Paragon

by Rowan Rook

  Shakaya Johanne stroked the hair of the man named Anson Anwell, arranging it over the place where her bullet had shattered the front of his skull. His brown eyes were closed, and his bloodied head rested gingerly on her lap. No breath warmed her arm as she held him close.

  Anson—Amaranth—was dead.

  She sat quietly, tears gathering on her chin and hesitating there before dripping onto Amaranth's body. It didn't matter what his name was. He would always be Amaranth to her.

  The red ribbon tied around her wrist caught her eyes when she tried to dry them, and she laughed.

  Amaranth had been certain that by the time evening came, she wouldn't even remember him. That she would be with her family again. That she wouldn't have to grieve.

  What drivel.

  In hindsight, everything sounded as mad as it had always been. A peculiar, fantastical play in which they'd all served as puppets. It was evening now, and she was sitting alone, with only the lifeless thing that had once been the person she'd treasured most. It truly did feel like waking up from a long dream. ...How could they have ever believed any of it?

  Just like her, Amaranth had been capable of terrible cruelty. But at his core, he'd remained a naive, idealistic fool to the end. He'd walked with his head in the clouds, and his heart locked somewhere far away from the futility of the world they lived in.

  And no matter how much she hated herself for it, that was one of the reasons she'd loved him.

  Memories, more tangible than any she had relived before, washed through her. His beautiful eyes watching one more sunset. His familiar smile. His delicate touch. The heat of his skin on hers. How much he'd wanted to live.

  Shakaya closed her eyes as sobs threatened to break free. She clutched the cold body beneath her tightly, as if she could keep what remained of its warmth from seeping away.

  "Ms. Johanne."

  She startled at the voice; she'd nearly forgotten that the rest of the Butterflies involved in the catastrophe were there. Those who had survived, anyway. They had yet to depart from Rinvale. She listlessly raised her eyes to look at Jeriko, and a tinge of animosity flickered through her when she saw the knife in his hands. Its edges were already lined with blood—most likely Aydel's.

  A sympathetic frown struggled onto Jeriko's lips. "We need proof that the people who killed the queen are dead. Say, a vital organ."

  Shakaya knew he was right. If the Butterflies anonymously sent in evidence that the suspects were already dead, then the search for them might finally end after Velvire's own scientists confirmed it. This was as close as the Butterfly could come to healing the political wound they'd carved in the capital.

  Shakaya didn't say anything when Jeriko kneeled down beside her, her fingers tightening around the body's shoulders.

  We have to leave soon," Jeriko reminded gently. "We need to finish up here and light the funeral pyre."

  Shakaya managed a nod. After a final moment of hesitation, she gingerly scooted Amaranth's body from her lap and let it rest beside his sister's.

  Aydel's body was covered in burns. The heat from the final explosion had killed her almost instantly. If Aydel hadn't taken the brunt of the Author's assault, Shakaya knew she wouldn't have even had the chance to fire that final shot. She also knew that the Lyrum hadn't done it for her. Still, Aydel Anwell had saved her life.

  The Anwells were all dead, a spiteful voice inside of her gloated before she could silence it. She'd pulled the trigger. In a way, she really had destroyed the family. She stared down at the siblings through eyes almost as dead as Amaranth's.

  "At least they're together, I suppose," Jeriko's voice was entirely too sunny.

  Shakaya glowered up at him, but looked away when she saw the tear stains on his cheeks. She pushed herself to her shaky legs, and after a final glance at what remained of Amaranth's familiar face, she turned away. She didn't want to know what organ they picked as their evidence. She didn't want to watch the fire.

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  Shakaya stared out at the sea in silence as dusk surrendered to night. The moon shone brightly above the still ocean, and the last suggestions of orange and pink lingered in the sky. The sunset wasn't so different from yesterday's, except this time, she was sitting alone.

  Come now, you aren't alone. You won't ever be alone again. Not unless you let me go.

  Her fingernails dug into her palms.

  She had become the next Editor, in a sense. The Inkwells had already been returned to the Author, and the thing itself had been pulled into her along with them, where Rickard's Medium dutifully continued cancelling out its power. The worst of her pain had subsided with the end of the Draft, but the Author was still trapped. Without a body, it couldn't do anything with the strength Amaranth had unwittingly offered it, and she wasn't about to surrender her own. If that meant she'd have to live with the implant to stop the so-called creator from overpowering her, then so be it.

  Shakaya stared at her own feet, watching them dangle from the edge of the cliff. The back of her neck still prickled and burned and fresh blood stained her coat, but for better or worse, she was still alive. She'd been spared the death Rickard had orchestrated for her.

  If you destroy the machine inside of you, then I'll be able to depart. I'll search for a new vessel and leave you in peace.

  "You don't deserve such freedom," Shakaya hissed. "You betrayed him. You killed him!"

  Yes, I betrayed Anson Anwell. I also helped shape his life and his self after the loss of his family. He was my actor, but I was the writer of the play. I made him who he was. I am as much your precious Amaranth as that Lyrum.

  "You aren't him!" Shakaya shouted at the vacant horizon. "You're the liar who ruined his life. I won't release you. I won't let you destroy anyone else."

  This was both her punishment and the Author's.

  ...Then this world he hated will remain.

  "Amaranth wanted to change the world." She found a slight, fond smile, in spite of herself. What a child he'd been. "He wanted to end the war. He wanted to give everyone freedom and give them back what they'd lost. He didn't want Auratessa destroyed."

  The thing inside her scoffed. What you creatures call love truly does render one blind, it seems. He was a despicable man.

  "And I am a despicable woman." A sound like a laugh escaped her. "You... You're despicable, too."

  I won't deny that. After all, our similarities are why I chose him. The Author shifted with what might have been a sigh. If you release me, then I won't use you as a vessel. You have my word. I've already used up some of the strength he collected for me, you see. I need to sneak inside a new Editor and obtain the final Inkwell. But...if you cooperate with me, I'll use some of the energy I have left to give you whatever you want before I depart. I'll only require your body for a few moments—not long enough to harm you. Wealth. Power. Status. Immortality. ...A new love. You simply have to name what you want and it's yours.

  "I want nothing you can give me," Shakaya's words were firm and flat, her usual monotone slowly resurfacing.

  She took something from her pocket—a notebook with a bloodstained corner, filled with names. She gingerly flipped through the pages and let her fingers linger on her parent's names, scribed in neat, familiar handwriting.

  The dead would remain dead. Fighting that simple truth only brought further death, and she could see now that it always would. There were some things that mortal hands were never to touch. The road to the gate that separated life from death was paved with brutality and betrayal, and no matter how close anyone came to it, the door could never be unlocked.

  The voice in her head hushed when footsteps approached. From the heavy plod, she knew they belonged to Jeriko. She closed the notebook and tucked it away.

  "We'll have to take that trip to Riksharre, sometime soon. I'm not sure how we'll get in, but we'll manage it, somehow." Jeriko's lips trembled. "Tayla's still waiting, and I'm sure Aydel would like that, too."

  Shakaya only nodded. She had rela
yed Amaranth's wishes to the Butterflies while they had prepared for the Draft, as he'd asked.

  As unable to tell when he wasn't wanted as ever, Jeriko sat down beside her. "It feels like yesterday when I got off that ship with the three of them. Tayla. Aydel. Anson. It's hard to believe they're all..." He stopped, swallowing. "Aydel was my best friend."

  Shakaya didn't say anything for a while, watching more stars come out of hiding. "What are you going to do with Rickard?"

  For once, Jeriko was quiet for a while. "We don't know yet, although I do know that Elavadin is going to need a new mayor. I...don't think she'll live long." He tried to catch her eyes. "Do you want to say goodbye?"

  She hadn't witnessed it, but apparently, Rickard had been detained by her own subordinates after the Draft had ended. She'd essentially surrendered. Now that she'd played her hand, her hopes had died with the Editor. The Butterflies had destroyed her remote—although it hadn't made much difference, with the Draft ended and the Author trapped with the implant—and held her captive inside the boat. Shakaya ground her teeth at the memory of her smug face. It took every bit of restraint she had not to sneak inside the ship and rip her limb-from-limb.

  "No." She wrinkled her nose, partially in disgust at the tinge of sorrow she felt for Rickard. Rickard had been one of the few constants in her life. Rickard had raised her...but she didn't feel she had much to be thankful for. She'd sculpted her into a monster in her image. She'd used her for her own gain. She'd called herself her mother, but she'd never been anything of the sort.

  Jeriko's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "I'm going to lead the Butterfly from now on—we need to reorganize it. We need to protect you."

  Shakaya finally looked at him. "What?"

  "You're carrying the Author within you. As long as you can control it, there will never be another Editor—this catastrophe will never be repeated. We made so many mistakes. And you, me, all of us, I figure we're all still alive for a reason. I want to use the Butterfly to preserve what we have. I want us to keep fighting to make the world better." Jeriko waited for a response, and continued when he didn't get one, "You will be the guardian of the Author."

  Shakaya narrowed her eyes. "What makes you think I want anything else to do with the people who used me—us—for all this time?"

  "You alone can make sure that no one else shares Anson's fate," Jeriko dared to scoot closer. "You're perfect for the role, too! We'll protect you as best we can, but you're capable of protecting yourself, if need be. We'd truly be able to keep Auratessa safe from its own wayward god."

  Shakaya looked down at the chakram still at her belt. "I don't want to take another life." She closed her eyes. "Not after..."

  Jeriko softened. "There was nothing else anyone could've done. You did the right thing."

  "I know." She stared at the sea below. "I heard his voice."

  The hush returned, Jeriko clearly unsure of what to say.

  Amaranth had been old for a Lyrum. And once the Draft had started, his death had been imminent. He would have died, regardless of how the ritual ended, but...

  That didn't mean he'd wanted his life to end the way it had.

  "He didn't want this..." Shakaya repeated for him. He'd never found his redemption. Fate truly was a cruel thing.

  Jeriko searched again for her gaze. "None of us did."

  "Do you think he's in Heaven now?" Her face flushed. What came after death wasn't something she often thought about, but suddenly, she couldn't keep the question from escaping.

  "I'm sure he is." Jeriko forced a smile. "I don't know a lot about that sort of thing. I don't think I even know a lot about right and wrong. But even if he did a lot of awful things...even if we've all done a lot of awful things...I do know that he wanted to make the world better. I don't see how someone like that could end up in Hell."

  Shakaya blinked back fresh tears. She wanted to believe him. Amaranth had let himself sink into the same shadows he hated. Nonetheless, she couldn't quite bring herself to accept that his light had entirely faded. That it had never been there, at all.

  "What about my family? What about me?" She swallowed, sickened by her own insecurity. This wasn't like her, but she couldn't hold in her fears. Her intentions had been less than pure. Perhaps they still were. "If Lyrum... If my family was wrong, then..."

  Jeriko took a while to answer, shuffling. "Look...I don't think you should worry about Heaven and Hell and all of that too much." He smiled more genuinely. "I used to worry. After all the Butterfly's done, I used to wonder if I'd ever end up in the same place as my little girl. But now that the grief isn't as raw, I can sense her. I know she's there, waiting for me. I believe that. I have to believe that. One day, I'm sure that all of us will get to be with everyone we love again."

  Shakaya said nothing.

  "But until then," Jeriko straightened, as if shrugging off a nightmare, "we've still got lives to live. We can still change. Everyone only knows what they know, but what we know now is different. We can do better, and now that we know better, we should. That's the responsibility we have."

  Shakaya said nothing.

  "You heard what the Author said once it took over during the ritual, right? Why it gave up on us? If we can't change Auratessa itself, then we can try to change its people. We can still build an understanding between Humans and Lyrum, in whatever way we can. Maybe one day, the Author won't even want to destroy us anymore."

  Impossible. The Author mocked inside of her. History has already taught Auratessa and its people to spill blood. There's nothing that can be done. It can't change.

  "After all, I'm sure Anson would like that."

  Shakaya laughed. "You would really ask someone like me to participate?"

  Jeriko blinked, before smiling sadly. "It could be your redemption."

  She scoffed. "I don't believe in redemption anymore."

  His eyes never left hers. "Then perhaps it could be an apology."

  She held his gaze for a few seconds longer.

  "It's never too late for someone to change," he insisted.

  Shakaya wasn't so sure she believed that. Her hands were stained with too much blood. Still...she wasn't so sure she believed the Author, either. This was as close as she could come to finishing what she and Amaranth had started.

  Jeriko bit his lip. "So...will you do it?"

  Shakaya let her gaze wander up to the sky. "I will. I never had any intentions of letting the Author go."

  The two of them sat in silence, overlooking what would have been a beautiful beach and a beautiful night until the smoke behind them died away.

  Chapter Thirty-Five: The Guardian

  Two years passed before the Butterflies finally returned to Riksharre.

  Shakaya slumped inside the carriage while its wheels rolled over the new roadway leading through the woods and toward the colony, gravel crunching in its spokes. Armed guards, adorned in traditional Butterfly uniforms, sat beside her at both sides. Whispers about what they would find when they arrived passed between her colleagues. She ignored all of it, her blank eyes set on a blank wall.

  The last couple of years were only a miserable blur.

  The Author spoke to her day and night, eating away at what little sense of sanity and self she had left. She wasn't a person anymore. She was nothing but a container for Auratessa's wayward creator. She was a fragile vase that the same people who had strung her and Amaranth around like marionettes now sought to protect. Even the strength she had once worked so hard for had wilted from her body.

  Sometimes, the Butterflies would say they wanted to study the implant, and under Jeriko's authority, take her to the new Academy's labs. Rickard herself could tell them nothing about her Medium—she'd taken her own life shortly after returning to Lusanthine. She'd put a scalpel she'd tucked inside her pocket to her own throat.

  Rickard was gone, and the Academy's fire had destroyed any notes she may have left behind, but that didn't stop the Butterfly from fighting to unravel the secrets of
her machine. After all, the Butterfly needed to keep the implant working, and it would need to transfer the implant—and the Author—to a new host when Shakaya grew old or sick. The organization would install a duplicate device into its next guardian and order them to kill her.

  Shakaya smiled bitterly. What a wonderful fate to look forward to!

  It was sounding better by the day.

  It was ironic, really. Amaranth had left a mark on Auratessa, even if not in the way he'd intended. The populace had interpreted the immense thunder and the ash-less fire as a sign of divine judgment. Heh—she supposed that wasn't wrong.

  The experience had left people of all species utterly terrified. Fear was a powerful thing, and something that Humans and Lyrum and Otherlings shared equally. The Monarchy and the new Council had decided they wanted to change. The king—without the more hostile queen, and with proof that her Lyrum assassins were dead—had been willing to meet with the Council in an effort to avert what had seemed Auratessa's certain fate. The threat they were fighting didn't truly exist anymore, but the Scarlet Butterfly worked to ensure the public would never know that.

  For perhaps the first time in Auratessa's history, a line of communication had opened between Humans and Lyrum. A fragile thread, but a string tying them together, nonetheless.

  The thirst for peace, driven by terror though it was, hadn't sustained the same fervor as the months passed by. Occasional violence sparked to life—after all, Sylan Rita was still alive—but for better or worse, the relationship between the species was more tangible, no longer defined by a simmering hatred or a quiet threat brewing on either side. It was an issue Humans and Lyrum were willing to discuss civilly. At least...most of the time. Perhaps that simple willingness to communicate would one day go a long way.

  There were already a few signs of progress.

  Elavadin Academy had been rebuilt on a much smaller scale—with Edgard acting as both the new headmaster and city mayor—but the research division had stopped keeping Lyrum specimens. She smiled slightly; supposedly, Amaranth's story had already shaken up many of the scientists before the Draft, making the prison easy to dissolve once Rickard was gone. Jeriko had taken on the role of Head Scientist despite knowing nothing about such things. He was following Rickard's example of hoarding power and status, saying that the Butterfly needed eyes in high places, along with access to information and technology. The truth was he'd paid Edgard off, and his only role was to organize the department's funds. The Butterfly was as dishonest as always.