Burning Sky

by Weston Ochse

  His glee had been replaced with an anchor of dread. He wanted nothing more than to run like McQueen had done, only he didn’t know how.

  Boy Scout tried to close his eyes, but with no body, that was impossible.

  A vast pit of desperation opened inside him as he watched the wheelchair holding the paraplegic shy boy roll up to him. The features of the boy’s face were demonic but recognizable. He offered Boy Scout an ugly sneer.

  “You left me,” he said, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. “You left me and it happened again.” New scars had been carved into the boy’s face. Several looked like Arabic script. Boy Scout couldn’t help but wonder what they said. Then he saw the boy’s arms. Round, puckered red and black circles covered every inch of his arms as if an angry octopus had grabbed him. But it was nothing an octopus had done. Boy Scout immediately recognized it and was sickened. Someone had taken an old-fashioned automobile lighter and branded the boy’s skin, over and over. Although the boy had never felt it, he could smell the burning skin and hair. Boy Scout wanted to scream.

  He was about to speak when he remembered Faood’s warning not to.

  “The new one,” the boy hissed. “The new commander did to me what the other did… what all the others did.”

  Boy Scout found that unbelievable. The person he’d given the boy to would never have allowed such a thing. Renee was above reproach.

  “The things he did to me… shall I itemize them for you?”

  Boy Scout wanted to shriek at the universe for it to stop. All he’d wanted to do was save the child from the sexual abuse. What was that old Chinese saying? If you save someone’s life, you’re responsible for them forever. Could it be true?

  “I’m being kept in a closet now. I haven’t seen light for months. I’m only fed if I perform.” The boy sneered again, then barked out a hollow laugh. “And it’s all your fault.”

  Joon’s voice intruded and whispered, “Ever wonder if you’re a character in the wrong story?”

  Then Boy Scout understood completely. Either he was in an altered parallel universe, or this wasn’t his story. First of all, why was the boy speaking English? He’d never been able to before. Secondly, and he couldn’t believe that he was now just noticing this, but what was the method of the boy’s propulsion? He hadn’t the ability to move himself. He’d need a wheelchair like Freddie’s—one with a joystick for the mouth. Boy Scout wanted urgently to speak to the phantom and tell it that he knew it wasn’t real, but he’d been forbidden to. And it was like the thing knew that, because one moment it was there sneering at him, and the next it was gone.

  This time Boy Scout was thankful he was alone. He’d spend a lifetime in Sefid if it meant that he could remain free of the specter of the child. Christ on a pogo stick, how had that image appeared? Boy Scout tried to remember what it was about the Sefid, but most of what Faood had said was gone. Was it a construct like before? Could he just decide to leave? If so, then he—no. He had to think about Narco. Boy Scout had forced his way into the mission even though Faood could have probably taken care of it without him. Boy Scout would find a way to see it through.

  If this was a construct, then whatever damage was done to him inside the Sefid wouldn’t stay with him. The visit from the specter of the boy had been unnaturally terrifying for several reasons. One, he wasn’t accustomed to not having a body. Two, coming so suddenly after his arrival, the specter had caught him before he could prepare himself. And three, he’d secretly been wondering about the kid’s fate and was worried that he might have ended up being a shy boy again, so the words of the boy carried much more gravitas than they would have.

  So what was the specter? It wasn’t something he’d created and Faood had no idea about the boy, so it couldn’t have been him. The only one he’d confided to about the colonel and the shy boy was McQueen, and his old friend would never mention it to anyone. Boy Scout doubted that it was something his own mind had invented. To what end? There was no value other than for someone to see how terrified they could make him.

  Was that it? Was something messing with him? Was it the daeva? Faood had mentioned that the fugue was powered by the supernatural being. Somehow Boy Scout understood that the Sefid was different from a regular fugue. It was certainly more dangerous, but how much so? Faood had said that they’d have to go through the daeva’smind to get to the Sefid. Maybe that was the issue. Maybe he was still in the sleeping creature’s mind.

  Ever wonder if you’re a character in the wrong story?

  Maybe he was in the daeva’sdream... or maybe he was part of its nightmare.

  A darkness once more marred the horizon. Boy Scout steadied himself. He knew something was coming, and he hadn’t the ability to stop it. It came to him with a low thrum of power. Another wheelchair, but this one powered by Freddie. Even as he steered it toward Boy Scout, the boy had his eyes on him. Freddie still sat in a low-slung wheel chair, the kind you steered with your mouth. His legs ended at nubs where his knees had been. His arms ended where his elbows should have been.

  This was different. Freddie wasn’t real. He never had been. He’d been constructed by the shared minds of the TST while in a fugue state. So how could he appear here unless someone or something had access to Boy Scout’s brain?

  The boy stopped his chair in front of Boy Scout. He leaned his head back and appraised Boy Scout. Then the boy frowned slightly and asked in a commanding voice, “Are you notorious?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  FORGET SAFETY. LIVE where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.

  Was he notorious? Had he gone to a place where he might die? Was he afraid? He could answer yes to both of those questions, so yeah. He was notorious. He nodded his head, or at least he thought he did.

  “I thought as much. You have the look.” Freddie grinned. “Notorious. I’d like to have a conversation with you, about your world.”

  Since the silent form of communication had worked before, he used it again, only this time shaking his head.

  Freddie nodded. “I agree that it’s prudent not to talk to the minions of Sefid. Many of them are beyond dangerous. But not me.” He paused to see if Boy Scout had changed his mind, then continued. “Let me explain to you what it is. This is like a heaven and hell combined. It is a place with no limits and as large as the universe, but it doesn’t exist in a dimension which contains our science. You, no doubt, are near a daeva and have passed through its mind. This is the normal way of it. Nothing difficult. Did it tax you a memory? Did you replay an important event in your life?”

  Boy Scout nodded.

  “It always does. Even sleeping, their curiosity cannot be sated. Not to worry. There was no damage done to your memories. It just wanted to know… to experience. I’ve been studying them from the inside out. Studying Sefid. This is the place they go when they die. Did you know that the daeva are older than humanity?”

  Boy Scout shook his head.

  “They are. I’ve yet to determine how far back they predate us, but I have my hypothesis. They were once everywhere, touching every culture, influencing every tradition. The term devil comes from daeva, but I’m sure you knew that already. The Zoastrians called them false gods. In the oldest texts, they were called those who shouldn’t be worshiped. I find that interesting. The daeva are clearly supernatural. They are clearly superhuman. Why wouldn’t one want to worship such a thing?

  “As humans we rush to worship ideas. We sprint at rumor, praying to it, idolizing it. But to not want to worship something that’s clearly worthy makes one wonder if there was a valid reason. Luckily, one doesn’t have to look far for that reason. It’s simple, really, if you pay attention to the tenets of Zoastrianism. If Ahura created the universe, then how would you explain the daeva who were already there? How could something be present before the creation of the universe? Who created them? Worship is about connection. Religion is about control. Zoaster decided to not worship them in order to control his followers.” Freddie sh
ook his head like he had the weight of the world on it. “The world could do without religion for a while.”

  Boy Scout had been noticing clues in Freddie’s monologue and was beginning to get an idea about who he really was, but he still wasn’t willing to talk. It could also be an entity of some sort trying to trick him into believing something else.

  “Still, it’s an interesting problem that the Zoastrians had with the daeva already present, don’t you think? Are you a follower of Manes?”

  Boy Scout shook his head.

  “Zoastrainism is based on cosmogenic duality. Manes described dualistic cosmology as good and evil or light and dark. Dualism. Two things.” Suddenly hands appeared on Freddie’s congenitally amputated arms. He flexed his fingers and the movement shocked Boy Scout. “Sorry. I was tired of him not being able to move. Where was I? Ah, yes.” He opened one hand. “Light.” He opened the other hand. “Dark. Not bad, but a little simple. Think of Christianity as a monotheistic cosmological religion. They have a single god as part of their origin story. The Zoastrians have it both ways. They have Ahura Mazda, who created everything. Think of him creating the void. Then he had two sons.” Freddie grinned. “Must have been mitosis because there wasn’t a Mrs. Mazda. One son was named Spenta Mainyu, who chose truth, light and life. The other was named Angra Mainyu, who preferred deceit, darkness and death. Sound familiar?”

  It did, but Boy Scout wasn’t going to say anything.

  “But Christianity is not only monotheistic. It also has a dual cosmological tenet. God made the universe so he made angels, right? Therefore Satan was of his making, as was Jesus. Dark and light.” Once again Freddie’s hands opened and closed. Then his eyes brightened. “Or maybe God didn’t create angels. Maybe the angels were already here, just like Zoastrianism, the mother religion of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam.” Freddie sighed. “Even science has trouble grasping the main problem with cosmology. After all, there is no theoretical model that explains the earliest moments of the universe’s existence. Was time created at the moment the universe was created? Or did time exist before the universe? If it did, then other things existed before the universe. Maybe the Big Bang wasn’t an explosion, but a bullet shot out of a rifle. The question we should be asking ourselves is who fired the rifle?” Freddie frowned and crossed his arms. “Come now, this is getting boring. I was looking for conversation. I can’t converse with my dervishes. All they want is to worship, which defeats my purpose. Also, I could have chosen any form I wanted. Know why I chose this form? Because you made it. This was all you. This form was created as an apology for that poor boy you saved, and this form would be the last one capable of doing you harm.”

  They stared at each other for several moments while Boy Scout worked through his own arguments. Finally, he did what any ex-Ranger would have when they didn’t know what to do next. He said fuck it and prepared to wing it.

  “I know who you are,” Boy Scout said, glad to end his silence.

  “I hope so. I left enough clues.”

  “Or at least I know who you claim to be.”

  Freddie waved a hand. “Whatever. I don’t bite and never have. So back to my question.”

  Boy Scout thought for a moment. “Who fired the rifle?”

  “Exactly. Who was it?”

  Boy Scout thought once more. “The daeva?”

  Freddie’s face brightened as a smile lit it up. “Excellent answer. Alas, I don’t think it was the daeva. I think they are the bullets. Whoever fired them are from the place that was before. They’ve always been here. They were here before any religion, before man, and have been a footnote that couldn’t be explained since the invention of the written word. Sure, many have tried, but the fact remains, someone had to fire the rifle.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “I can hear their echoes. I can see their writing on the sand of my dreams. I can even parse the memories of the sleeping daeva who remember a different place—a place with more dimensions, where they were many and moved quite differently than they do today.”

  “Perhaps the explosion that created our universe destroyed theirs,” Boy Scout said. Then something Faood had said led him to another leap in thought. “Maybe they were seeded in our universe as muses. Shepherds, perhaps. Something to ensure that a fish would once gain legs so it could become a man who could hold his own rifle.”

  Freddie clapped his hands. “When the soul lies down in the grass, the world is too full to talk about. Yes, yes, yes. Keep questioning. Keep seeking possibilities.”

  “But to what end? Will it save my friend? Will it get us out of here?”

  “And he returns to the logic of a soldier. But that’s fine. For one bright second you were a seeker of answers, even if you didn’t know the right questions. Not knowing the question should never be an obstacle.”

  “Listen, Rumi. I said this to Faood, but you have a way of sounding like a fortune cookie.”

  “I see you know me. Call me Jalāl.”

  “You know they’re looking for you, right?”

  “I’m aware of that. I occasionally make myself known.”

  “Are you also aware that they are bringing things out of the Sefid? Beings or pieces of beings that are enabling your dervishes to live forever? That this has become their primary mission rather than the search for knowledge?”

  “I am aware.”

  “You don’t seem concerned.”

  “Through their action comes a greater chance at knowledge.”

  “Did you know that they’ve been tricking people, enslaving them, like us, to go and find these creatures for them?”

  “The many minions of the Sefid are aware of my dervishes. They know them and stay away from them. Having fresh searchers is necessary.”

  Boy Scout could feel his ire rising. “So you know. And you condone this?”

  “What are you but a leaf on a tree that will one day fall? Does the leaf not want to be a tree? For to be a tree it must have a different existence.”

  “Enough of the fortune cookie nonsense.”

  Jalal spread his hands. “Your nonsense is someone else’s understanding. Look at your world. It’s one that I foresaw hundreds of years ago. Wars everywhere. A third of the world is in famine. Gone is your sense of community as people seek those like themselves through electronic means. There was a time when community had a norming effect on society, bringing those with different views together, making them come together, live together. But no longer.” Jalāl suddenly seemed to have grown feet. He got out of the wheelchair and, further shocking Boy Scout, put his hands behind his back, pacing back and forth. In the whiteness, it appeared as if he were walking in mid-air. “Again. Sorry to change your construct. It was just so… limiting.” Then he stopped pacing and turned to Boy Scout. “You’re not insulted, are you?”

  Boy Scout found his voice after a moment. “No. I’m not insulted.”

  “You know you can do this, too? Will yourself into existence.”

  “What do you see when you see me?” Boy Scout asked.

  “Your essence. Like an apparition of you, but barely there. A mirage of what could be if you only were to put in a little effort.”

  Boy Scout concentrated on bringing his hands into existence, and it was easier than he thought. One second there was nothing, then his arms appeared. Then he willed the rest of his body into existence. Had he known it was this easy, he would have done it long ago. Suddenly, he was flexing his hands and arms. He knew they weren’t really there, but they felt real and in that feeling, he became more grounded. He didn’t feel as defenseless as he was.

  “Thank you,” Boy Scout said. Then, eager to return to something that Jalāl had said earlier, Boy Scout said, “I don’t believe in the idea that one must break a few eggs to bake a cake. Those eggs are lives. They belong to someone. They are not your eggs to break. They are not your lives to take.”

  Jalāl stared at Boy Scout, then nodded and resumed his pacing. “Of course you’re righ
t. It is good that we have met. I’ve been disconnected for too long. But let me ask you this, if you knew that your sacrifice could potentially stop all wars and remove all famine, would you do it?”

  “Well, yes. Of course.”

  “What if I knew that your sacrifice could potentially stop all wars and remove famine. Could I then sacrifice you?”

  “Well, no. That’s different.”

  “How is this different?”

  “Choice. I should have the right to choose my own fate.”

  “Why is that? Do you have all the information I have at my disposal?”

  “No.”

  “Then how can you make an informed decision? Are you arguing that an uninformed decision has equal weight against an informed decision?”

  “No, but don’t we have an inalienable right over our own bodies?”

  “Even if your right to choose, your inalienable right, causes the deaths of hundreds… thousands… millions?”

  “But how can you be so sure?”

  “What I know about the daeva is growing. They are the gateway to opening up our universe to something new. Science is working from their end, dark matter, string theory—”

  “How do you know all this? I thought you’ve been in the Sefid for more than seven hundred years.”

  “I have. But there are other travelers such as yourself. I have a way of tying into the sleeping daeva. There are also accidental travelers. I learn from them. You noted that I knew how to use this form. Did you ever wonder how I knew? When you were passing through the mind of the daeva, I learned what you know. I saw what you’ve seen. This is my way of learning.”

  Jalāl paused to see if his words had sunk in, then continued. “As I said, science is working from its end. I’m working from this end. I feel close to being able to discover who fired the rifle. If I can do that, then the universe will open for all of us.”

  “And it all depends on the daeva. You need to keep them alive. Did you really gather them into a valley?”