In the body of Ari, Tessic’s pilot, he tried to lure them, but was obstructed by Maddy Haas—a woman who, by the memory of the pilot, wielded some power over Dillon Cole’s heart.
Before he could bypass her, Dillon was already skyborne for Greece—but he had an alternate plan. He already knew what it would take to render Dillon impotent. He had a secret weapon—an insurance policy now. He brought it with him all the way from Poland. Beating her into submission had been some heavy task, as she was well-trained in defensive arts—but then so was his own host’s body. She was almost his match. Almost. And for Maddy Haas, almost was the difference between freedom and being bound and gagged in the pulpit of a small Thiran chapel.
* * *
Winston couldn’t look Maddy in the eye—couldn’t bear to see the woman who had meant so much to Dillon so brutally subdued. Her face was bruised and her mouth gagged, but her eyes were alert and more furious than frightened.
“What did you do to Tessic?” Winston asked the Vectors.
“He served us no purpose,” answered the ugly woman. Did that mean they killed him or left him alone? Winston wondered. They were just as likely to have done either.
The chapel was in a state of disrepair, windows broken, weeds growing between the earthen tiles. Ari brought Winston down the aisle and forced him down on the altar. The child just stood by and watched, but Winston could see in this child’s eyes that there was nothing childlike about him. He thought back to the days when he was growing backwards—when he had “the stunt” on him, as his mother had called it. Fifteen, but trapped in a body of a seven-year-old, growing younger day by day. Did he look like this child looked now? Winston now noticed that the woman held a steel pole in her hand.
“These bodies—they feel so many interesting things,” the boy said. “Pain is something we are just starting to explore.”
The woman brought the pole down across the middle of Winston’s spine. He felt the pain shoot out from his solar plexis to his brain like his soul exploding within him. He screamed.
“Why do humans scream?” the. boy asked. “Doesn’t it just make the pain worse?”
The boy told Ari to let him go. Winston wasn’t going anywhere now. “Take the girl to a place where Dillon can see her,” the boy said. “I want to play with Winston some more.” And so the pilot left, dragging Maddy struggling through the door.
Once they were gone, the woman brought the pole down again on Winston’s back, a bit higher, and twice as hard. Winston heard it whistle through the air before making contact, and this time he not only felt the fracturing of bone, but felt his spinal column sever like a sheared cable. In an instant he could feel nothing beneath his waist. She swung again, his shoulder blades taking the blow, but the next blow came at his neck. The pain exploded in his neck, but went no lower. Now he felt nothing below the neck, and he opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air, unable to work his lungs.
The woman stopped and watched.
“Does it hurt real bad?” the boy asked—not out of malice but curiosity, which was worse. Then the boy giggled. “Most things on earth have no backbone—I learned that in school. Now neither do you.”
They were silent for a moment, waiting.
Then Winston felt the pain come back along his spine, first to his shoulder, then to his mid back, then exploding again through the small of his back, to his legs and feet which he could feel once more. He lost containment—his power spread forth from his soul. The weeds between the tiles grew denser.
The boy pressed his finger against Winston’s spine, prodding the broken vertebrae. “You can regrow your nerves, but you can’t fix the bones,” he said. “You need Dillon for that, verdad?”
Winston’s answer was another wail. His own body was the enemy now, forcing him to feel every ounce of pain, long after any other nervous system would have been rendered useless. He had never longed for death before through all he had experienced, but now he cared about nothing but ending the pain.
“We can’t leave him like this,” the boy said.
The woman agreed. “Dillon could still repair him. Even if he dies, Dillon could bring him back.”
The boy got closer to Winston, looking into his eyes. “Cut off his head, and take it with us,” the boy said. “Dillon can’t do a thing if we take that away.” And then the boy bounded out, playtime over.
The woman produced a stubby dagger that would make the job slow and sloppy.
As he watched her approach, Winston wanted the pain to end, and if death was the only way to end it he would accept that—but he would not let himself die at their hands. And so, as the woman approached with the blade, Winston reached out and gathered his power, narrowing it and focusing it on a single greening crack between the floor tiles.
* * *
Maddy Haas, beaten and bruised but still full of fight, struggled against Ari all the way to the Thiran Gate—her struggles were enough to pull her legs free from the ropes but not her hands.
It was maddening to not know why she was taken or what this was all about—only to know that she was some key variable in whatever equation these creatures were working. The first thing she saw as he brought her to the gate was the stunning mass of boats in the bay, and the crowds on the shore that kept their distance. She felt a strange force in the air pressing on her, trying to usurp her will, force her to be still. Perhaps she might have caved into it had she not felt so amped up, and had the source of that power not been so distant. Below, three people crested the rocks of the next cove. Even in the dim dawn, she recognized them right away. It was Dillon, Michael and Tory.
Ari ripped the tape off her mouth. “Call to him,” he demanded, but Maddy would not help him in any way, and so in the end, it was Ari who called out.
“Dillon!”
Dillon looked up, then stopped dead in his tracks. She could only imagine what he felt when he saw her there.
“We saved her soul for breakfast,” Ari yelled. “Shall I eat it now?”
She struggled, but his grip only grew tighter. Did he say soul?
“She’s not a part of this!” Dillon screamed. “Let her go!”
“You come to me now. You come to me and I leave her soul where it is. We make good trade. We trade you, for her soul.”
Dillon hesitated, but only for a moment. He bounded toward the base of the stairs. Tory grabbed for him, but he shook her off, and pushed Michael out of his way.
“That’s right, you come to me now.”
“No, Dillon!” Maddy shouted. Dillon was filled with rage, and it blinded him. He would lose this fight. Ari would kill him.
Ari then put his lips against her ear. “You the lucky one,” he said, planting a kiss on her neck. “He dies, you keep your soul. For an hour at least. Not bad.”
She would not accept this. All her life was not going to come down to her being a bargaining chip. She would not be the reason that Dillon failed—she could not allow it!
All at once an explosion of glass and stone shook the Earth. Maddy caught a glimpse of it. The small chapel behind them had buckled outward and its stained glass windows had exploded from the pressure of a green mass which had swelled from within. Spiny limbs and mustard-yellow flowers still spread from the ruined structure like the tentacles of an octopus. It drew Ari’s attention and he loosened his grip. Not much, but it was all Maddy needed. She jerked herself free, swung her tied arms like a broadsword, and knocked him down against the stone of the arch. When he tried to get up, she kicked him in the chin, shattering his jaw, and took off down the steps.
“Maddy!” Dillon had reached the base of the stairs more than a hundred yards below, and began racing up—but not fast enough, because Ari was already rising to his feet behind her, beginning his pursuit.
She picked up the pace, but with her hands still tied she couldn’t balance herself and went tumbling down the stairs, hitting the steps as she passed the altars of the patron saints. When she got control of her fall and
wrestled herself back to her feet, there was someone standing beside her. Not Dillon; not Ari; someone else. Someone who grabbed her and pulled her close to him. It was a face she had seen once before and had never wanted to see again. Long black hair; a face both masculine and feminine at once. Okoya.
“No!” Dillon screamed from below. “Stay the hell away from her.”
But Okoya ignored him. Holding her tightly he looked into her eyes. “It is your choice,” Okoya said to her.
She didn’t know what he meant until she looked up the hill to see Ari bounding down toward her. Dillon was much further away and there was no question that Ari would reach her first. What then? Dillon would sacrifice himself to save her soul. His own virtue would destroy him.
And then it all fell into place. There was something she could do. She could remove herself as a variable and stack the equation in Dillon’s favor again.
“You could save him,” Okoya said. “It is your choice.”
He was right. With Okoya’s help, she had the power to turn everything, and what an awesome power it was!
Would you give your life for your country? Bussard had once asked her. Would you give your soul?
For her country, perhaps not—not anymore. But for Dillon? For the world? There was only one answer; without pause.
“Do it!” she ordered Okoya, pressing herself into his embrace. “Do it now.”
There was no time for second thoughts. She steeled herself as a red light shot from Okoya’s eyes and nostrils. She didn’t wait for him to find her soul, she opened up her soul for him, practically hurling her essence out of her body into those hungry, groping tendrils. She felt her spirit leaving her flesh and for the briefest of instants felt Ari pulling her body away from Okoya, but it was too late, for she was free from her body—and there was joy, immense joy in the knowledge that she had bested him! That she had won! But in an instant her thoughts and memories were tugged from her as her soul discorporated and disconnected from her mind. She was a spirit without a name, without memory and she was moving down a dark path. She was being swallowed. And although there should have been terror as Okoya devoured her, she had none, because there was one thought she was able to take with her, that silenced all fear. It was an unvanquishable sense of victory. She held on to that victory as long as she could, content in that singular knowledge until her soul met eternity and perished.
* * *
Dillon saw everything.
He saw Okoya grab her. He saw him hold her close. He saw the tendrils of light vomited up from the pit of Okoya’s being, and he felt her soul pulled from her body and disappear into Okoya. He felt her die, and there was nothing he could do about it. How could he have let this happen? How could he have not seen the Vector lurking inside of Ari back in Poland? Now Ari grabbed Maddy’s empty shell, pulling her away from Okoya.
“Try bargaining now,” he heard Maddy say to Ari, but it wasn’t Maddy speaking, not anymore. It was just her empty shell that spoke; her dead, soulless shell, still mimicking life.
Another Vector was descending the stairs; a boy, but his gaze wasn’t on Dillon, it was fixed on Okoya. There was so much hate in that gaze that Dillon now knew everything Okoya had told them was true. Okoya was hated by his own kind. He truly had sided with the Shards to save himself. But there was no salvation for Okoya. Not now; not ever, for he had devoured Maddy and no pit in hell was deep enough for him now.
With tears of fury blinding him, Dillon grabbed Okoya and hurled him down the steps. He lost his balance, and together they rolled down towards the bay.
“I’ll kill you! You son-of-a bitch! I’ll kill you!” Dillon began pounding Okoya’s head against the stone, not wanting to stop; never wanting to stop.
“The Vectors are the enemy,” Okoya insisted. “I had to do it. The Vectors are the enemy.”
Dillon couldn’t help himself. He so much wanted to be the destroyer again and in that moment he longed for the spirit of destruction to return to him, allowing him to feed its hunger, creating waves and waves of destruction as he had done two years ago, so he could share his despair with the world.
It was Maddy’s shell that pushed him off of Okoya, having pulled her hands from the bonds. He looked up to see her. It. Maddy undead.
“Don’t be a fool,” It said. “Get out of here.”
He looked up at it, but didn’t see Maddy’s face—all he could see was the vacancy of her eyes.
“I chose this,” It said. “Now make it mean something.”
Okoya grabbed Dillon’s hand. “They’re coming for you,” Okoya said, and spirited him away down the shoreline, toward Michael and Tory, leaving Maddy’s undead husk behind.
“I’ll kill you!” Dillon told Okoya, but it lacked conviction.
“Later,” Okoya told him.
They ran to the rocks where Michael and Tory were waiting, and scrambled over them, to the next cove.
“What happened back there?” Tory asked, and threw a harsh gaze at Okoya. “What’s he doing here?”
Dillon didn’t want to answer—didn’t want to think about it. Okoya urged them on, and they kept moving down the shore, until they were sure the Vectors no longer pursued.
“Now that the Vectors know I’m here, we have very little time,” Okoya told them. “My presence makes the threat far more serious to them.”
“What about Winston?” Michael asked. “Something happened to him—you felt it, didn’t you? We all must have felt it.”
“It’s possible that the Vectors had him—but I think he’s gotten away.” Okoya pointed to Tory. “You go look for him.”
Tory scowled. “I don’t take orders from you.”
“Go, Tory,” Dillon told her. “Michael, you go, too—there’s no telling where he’ll be.”
Tory opened her mouth, as if to say something, but thought better of it and left. Michael lingered a moment more, taking in Dillon’s distraught expression.
“Don’t choke in sudden death, man,” Michael said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’re counting on you to hold things together.”
When they had gone, Okoya turned to Dillon. “Once they find Winston, you must all summon up your strength. Time is short, and all five of you must be ready.”
“Four,” Dillon spat at him. “Lourdes won’t help us.”
And Okoya said, “I wasn’t talking about Lourdes.”
* * *
Winston crawled out of the ruin of the shattered chapel, forcing his way through the thorny trunks of the weed he had cultivated. The ugly woman screamed her fury behind him, hacking the stalks of the monster weed with the knife that had been meant for his decapitation. Although the pain in Winston’s broken spine was more than enough to tear him from consciousness, he forced himself lucid, for this, he knew, was the most pivotal moment of his life. Dragging himself across the road, his legs and arms barely working, he brought himself to the cliff. There were no stairs at this ledge; it was a sheer drop all the way down to the rocks below, but the woman was running behind him now, swinging the knife angrily at her side as she ran, cutting her own legs in her fury to get to Winston.
It was his mother’s voice that came to him then. He had barely thought of her for weeks, but now she rose to the forefront of his mind and sang to him a gentle song of faith; the gospel that had always comforted her. It used to comfort him as well in his childhood, before he had become this strange and wondrous changeling.
“I hear you,” he whispered. Whatever darkness these Vectors brought with them, whatever portents of despair, he had to have faith. No matter how unlikely, no matter how foolish, he had to believe that something larger than himself, larger than the Vectors, would cradle him and catch him when he fell. With the woman only a few feet away now, he forced his body over the edge and let gravity take over.
37. Scar And Spirit
Less than a quarter mile from the steps where Maddy’s spirit had died, Dillon waited with Okoya for Michael and Tory to return.
Th
e Vectors had not followed them here. They had completely dispensed with Okoya and the Shards. Dillon could see the boy, and the man who had once been Tessic’s pilot standing in the stone arch at the head of the cliff, staring out over the bay, ignoring him.
“If we’re such a threat to the Vectors, then why haven’t they come after us?”
“Because they ran out of time,” Okoya said. “They can’t pursue you anymore; they must begin working the scar, and that means we’ve won our first battle. You’ve all survived their attempts to destroy you. Now you will get to face them.”
On the ridge, the third Vector took her place beside the other two framed in the arch, and the moment she did something happened. They began to push out waves of energy; pulses of light that danced across the sky filled with color like a shimmering aurora—beautiful, but Dillon understood its dark purpose. The Vectors were working the scar, caressing it, slowly tearing it open.
As the waves of energy passed, Dillon felt them resonate within him. He felt his own powers begin a new surge, rising like adrenaline. An autonomic reaction to the Vector’s pulses. He held containment, but only barely. If he let loose now, he felt his power would cover the entire Mediterranean, and beyond.
“You are enabled,” Okoya said.
It left him breathless, and yet he knew, even with all that power he held inside, he was powerless to bring back Maddy. A devoured soul was gone—irretrievable even to him.
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