The Fifty-Seven Lives of Alex Wayfare

by MG Buehrlen

  “Did you hear that?” Cask said, his voice low.

  I froze and listened. “No…”

  “Shhh.”

  I looked out past our little sphere of lantern light but couldn’t see anything but black. Cask pressed a finger to his lips, then he slowly seeped into the wood, signaling for me to wait where I was.

  “Cask,” I whispered. “You gotta help me down.”

  But he was already gone, leaving me all alone in the cold, on a narrow stage awash with flickering amber light. It was too far to jump, and if I was going to climb down, I wanted him below me in case I slipped. I rubbed my arms, my back pressed against the striated rock behind me. My teeth chattered again. How long was he going to leave me up here?

  I was right in the middle of deciding whether or not to ascend back to Limbo and let Shooter figure out how to get down on her own when I heard voices. Harsh voices, somewhere out in the darkness. It was Cask and another guy, I could tell, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Was it Blue? Had he come to and followed us?

  I strained to listen, reaching, stretching, trying to make sense of the angry tones, but they were too muddled. Too entwined. Was Cask mad at Blue for following him? Did he believe my story about Blue wanting the loot for himself?

  The arguing stopped and the struggling began. I heard the scuff of boots against leaves and dirt. Grunts. The thwack of fists.

  My eyes darted to the ledge at my feet, searching for the best way down. I had to get to Blue before Cask did something drastic. I was on my knees with my back to the dark forest, gripping the edge of the ledge and ready to reach my toe down into thin air, when I heard the fierce blast of a gun.

  My God.

  Had someone been shot? Who pulled the trigger? I hauled myself back onto the ledge, my heart in my throat, and scanned the darkness for any sign of movement. The shot still echoed through the hollow, spreading out and rolling into the distance like thunder.

  The moment silence fell again, I heard two things. First, footsteps. Heading my way through the carpet of leaves. Whoever it was could probably see me by now. Lit up like a display at the bottom of the hollow.

  Then came the whistling. Clear as day, piercing through the night. And it only took a second for me to figure out the tune.

  Stardust.

  The song Blue played for me on the piano in Chicago. Our song.

  I let out a sigh. It was Blue coming for me. He must have come to and followed us like I thought. And he was whistling Stardust to let me know he still remembered. But where was Cask? And who fired the gun?

  I watched, breath held, as a figure emerged from the trees, swaggering and whistling. But it wasn’t Blue who stepped into the sphere of amber light directly beneath me. And it wasn’t Blue who whistled Stardust so sweetly and perfectly – a tune that wouldn’t be composed for another fifty years.

  It was Judd.

  CHAPTER 24

  SOUL BLOCKING

  The jagged bluff dug into my shoulder blades. My whole world tilted to the left. The lantern light cast a wicked shadow across Judd’s face. A strange sort of grin hooked at his lips.

  “Where’s Cask?” My voice floated down to him like a fallen leaf. A crow cawed somewhere above us.

  “He ain’t dead, if that’s what you’re askin’.” He twirled his warm gun on his finger. “But he won’t be botherin’ us for a while.”

  Dear God. Did he leave him out in the cold to bleed to death?

  “How do you know that song?” I said.

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Shooter my gal?” he said, with a snarly grin, “or are you still con-fused?”

  My skin pricked and tingled. A black thought, sleek, round and venomous, sat on my tongue in the form of one seemingly harmless word. Gooseflesh spread out across my arms as I spoke it silently.

  Descender.

  Was it Gesh himself? Or had he sent someone in his place?

  “Oh, hell,” he said, scratching the stubble on his jaw. “I tried, but I can’t keep this hick accent up. I sound like a jackass.” His accent vanished, replaced with something more flat and distinctively modern. “And what about these ears?” He flicked his left one. “This guy’s uglier than Dumbo’s ass. Am I right?”

  I reached for my gun. I had it cocked and sighted right between his eyes before he finished his sentence. The steel was cold and familiar. Comforting in my hands. My finger kissed the trigger. “Who are you? Who sent you?”

  “You don’t know?” A dry laugh tore from his throat. “Wow, you’re even more stupid than I thought. Gesh was afraid you’d outsmarted him. He’ll be happy to hear that’s not the case.” He laughed again.

  I glared at him. I straightened my back and re-sighted. This time right at his heart.

  Judd shook his head, staring up at the barrel of my gun. He clucked his tongue. “Descending rule number one: Thou shalt not kill. Remember?”

  Every muscle quivered beneath my skin. I thought about putting a bullet in his chest just to shut him up. Just for coming after me and shooting Cask. Just for violating Judd’s body the way he was. Judd may have been a criminal, but he was a decent man. He deserved better.

  The Descender sighed like he was bored. He lifted his revolver and aimed it at me in a careless sort of way. He was tired of talking. “Why don’t you just give me what I came for? Then I can be on my way.”

  “You want the chest? You can have it.” I was going to redo the mission anyway. Erase everything. Who cared if he knew where it was hidden now? I’d just move it to another hiding place on the next go around.

  “The chest?” he said. “Gesh couldn’t care less about the chest. You’d know that if you had half a brain.”

  He couldn’t? “Then what does he want?”

  That same cold grin hooked his lips again. It knotted my stomach. When he spoke, his voice was golden and sweet. “There isn’t a treasure on Earth worth more to him than a Descender gone rogue. And now that he knows you’re traveling again? He wants you. He wants your name.”

  I gripped my gun with both hands. “You know my name. It’s Shooter Delaney.”

  His grin pulled tighter across his teeth. “Come on now. Don’t play games.”

  “Is that one no good? Try Susan Summers.”

  “I’m warning you.” I heard the click as he cocked the hammer. He adjusted the gun in his grip as he took actual aim.

  I didn’t catch my name in 1927, or else I’d have given him that one too. Instead I said, “Kiss my ass.”

  It was too much.

  He scowled at me and squeezed the trigger.

  You know how heroes are always dodging bullets at the last second in films? Yeah. That’s pretty much impossible. Because as soon as I heard the blast, the bullet slammed into the bluff right next to my ear. The bluff exploded, showering me in gray dust and jagged bits of rock. I dropped to my knees, shielding my head, a good two seconds too late. My only saving grace was his poor aim.

  “You can’t take a life,” I shouted, peeking out at him from between my arms.

  “Tell me your na-ame.” He said it in a singsong voice, like a bully taunting someone on the playground. Again, the hammer clicked into place.

  I gritted my teeth. Like hell I was going to tell him my name.

  I whipped my pistol over my head and took a shot. Two blasts. My bullet knocked the hat right off his head. His sliced a chunk out of the ledge beneath my feet.

  I leapt up and pressed my back against the bluff. My chest pumped in and out. My mind raced. How many rounds did he have left? Had he reloaded sometime between the train robbery and now?

  Whatever the count, I realized it didn’t matter. His aim would only improve each time he took a shot. But then again, so would mine.

  “Your name, Sweet Stuff.”

  I cocked and aimed.

  I fired.

  But so did he.

  This time, white hot pain smacked into my right hand. My gun plummeted to the ground. I never saw where my bullet went. I
didn’t care. All I could think about was the searing hole ripped through the meaty part of my thumb. The broken bones. The hot blood streaming down my forearm to my elbow; the hot tears streaming down each side of my face, meeting under my chin.

  “Aw. That didn’t have to happen,” he said. I could barely hear him over the ringing in my ears.

  My breathing came in short, uncontrollable bursts. High-pitched. Panicked. I knew his plan. He didn’t care if he took a life. He knew I would go back and redo the mission. He was counting on it. He could rip a dozen bullets through my flesh and it wouldn’t matter. He could torture me and make me bleed all night long.

  Until I gave in.

  But I’d had enough.

  I closed my eyes and reached for Limbo. I felt my soul arch and lift, felt the pain in my hand fade, but I couldn’t break free. Something blocked my path. Something dense. Impenetrable. Suffocating. I fought against it, but it was like trying to push a door open against a wall of water.

  My soul collapsed back into Shooter’s body, exhausted from the attempt. When I opened my eyes, Judd’s unflinching grin and the torment of my mangled hand greeted me. My boots glistened with blood.

  “You like that?” he said. “It’s called soul blocking. Pretty handy, right? Rule number two: Don’t ascend while someone’s talking to you. It’s rude.”

  I sucked in a seething breath through my teeth, trying not to think about the pain, and attempted the only feasible means of escape I had left: continue to scale the bluff. If I could just make it to the top and get off that stupid ledge, I could find somewhere to hide.

  I snatched a ledge above my head with my left hand. I pushed up with my right foot. I cradled my bloody right hand at my chest, and used my elbow to balance while I reached for another ledge. I was as slow as molasses, my entire body shivering, but I could make it. I knew I could. I just had to concentrate.

  And pray he ran out of bullets before another one made contact.

  “I’m going to try to get you at the back of your knee this time,” he called out. “Your left one. It’ll probably shatter the kneecap. OK?”

  I scrambled higher. I tried not to zero my attention on the back of my knee, but it was hopeless. It was all I could think about. That shot. That violent blast of bone and tendon and muscle. That pain.

  I gave up trying to protect my hand – I used it, seizing ledge after ledge, the rock biting into the wound, the pain blinding me, the smear of my blood painting patterns on the bluff.

  He cocked his gun. “All right. You want me to count it down?”

  Just a few more ledges. Just a few more feet. I could see the top. It was right there.

  Pop!

  He took the shot.

  And it hit exactly where he said it would.

  The pain. You wouldn’t even comprehend the pain. It was so intense I couldn’t even summon a scream. I saw sparks. White, silver, red.

  Fire.

  My boots slipped from their toeholds. I dangled for a short moment before my arms gave out. Down the face of the bluff I went, my chin and nose grazing a few ledges on the way down. The Descender dove beneath me, catching hold of me at the last minute to break my fall. We both smacked into the ground, my body limp on top of his.

  He pushed me off and scrambled to his feet, his gun cocked and ready. I rolled over onto my back with a groan. My body felt red. Blazing. Churning. Like lava.

  “Tell me your name and I’ll let you go. No more pain.”

  I sputtered a laugh. It caught in my throat and gurgled there. I felt hysterical. “I’m a reincarnated Transcender,” I said, dragging in a shuddering breath. “My pain follows me to Base Life. You’d know that if you had half a brain.”

  I bit my bottom lip, trying to wriggle out of my coat. Everything from the thigh down felt like a boiling mess. I tried really hard not to picture what it might look like. I stuffed my coat under my knee to help stop the bleeding – not that it would do much good – and a wave of dizziness washed through me. More sparks. More pain.

  “Oh, I know all about reincarnated Transcenders. I’ve known my fair share.”

  I winced, my head spinning, and spoke through held breath and rigid muscles. “I’m the only one, idiot.” Exhale. Short inhale. Exhale. “So you don’t know shit.”

  “Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “Who handed you that load of bull? Was it Levi? Are you still working with him?”

  Levi? Did he mean Porter? I winced again. “It’s not a load of bull.” I was the only one. Porter told me so. Unless Gesh reincarnated someone else.

  Something in Judd’s muddy eyes flickered. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. “I guess you’re the idiot, Princess.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. I wanted to claw the smirk off his face. “Yeah? Well you’re a dick.”

  His nostrils flared. He bent down and pressed the muzzle of his gun to my temple. “Tell. Me. Your. Name.”

  “What are you going to do? Shoot my ears? My toes? My elbows?” A chill spasmed through me. The ground was so cold. I thought of Audrey’s favorite movie, The Princess Bride. “To the pain.” That was the line I remembered.

  To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists. Next your nose.

  I laughed at myself, a gurgling little giggle.

  The pain made me delirious.

  He pressed the gun harder, pinning my head to the ground. “I’ll make this easy on you. Just your last name. I already know your first.” I must have made a face because he added, “It’s not like I didn’t overhear you and Lover Boy back there. How else do you think I knew your favorite tune?” He dug the sight at the end of the barrel into my temple until it broke the skin. Blood pooled around it. “I thought the whistling was a nice touch. Added some flair. Some suspense. Don’t you think, Alex?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Yellow spots danced before my eyelids and swirled with the red. “Alex was my name in one of my other lives,” I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

  “See? Now you’re just pissing me off.” He knelt down and the muzzle lifted from my skin. I heard him de-cock the hammer. “There are other ways of making you talk. More painful ways that have nothing to do with flesh and blood.” He leaned closer, his breath on my cheek. “Remember, it didn’t have to come to this.”

  I braced myself for something to happen, something horrible, but he didn’t make a move. The wind gusted in the bare branches above us. The crow cawed again, angry that we were keeping him awake. My blood seeped into the soil.

  After a while, I noticed my pain subsiding. I felt my soul rise from my host body as the black enveloped me. Limbo tugged at my edges, calling me home. I scrambled for the black, desperate for it, so ready to be done with the mission. So ready to leave all that pain behind, collapse in Limbo, and let myself recover.

  I should’ve known he wouldn’t let that happen.

  THE BATTLE IN EREMUS

  The moment I land in Eremus – the black, nothingness wasteland outside Polestar – the Descender’s soul slams into mine like a wrecking ball. I fly through the air (or what I perceive as air) and smack hard into rocky ground. The wind bursts from my lungs.

  Why didn’t Porter tell me souls could battle in Limbo?

  I push myself up on shaking limbs and lift my head to see my opponent. Like a flash, he disappears in the distance and reappears beside me, the perception of his soul looking like a plume of nasty gray smoke. When he moves, he sounds like a flag rippling in the wind. I briefly wonder if this is what all souls look like in Limbo, or if this is just how I perceive him because I don’t know what he looks like in Base Life. But then, wouldn’t I perceive him looking like Judd?

  The smoke slides under my torso and lifts me into the air. It coils around my chest like a snake, steadily squeezing, crushing my ribcage inward like an iron clamp. I grasp at it, smack at it, but there’s nothing to grab hold of. I end up beating at my own chest.

  It coils around my neck.


  Squeezing.

  It stuffs into my mouth.

  Suffocating.

  Any minute now, my ribs will snap and puncture my organs. I can feel them start to crack and splinter. I try to tell myself there is no air. I have no lungs. No ribs. But it doesn’t do any good. I’m too panicked.

  “Your name.” His voice hisses inside my head. It scrapes against my skull.

  I struggle against his hold. I claw at my own neck. I beat at my own face. There is nothing I can do. I have no idea how to defend myself. Porter never taught me.

  I’m going to die. He’s going to kill my soul.

  Without a soul to sustain it, will my Base Life body die too? Will Gran find me lying on my oval rope rug when she comes to tidy my room? Or will Afton find me first? Will he curl up next to me to keep me warm? Will anyone at school even notice I’m gone? Will any of them come to my funeral?

  Will Porter? Will he reincarnate me?

  Throughout all those thoughts, one overshadows them all: I can’t let my parents lose another child. I can’t be the reason for more pain and suffering in their lives. I can’t leave Audrey even more alone in this world than she already is.

  I can’t let Gesh win.

  My mind races. How can this lower level Descender have the knowhow to beat me? I’m a Transcender. Porter said I was more powerful than all the Descenders combined.

  Then it hits me. I do know how to defend myself. Porter had taught me after all.

  I may not remember how to battle, but that doesn’t mean my soul forgot. If I learned anything from Shooter Delaney’s stubborn host body, it’s how to let go and give in to my past instincts. My soul can’t be any different. The first time I traveled to Limbo, Porter said I’d get used to it eventually, that soon I’d be bounding around like a young colt.

  Just like I used to.

  The knowledge is inside me. I just have to let go and give in to the motions. Like riding a bike.

  The moment I stop struggling, I drop straight through the plume of smoke to the ground. Sharp pains shoot up through my heels to my thighs, and I falter forward to my hands and knees. I try to suppress the pain. It’s not real. It’s just my perception of pain. What I expect to happen. Just like my need for air. I suppress my impulse to cough and gasp for breath. Instead, I use what strength I have left to push myself to my feet, my back straight, chin lifted. I let go and let all my instincts take over.