Rickard's smug face. All along, Rickard had raised her like a sacrificial lamb, orchestrating both her death and the death of the only person she cared about.

  "Still, you can place some of the blame on your dear Amaranth, himself. The energy from the Inkwells isn't so different from Translation, as I discovered when I had our last Editor to play with. I must admit, I may not have solved the Medium's puzzles in time if not for Amaranth's notes on the Not." Rickard ran tender fingers across her remote. "Considering how much of him was the Author, we could say that our creator participated in its own downfall. Isn't fate funny?"

  Shakaya wished she could shut off her ears. She didn't want to hear Rickard anymore. She wanted to be anywhere else but there, on that damned island. With that damned liar.

  Jeriko strode toward Rickard, shaking. "What are your intentions? What are you trying to do?"

  Rickard glanced at the Editor. The Author was on Anson's knees, screaming. It seemed the Medium was working. Her smile widened. "I will create a new Auratessa—one of beauty, order, efficiency. Only Humans will occupy it, doing away with the war and the chaos of Translation. Everyone will know their role and play it as a requirement for life, as vital as blood and breath. And I..." Her face lit up, her hands shaking with joy. "I will transform my own body—I will be Human but immortal—and watch over everything as the world's new Artist."

  Shakaya nearly screamed, but her body wouldn't let her. Never before had she ached so badly to fight.

  "I'll tell you what, though." Rickard smiled with the shallow mercy she'd once offered students who turned in an assignment one day too late. "If you agree to leave me unharmed, I'll spare the Butterfly's Lyrum division. You can join me in my new world, living out what remains of your short lives, as my way of thanking you for your loyal service. That's the only scenario where any Lyrum or Otherlings survive. If you destroy my machine, the Author will kill everyone alive, Humans and Lyrum and Otherlings alike."

  The Butterflies did nothing. They understood. If they let Rickard go, millions would die, but Auratessa itself—and their organization—would survive. A new Auratessa would begin beneath Rickard's rule. If they stopped her, everything and everyone would end.

  Shakaya managed to raise her eyes. Everything she'd believed in... Her trust of Rickard... For all of her life, she'd been a fool. A monster. So was her so-called mother.

  "Don't look at me like that, dear." Rickard frowned. "You're mine. You've been mine since the Anwells set fire to your life. Without me, you would have died at the tender age of eight
. I gave you an adulthood. I gave you a home, a mother, a friend, and another fourteen years."

  Shakaya's anger hissed through her teeth. "I'm not yours. I've never been yours!"

  Rickard shrugged. "Soon enough, it seems everything will be mine."

  The Author screeched from behind her. She didn't have to look back to know what was happening.

  "Stop Rickard!" Shakaya begged the Butterflies, her voice strained in her tight chest. "Destroy her remote! Destroy the implant—kill me if you have to! Don't let her do this!"

  Rickard's face flushed with false hurt. "In my Auratessa, there will be no Lyrum. Aside from our fellow Butterflies, every Lyrum alive will die. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

  Shakaya held Rickard's gaze. "Not anymore." She didn't know what she wanted, now, but this certainly wasn't it. She forced in the air to shout. "Stop her!"

  An icy arrow sunk into Rickard's shoulder. She screeched, but managed to keep her footing and hang on to her remote. She ducked, arrows clattering against the rocks behind her.

  Aydel raised her arm, ready to summon a fatal stalactite.

  Rickard stumbled back, her face both indignant and afraid. "If you destroy my remote, you'll destroy Auratessa along with it! There won't be anything left to stop the Author."

  Aydel narrowed her eyes. "It's better off gone than tortured by someone like you." She flicked her wrist.

  Rickard dodged toward her, the Otherling's heavier weight and stronger muscles sending the Lyrum to the soil.

  Jeriko fired shots in Rickard's direction, but the frantic bullets whirred toward the sea.

  Shakaya watched with empty eyes as the tapestry she and Anson had created unraveled at the seams and caught on fire.

  Everything...had been for this?

  She couldn't move. She wasn't really there.

  This...was a nightmare.

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  "Anny..."

  Anson watched the disaster as if through a one-way window. Now that the Author was focused on the clearing, he could see, but his words wouldn't reach his companions, no matter how much he wailed. He didn't notice the new voice at first.

  "Anny..."

  Shakaya! Delly!

  This wasn't what he'd wanted. This wasn't what he'd worked for. This wasn't how he'd wanted to end his life. This wasn't the mark he'd wanted to leave on Auratessa. This wasn't what he'd wanted for the people he loved.

  He screamed, mimicking the sensations that were once attached to his muscles. They wouldn't move. His body wouldn't respond. It was no longer his. He was a spare soul tucked away and held prisoner, a helpless ghost watching through eyes that didn't belong to him.

  "Anny!"

  Anson's attention spun toward the voice when he heard it, a shiver crawling through what would have been his spine.

  A woman was there. He saw her without eyes. She wasn't a part of Rinvale. She wasn't a part of Auratessa, at all. And yet, she was there, every bit as real as the chaos unfolding away from his reach.

  She watched him patiently. Her features mirrored his—a delicate face framed by long black hair. At first, Anson thought he was looking at Aydel, but the warm gaze staring back at him was blue.

  His spirit shuddered, fogging over in shock before jerking awake with sudden clarity. Had he still been in control of his body, his legs would have given away beneath him.

  ...Lyn!

  His sister's lips formed a sad smile. "Speak with her, Anny! If that woman's device is connecting her to the Author, it should connect her with you, too."

  For a long while, Anson only stared at the sister he'd lost so many years ago. He stared, and when she held out her hand, he understood.

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  Rickard reached for the gun tucked into her Overseer's cloak.

  The Butterflies scrambled nervously, many Humans still undecided, shame blanching their faces.

  Several Lyrum and a few Humans charged at Rickard, but she fired shots from the safety of her electric shield. One was pierced in the shoulder. Another was pierced in the head.

  Shakaya watched, helplessly watched, the air rasping in her lungs. She felt heavy, as if the thing in her neck weighed hundreds of pounds. As if Rickard's signals would crush her from the inside out.

  ...Shakaya!

  A gasp escaped and her gaze spun toward the Editor. She knew that voice. It belonged to the body kneeling on the ground with its head in its hands, struggling against Rickard's machine.

  Shakaya!

  The call came again, but the Editor's mouth never moved.

  Her eyes widened, her trembling fingers digging into the soil.

  It's using my body! Kill me, and you'll kill it, too! My early death would ruin both the Author's and Rickard's plans! Everything should stop!

  Shakaya couldn't force her tongue to move, but even if she answered, she wasn't sure Amaranth would hear her.

  I'm sorry...this isn't what I wanted for you. This isn't what I wanted at all...

  The Editor screamed defiantly, the same voice crying out with two separate intents.

  Please, Shakaya...

  The words weakened and faded, leaving Shakaya to stare at the struggling Editor. Tears dripped from her chin.

  Kill...?

  At the sound of a shout, her blurred gaze spun to see Jeriko thrown back to the ground with new electrical burns. His gun flew from his hands, rattling across rocks and soil. He didn't stay down long, stiffly pushing himself up and reaching for the weapon.

  Using the last bit of strength she had, Shakaya crawled toward it and grabbed it first.

  In Rickard's mind, she was already incapacitated. His eyes were elsewhere. She looked at the gun in her hands. If...if she did it quickly...

  Shakaya tried to empty her mind. She tried not to think about what she was doing as she angled the gun in the Editor's direction with shaking hands. Her fingers found the trigger. She fired.

  Her bullet missed.

  The Editor whirled toward her, its brown eyes smoldering. That gaze, once achingly familiar, belonged to a stranger. It dragged itself closer. She was the Medium's host. If it got rid of her...

  The Editor raised a palm.

  Shakaya realized what was going to happen, but her uncooperative body wouldn't move, her fingers freezing on the trigger.

  Aydel leaped in front of her, summoning a wall of ice and blocking the flames just as they burst into existence. She cried out, the heat overtaking her barrier, sizzling it away into steam.

  Arrows of ice broke through the flames, barreling toward the Editor.

  The Editor created a barrier of its own, melting her assault with a wall of fire.

  When the steam cleared, Aydel barely stood, blistered with burns. She glowered at the thing in her brother's body, her teeth clenched and eyes like winter.

  "Anwell!" Shakaya called, a shudder piercing through her pain.

  She remembered watching the Lyrum Overseer walk away from her while she struggled uselessly, nailed to a tree by her arrows. There was no doubt that Aydel had been stronger than her brother—stronger, perhaps, than any other Butterfly—but their difference in power seemed to have dissolved as easily as her ice.

  Shakaya gawked at the Editor. Was its power due to the Author's control? Or had Amaranth truly grown so much stronger on his own, while she hadn't been beside him?

  Aydel glowered back at her. "Do it!"

  Shakaya gritted her teeth, nodding.

  The first glint of panic appeared in the Editor's eyes. It raced toward her, fighting through the pain of Rickard's machine, fire already glowing in its palm.

  Aydel positioned herself in front of Shakaya and charged forward, her arrows surging with her.

  Fire and ice met, swallowing the siblings in an explosion of hot steam.

  Shakaya closed her eyes only briefly, instinctively shielding them from the heat. When she opened them, Aydel lay collapsed in front of her. Embers still burned at the edges of her Butterfly uniform.

  The stench of b
urned flesh erased Shakaya's hesitations.

  She aimed the gun straight ahead, where Aydel had stood only seconds earlier, and pulled the trigger.

  It hit. The bullet sunk into the Editor's head. It bit through its brow and broke out through the back of its skull.

  Shakaya's hazy eyes saw the splash of blood as the body fell, but her heart didn't.

  Something happened. Shakaya's senses blackened and pulsed. Her veins twisted. Her limbs buckled. Heat tore through her body, tore through even the pain of Rickard's implant, scalding her from inside. She screeched, before the realization hit her.

  The Inkwells. The four Inkwells spilled from the Editor's body to hers—the body of the person who had taken his life.

  But this wasn't a dormant power or a sleeping force. It was alive. It beat against her ribs and raced along her spine. It tore at her skin like fingers trying to rip their way through. The Inkwells had already reconnected with the Author. The thing itself had been dragged inside of her with them. And now it wanted out.

  She heard Author scream even though it no longer had a voice. So loud, yet there was no way to shield her ears. It was there. Within her.

  Why...couldn't...it...get...out?

  The back of her neck burned, pounding and throbbing, blazing until it felt like she'd explode.

  The implant... It still canceled out the Author's own efforts. It was trapped, tethered to its own Inkwells. It could no longer affect the world. It no longer had a body. Shakaya wouldn't surrender hers. Despite the Inkwells pulsing through her, the Author was powerless.

  The Draft had ended.

  Shakaya collapsed to the soil. She had only enough time to see the Editor's motionless shape lying near her own, the evening sun reflected in his lifeless eyes, before her consciousness ebbed away.

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Fire

  Amaranth had always hated fire. Despite his hidden Translation, both Amaranth and Shakaya had despised and feared fire's destructive force. Fire had taken everything away from both of them. Fire had brought them together, and now, it would mark their parting.