The ground was still rushing towards them, and John’s flight hadn’t “kicked in” again. Think, think! How’d you do it before? Come on!
Then again, that whisper in his mind. …you must fly, Beloved. Fly. The words were so loaded with agony…and yet, they were freighted with terrible, frightening power, power that rushed into him—as if he was trying to drink from a fire hose. They had to be less than one hundred feet from the ground when the plume of fire burst from his feet and legs with a jolt, and just like that, they were flying. John whooped, his voice lost in the rushing wind. He looked down at Sera, and immediately his smile vanished. She was dying; worse, she was giving up, no longer fighting against it. He had to hurry. Shielding her and his face, he closed his eyes and willed himself to go faster.
Long minutes seemed like an eternity to John, insulated from everything with his eyes closed and the wind making him deaf. He felt like he was getting close to where he wanted to go, so he slowed his speed and cracked open his eyes. They were back in Atlanta, and he was near his squat.
“Vic, are you on the line?” The frantic sound of his own voice came as a shock even to him.
“Here.”
“I got her. She’s in a bad way, and I can’t move her any more. I’m takin’ her to my squat. Send whatever you can. She’s not goin’ to make it for much longer without help.”
“Scrambling ECHO Med now.”
He landed with a flare of fire from his legs, like retro-rockets, scorching the asphalt of the roof. He wanted to lay Sera down on the roof, and at the same time, was afraid to, afraid if he let go of her, she would let go of the last bond she had to life. Afraid that only his raw will was keeping her tethered to her poor shattered body. So he stumbled forward, out of the overheated area where he’d landed, and knelt with her still in his arms, limp, bloodied and broken; so very, very broken.
“Sera!” he choked out, then, out of desperation, squeezed his eyes tight shut and tried that wordless communication she had just used with him. Sera! he thought at her, and fumbled for some sense of her.
His eyes were closed, and yet, it was as if he was looking down a long, dark tunnel, and she was at the end of it. She looked back at him, over her shoulder, then away from him, as if the mere sight of him brought her unbearable pain. And suddenly he was flooded with images, with…entire, whole thoughts. Visions of himself, but powerful, wise in a way he couldn’t even fathom himself being. Images of himself wielding the fires as she had, as weapons, as protections, immensely powerful, infinitely precise. Images of himself somehow connected with…everything…past, present, future…
You are the man you should have been, before you were broken. Stronger. Great-hearted. No longer beset with guilt and grief. No longer plagued by doubt and self-loathing. You will become the Instrument of the Infinite, so much more suited than I ever was. You understand Free Will. It is a part of you, hammered into your soul. You know what it is to be mortal, as I did not. You will be both more and less than I was, and both are important. I give you the last of my power, my strength. You will see the way through the darkness of these days and into the light. And he suddenly understood what that was supposed to mean, understood everything she meant, what she had determined…
…what she was giving up. Even now, what she was sacrificing.
Because she was no longer a Seraphym, or even an angel, because she had given all of that to him, selflessly, and she was going to the other side, not knowing what she would become or what she would find when she got there. Merely whatever it was a mortal became when she died? No longer able to hear the chorus of her Siblings? She didn’t even know, not for certain, that she had done the right thing. She knew only that she would have sacrificed everything, and the only thing she dared to hope for was to hear the words, well done, my faithful servant, when she let go of life—
He reacted instantly to that thought. No! He couldn’t let her do this!
He could taste her fear, and fear was something so very foreign to her. But there was nothing before her now but loneliness and uncertainty, and so, she feared.
She was sacrificing herself a second time to save the world, yes, but also to save him. Giving up her power, giving up that connection with whatever it was that was Beyond. And doing so without reward, as she had knowingly given up any hope of regaining the first and only mortal love she had ever known, so that he, he would be free to make unfettered choices.
Him. And he didn’t even remember any of it…
He felt her, in his mind. She was drifting into darkness; he reached out for her, willing her to stay. She retreated from him and he pursued, pushing frantically through the dark, desperate to reach her before she was irrevocably out of reach. For a moment, she vanished, and he thought with a flare of terror that he had lost her—
But then he saw her again, poor broken wings dragging from her back like a tattered cloak, illuminated as if by a spotlight in the darkness, looking up. Yearning upwards. He hurried to her side and saw that she was staring upwards into a blinding light, with every fiber of her speaking how much she wanted to reach that light.
And yet…she couldn’t. It was out of reach. She could no longer fly.
Still staring into the light, with soundless tears pouring from her eyes she sank to her knees. She seemed faded, her once-vivid colors muted, grayed out, as if she had lost everything that had made her vital and alive. Her hair, her tattered wings, now the color of dying roses, her eyes a pale gray, her skin like old paper. Everything about her posture spoke of pain and resignation. She was Moses gazing upon the Promised Land, yearning for it, and knowing it was being withheld from her. And he knew, without knowing how he knew, that if this was all that would be granted her, then this was what she would accept, with resignation and grace.
Go, he heard in his mind. I have given you the last of what I held, I release you from any obligations. Go.
For the briefest moment, some dark and self-centered, primordial part of him wanted to leave her there, to take the power that she offered for himself. What works could he accomplish with such power? Everyone that had ever wronged him would be punished, his will would be absolute…
As quickly as the thought came, he banished it from his mind. No. I’m not going to leave you, Sera. I’m not going to let you fade.
Though he could hear her thoughts, it seemed she could not hear his. Why will you not leave? There was an edge of anger to her thoughts, even though her face remained statue-blank, except for the tears pouring down her face. You do not want to be the man you were. You do not wish to be obligated to me. I release you from both those things. Now, go, and leave me! You need not concern yourself any further!
John saw in his mind as she started to fail, fading more and more. She’s letting go…It felt as if every single fiber of his being were crying out at once, willing her not to give up, to stay alive. He had the vaguest sense that the outside world from whatever this place was had gone completely still, frozen. This was the moment, and everything had stopped until an outcome was decided.
John focused, digging deep, trying desperately to reach something, anything that would help. In the periphery of his mind, he heard the music pick up again, different and familiar. He grasped for it…no, that wasn’t right. He embraced it. Sera had said…no, Vickie had said this was the thing that held them together. Whatever it was. So if this held them together, couldn’t he use it to hold her to life?
In that moment John knew why Sera called it the Song as a proper noun, as if it was some sort of primal thing. It felt as if his whole consciousness was bombarded with every strain of music that had ever been or would ever be made, and even some that never could be. He saw things, felt things that he doubted any other mortal ever had; past, present, and future all blended together, whipping through his mind at lightspeed. It was terrifying, glorious, and all-encompassing. He was almost overwhelmed to the point where he lost “sight” of Sera.
And then he remembered.
John reached
down, taking her hand gently into his. Then he flew towards the light, carrying her lightly with him.
They did not so much reach the light, as the light reached them, opening up before them and then enveloping them; he sensed there was, somehow, an even greater Light somewhere ahead—“Light” in the sense of the “Song”—but he also sensed that it was time to stop, before they reached it.
So they came to rest, in a weightless state, cradled in the light. Together. He felt that he was made of light, as was Sera, and yet, somehow, they were also Sera and John, and his memories…his memories were returning. It didn’t feel like he was changing, but rather like a fog was being lifted. It was disorienting for a moment, as his two different perspectives came back together…but he was still himself, he was still John Murdock. His old pain, his old guilt, were both muted. He had the memory of them, but he didn’t feel their burden anymore. He breathed in and let it out in a great sigh before he realized his eyes were still closed. So he opened them.
Sera was—reviving. Like a flower that had been dying for lack of water, and now was waking up to blessed rain. Slowly, her wings unfolded, only they weren’t broken things of shattered bone and feathers, they were fire that was somehow feathers at the same time. Color had come back to her—more than color. Her hair was like moving, living flame, she seemed to be clothed in flames, and as she opened her eyes, he saw they weren’t that sad blue anymore. They were—they were exactly as he had known them, for most of the time he had known her. Golden as the sun, without whites or pupils, glowing and enigmatic.
Exactly as he remembered her. Now that he actually remembered.
One hand went to her lips, as if something about him puzzled, perhaps even startled her. What—? he heard in his mind. How—?
John smiled lopsidedly, moving forward to take her hands into his. Your guess is as good as mine…darlin’.
Her eyes widened, and she was engulfed in fire and joy as she flung her arms about him. Beloved! she cried, and that was all that she said, but that was all she needed to say.
I’m back, love, he thought. It was strange, communicating just by thinking it, but it also seemed to come easily for him. Sorry it took me so long; I guess I took the long way home.
She rested her head on his chest, and they were quiet together for what could have been an age, and could have been no time at all. They just basked in the comfort of each other, needing nothing else.
It was only when a third…presence…spoke to them that they raised their heads, together. Well done, my good and faithful servants, the presence said, or rather, laughed. Not that it laughed at them, more…it laughed for the pleasure of seeing a new creation, or that was the sense that John and Sera shared. They both went still at the same instant, listening attentively. For the moment, at least, there was no fire of rebellion in John Murdock.
And yet it was rebellion on both your parts that has created the unforeseen, the third way; neither up nor down, neither right nor left, but through. This new thing that you have made together could not have been predicted, for it came from Free Will. And again, well done. By being willing to sacrifice all, you have gained all. You complete each other. Sibling, your experience as an immortal—Child, your experience as a mortal—you two will now be something more together. As you foresaw, Sibling, this is the melding that will continue to allow you both to evolve new ways, and create futures, rather than merely See them.
John was the first to “speak up.” What do you mean by “create” futures?
Only the mortal possess Free Will. The Siblings are obedient to the Will of the Infinite, and so they are blinded. They can only See the futures that branch from the actions of the present. They cannot, themselves, deduce new actions and predict new futures. You, as a mortal, always had that gift of Free Will. Now, you both do, and you both share some of the powers of the Siblings. There was a sense of a sigh. It will be limited. You will never see the futures as she once did, for both of you are mortal, with only a fraction of the Celestial now. But be content; if you got but a glimpse of what she once did, it would drive you mad.
John held up one of his hands. That’s fine by me, at least. I’m not sure I’d want to see the future like she did, even if I could.
The Song… Sera faltered. I hear it now but—
It will never again, while you live, fill you as it once did. The voice turned tender. You will never again lose it, either. You will have this…singular love…to fill you, as well, and I think you will find you do not need the Song as much as you once did. You two, and your love, are for each other the connection to the Song, and to this, the Heart of All Time. Again, there was the sense of delighted laughter. Love, oh yes, is always Permitted.
So…what happens now? Where do we go from here? John couldn’t help but feel an urgent need to get back to the world. This place was…wonderful, and beautiful. But he didn’t belong here, not yet.
The futures are yours to decide. Free Will. Take your first steps into the new possibilities. Where do you want to go? Beside him, Sera was nodding, slowly, and he sensed a wonder in her that this precious gift of Free Will was now hers, as well.
He turned to look at Sera for a moment before facing forward again, towards where he thought that the “presence” was, even though it felt as if it surrounded them. Back home, to Atlanta. He felt a smile creep into his face. We’ve got work to do.
So let it be done.
And that was all there was to it. With no sense of shock, he felt himself in his body again, kneeling on a warm surface that smelled of scorched asphalt, and felt Sera still cradled in his arms. Sirens wailed in the distance as he opened his eyes. Sera was staring back into his eyes, smiling, beatific. Her eyes were blue again, but with gold glinting in the depths. And she was healed, whole.
“Hey there, darlin’. Nice t’see you back with us.” John gently brushed a strand of her hair from her eyes.
Her arms tightened around his neck. “And I say the same, Beloved.”
The sirens were growing closer. “I think we can call off the cavalry for now.” John paused, looking off to the side. “Overwatch: Re-open channel to Vix.” Almost before the words were done leaving his mouth, the reply broke over the comms.
“Seggfej!” Vickie shouted into his ear. “Rosseb egye meg! What the hell just happened? Why were you offline? Talk, you fasz fej! My head is ringing like the Liberty Bell and I’m going to be seeing stars for an alattomos week!”
John winced; somehow the “volume” and her cussing were ramped up on his comms. “Take ’er easy, Vic. Call off the medical teams. Sera’s gonna be all right. An’…I’m back. All the way back. Roger that?”
“Te fasz! Bella nearly wiped out the ECHO ambulance when you…wait, what?” There was a silence that practically was a sound in and of itself. “You—what?” Incredulity. “Johnny? You’re back? You mean—the old you? The hell you say!”
“Not quite hell, but yeah, I’m back. You can commence cussin’ again at yer leisure. Head over to CCCP HQ so I can get debriefed by everyone all at once?”
The sirens stopped abruptly. “Vix, stay on-station. I’ll divert to CCCP,” Bella said, the relief in her voice so thick you could have cut it. “Murdock, all I can say is, this had better be one hell of a story.”
“It will be, kiddo. See ya at HQ in five.” John looked down into Sera’s eyes again, felt his mouth relaxing into a grin, a fit match for her joyous smile. “Better make that thirty. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my wife.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Penny Saved
Mercedes Lackey and Dennis Lee
Penny had had three good nights, and she could scarcely believe it. Lacey’s Guy had chased away every single other ghost that had dared show up, and by the third night they weren’t even trying anymore. Not even Momma appeared last night.
When he wasn’t chasing ghosts he just stood by Lacey and stared, as if, unlike some of the other ghosts, he already knew he couldn’t touch her, so he was just touching
her with his eyes. But it wasn’t a creepy-sort-of touching, not like Creepy Man, whose eyes promised something Penny didn’t really understand, but which she instinctively knew would be icky and horrible and scary. It was like he wanted to comfort her when she moaned. Every night he came earlier and stayed later. Today, the fourth day she’d awakened after a good night’s sleep, he was there when she woke up.
He stayed there; through when the Dark Man brought the breakfast pouches and picked Lacey roughly up to take her away so he could clean her.
That was when he finally did something different.
He rushed at the Dark Man, fists and feet flying in a furious attempt to pummel the Devil’s assistant in the same way he pummeled the ghosts.
He didn’t manage to do anything, of course, though he tried all the way to the door, and only when the Dark Man had slammed and locked the door between them did he give up, sagging with a defeat that also seemed angry.
Finally, as Penny froze, the torn-off corner of her food-pouch in her mouth, he whirled to stare at her. And then…then he came towards her.
She began to shake, the pouch dropping out of hands gone suddenly numb with terror.
His stare softened a little as he got closer, and when he got to where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, he dropped down to sit balanced over his toes, not kneeling, but kind of squatting with his butt on his heels. “Hey,” he said. It was the first word he had ever spoken. She hadn’t even been sure he actually could talk.
The constant hum of the ventilation system tended to drown out anything but nearby conversations. Not that anyone would hear the ghost, but if she started to talk, they might hear her, if she didn’t keep her voice down.
She gulped, and looked around, to make sure the others weren’t paying any attention. They already thought she was crazy; she didn’t need them seeing her talking to empty air. “Hey,” she whispered back, wondering how he was sitting like that. Okay, true, he was a ghost, but he sat as if this was the same way he would perch when he was alive. Balanced there, easily, comfortably, like a gymnast.
Collision: Book Four in the Secret World Chronicle - eARC Page 34