Harbinger (The Bleeding Worlds)

by Justus R. Stone

  “Right.” Gwynn said. “We need to go upstairs.”

  Gwynn led the way. He inched up the stairs. His head felt light and his body slow to respond. Halfway up, he took a step and misjudged. His toe slid back from the slick, polished surface sending his knee hammering down with the sound of a gunshot on the step. Shockwaves of pain radiated up through his hips and into his already jarred stomach.

  Heavy footsteps approached from below.

  “Damn.” Pridament didn’t bother to whisper.

  The phantom male appeared from the door he had gone through earlier. What could they tell him? That they weren’t there and he should just ignore them? To think of it like a bad radio station where multiple channels bled into each other.

  The phantom locked angry eyes on them. Words would be useless.

  The man began to solidify, but as he did so, his body distorted. His limbs elongated in a series of sickening snaps and gushes. The eyes that still stared at Gwynn and Pridament went yellow and feline. His jaw gnashed and extended downward, revealing a series of razor sharp teeth.

  Gwynn couldn’t move. Something stirred in the darkest corner of his mind. A memory of some past horror started to shuffle forward. He tried to block it out, focusing on the real horror taking shape in front of him.

  “No. No. No. God, no.” Gwynn’s voice shrieked.

  Pridament gripped Gwynn’s shoulder. “You need to go and close that tear.”

  A chill seeped through Gwynn’s limbs, freezing him to the spot.

  “Gwynn!” Pridament yelled and shook him. “Gwynn!”

  Gwynn stirred. “What?”

  “You need to close that tear.”

  “How?”

  “Just touch it with your right arm. Imagine a door closing in your head when you do. Just trust yourself, you can do it.”

  The creature below them howled a high pitch that tore at Gwynn’s ears and nerves.

  “Go!” Pridament yelled.

  Gwynn stumbled, but turned and clawed his way up the remaining stairs. The heavy slapping sound of flesh against wood signaled the monster’s ascent.

  The hair on Gwynn’s neck stood on end, like he had built up a static charge. He spared a moment to glance back. Pridament, armed with a staff, stood ready to meet the monster’s advance.

  Gwynn launched himself onto the landing and slammed hard into the wall. He fell to his knees as the air went out from him. The hall became a fun–house parody of the place Gwynn recalled—it twisted and curved under his feet. Gwynn fell from the wall to the banister as he made his way to the door he hoped would still lead him to the attic. From behind, the sounds of battle drew his attention—Pridament sparring with the creature.

  Gwynn inched toward the door at the end of the hall and saw the attic ladder still lowered. He seized hold and started to climb.

  Breaching the attic felt like surfacing from beneath water. It seemed unaffected by the madness in the rest of the house. A cool breeze blew through the hole the explosion had torn in the roof. For a moment, Gwynn could forget the insanity his life had become. The air smelled pure. Sounds of the battle raging below his feet broke the moment and Gwynn poured his eyes over the attic. After the third pass with his eyes, he started to panic. He couldn’t see the tear. What if he couldn’t close it? Would he lose his mind? Would phantom monsters keep bleeding into his world? He pushed himself forward in a frantic search. Just as fear threatened to crush him, he brushed a cold spot. The chill ran up his arm into his spine. Seeing it now, he understood why he had missed it. From one angle, nothing. From another, a slight ripple similar to the horizon on a road during a hot day. Gwynn reached a tentative hand toward the tear. The first time hurt so much, and he couldn’t ignore the destruction in evidence all around him. His life, Sophia’s life, all torn apart in a single moment. Should he take the plunge again?

  His fingers stroked the top of the tear and tingled, like touching a balloon rubbed vigorously through someone’s hair.

  Something hit him hard and sent him flying away. He struck what remained of the roof and tasted blood in his mouth.

  Above the ringing in his ears, a voice said, “Time to die, Suture brat.”

  §

  She had never questioned orders. Even as she made her way to his office, Fuyuko’s stomach churned. She paused outside the door with her hand raised, ready to knock. Maybe she should forget it. Perhaps she should appreciate the easiness of this assignment. After all, schoolwork had been the hardest part so far, and it was pedestrian compared to her regular studies.

  “Are you going to stand out there all day, or come in?” A loud, deep, voice boomed from the other side of the door.

  Fuyuko entered the office, taking note of the Spartan conditions. How did others interpret it? A lack of interest? Desire to separate personal and professional life? From her years in Suture, she understood; leave fast, leave little impression. A ridiculous proposition for ones such as themselves. The last assignment she had they left more than just an impression, they left a crater.

  The office’s only occupant sat at the desk. The last time she had seen him he had been over six feet tall, with longish brown hair. The man sitting at the desk appeared much older, shorter, and pudgier. What had he said to her all those years ago? “It’s all about mass.”

  He smirked. “Is the appearance disturbing you? I could change back if you want.”

  Fuyuko shook her head. “No, no, that’s not necessary. Though it’s quite the change. I never would’ve recognized you.”

  “Well, that’s sort of the point, is it not?” He laughed. “So what’s troubling you Fuyuko?”

  “Troubling me?” She chastised herself for allowing a nervous tremor to enter her voice. “What would make you think I’m troubled?”

  The man, she had known him as Justinian, steepled his fingers and drilled into Fuyuko with his eyes.

  “You did send in a request to speak to a senior active member, did you not? I mean, I’ve been under cover here for several years. I’m certain you wouldn’t have known who I was unless the home office informed you.”

  “Yes, of course, you’re right.” Fuyuko hesitated. Even if orders weren’t clear, they were still orders, right? Still, she needed to know. Too many things were happening that just didn’t add up. She took a deep breath and voiced what had bothered her since she’d arrived in this faceless city. “It’s just, well, I’m wondering why I’m here.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  Frustration, insecurity, and Justinian’s smug tone opened the floodgates—she unleashed with reckless abandon.

  “Don’t get smart with me Justinian. As you said, you’ve been under cover for several years. Why? What is so damn important about this town? Why aren’t we just cleaning up the tears like we always do and calling it a day? Why am I here alone? I mean, what good am I alone if a tear needs closing? I’m not a Script.”

  She huffed and her cheeks flooded with heat. It took two long breaths for the horror of her actions to sink in.

  Justinian’s demeanor remained cool. If he’d taken offense, he didn’t show it. He gestured to the seat in front of his desk.

  “Have a seat, Fuyuko.”

  She sat, not sure what to say next. She’d learned, more from her parents than Suture, that sometimes silence said more than a stammering apology.

  “You shouldn’t belittle yourself. If I recall, you’re the most formidable Fragment in the program. I hear that you managed to pull a rabbit out of the hat.”

  “How would you have heard that?”

  He smiled. “Information is my business. Now, don’t worry about what you just said, you can speak freely with me. I’ve known your family a long time. I was one of Katsuro’s first teachers.”

  She flinched. Despite her best efforts, that wound remained fresh.

  “I’m sorry.” Justinian said. “I didn’t think. A good man, your brother. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for your family.”

  “It’s fine. That’s how Suture wo
rks. We don’t choose where we’ll be. My brother embraced his abilities as fate. He’d be proud of how he died. He knew the risks. We all do.”

  “Yes, yes I guess that’s true. But you came here for a reason, not to dwell on the past.”

  Fuyuko sighed. “It’s just that things are usually so straight ahead. Go in, find the tear, and close it. This time, I know there’s a tear, I can feel it in every part of my body, yet I’m to do nothing but watch some boy who’s only been in school one day out of the past two–and–a–half weeks that I’ve spent here.”

  “I understand your frustration Fuyuko, really. When I first arrived, I had no idea what to do. I had virtually no instructions. Over time, instructions did come. Because of small things I did, larger events were set into motion. After a while, I started to see that there were larger plans at work. Perhaps plans so large that I considered myself lucky I didn’t know all the details. Instead, I continued my day–to–day routines and waited for further instructions. I suggest that maybe you should do the same. Consider it a break from the routines of Suture.”

  “Maybe. But what have you been doing here Justinian? Maybe I could figure out what to do if I heard about your experiences.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “You know it doesn’t work that way Fuyuko. I’m a senior active. I’m here to be a sounding board, a mentor, and if the worst should happen, to save your ass. Outside of that, the rules of ‘right to know’ still apply. And I’m sorry to say, you don’t have that sort of clearance.”

  Fuyuko’s chair became far more uncomfortable. Talk of clearances, rights to know. It sounded too much like the conversations at home. Too much like the answers she received about Katsuro.

  “So what should I do?”

  “Well, you said you were sent to keep an eye on him. Do that. Try befriending him. I can tell you from what I’ve seen; the boy could use some friends. Other than that, relax, keep your eyes open. One day, a letter will be in your mailbox, or an email, or you’ll get a phone call. Perhaps none of those things will come. Instead, you’ll just be in the right place at the right time and do the right thing. All I can say is do what you think is right. If you’re wrong, I’m sure you’ll hear about it.”

  Fuyuko didn’t like the cryptic nature Justinian’s instructions were taking. She headed to the door.

  “Thanks for your time Justinian.”

  “Anytime Fuyuko.”

  She turned on her way out.

  “One last question. Why didn’t you say anything to me when I first arrived? Why wait until home office instructed you to talk to me?”

  Justinian’s smile cooled. “It’s been six years since we last met, Fuyuko. A lot can happen in that time. I wouldn’t break my cover for anyone, unless instructed to. If I can give you any advice, it would be that. Keep who you are close and to yourself. Only break that silence when you have to. That tip might save your life someday. I have a question for you Fuyuko.”

  “Sure.”

  “What did you think of Gwynn?”

  “Average. Angry and withdrawn. A typical teenager. Why?”

  Justinian gave an icy laugh. “Odd. When I first saw him, I saw a killer.”

  11/ Grasping at an Offered Hand

  Since the car crash, life continued on stolen time. Now someone guised as a woman with silver hair and hands engulfed in blue flame had come to collect.

  She grabbed Gwynn by his collar and hoisted him into the air above her.

  “Aren’t you even going to try to fight back?” She hissed.

  Her free fist caught him hard in the abdomen. The impact reverberated up his spine followed by cold, biting, and clawing his flesh. Gwynn couldn’t make out details of the world anymore. He tried to focus, but his vision alternated with flashes of light or shrouds of darkness. Another hit to his midsection and then she threw him. He crumpled on the floor, the sensation of a thousand knives stabbing him. He coughed and choked on fluid that flooded his lungs.

  The woman said something, but Gwynn couldn’t focus on it. Why hadn’t he lost consciousness yet? Why wasn’t he dead? Pain pressed inward through his head, his skull collapsing in on itself. He tried to ignore the agony, tried to see, speak, or do anything.

  She left him on the ground, pausing her attack.

  Gwynn’s vision began to clear. The pain made everything brighter, blowing details out of focus. Gwynn could make out the woman, who knelt down near his head. Did he see pity in her eyes? Or was the pain playing with his head?

  “In another life,” she said, “this would’ve been unnecessary. We shouldn’t be fighting; we should unite in guiding the world to a greater vision. Please understand, I bear you no ill, but I can’t let you stop this. In the end, you should hate Suture, sending children to do the work of adults. Maybe when you join with the Veil, you’ll understand. When that happens, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  She raised her hand and the fire widened and roared.

  I’m going to die. A laugh played in his mind. It’s not as scary as I imagined it would be.

  Before she delivered the killing blow, a large shape that Gwynn couldn’t focus on, slammed into her. The shape and woman sprawled out of Gwynn’s line of sight. He tried to move, to see, but even small movements sent explosions of pain raging through his body. When he caught sight of them again, he recognized the shape as Pridament. The two stood facing off against one another.

  The woman lunged at Pridament, who turned her away with a stinging shot of his staff. It meant nothing to her. She pressed her attack, stepping toward the staff, just to feint one direction, stepping and twisting to the other. Pridament seemed in control, though Elaios’ blows were coming close to hitting his head. He swept at her feet with his staff and she catapulted backward, landing just outside his range. She charged forward, connecting a blow to Pridament’s shoulder. He spun and struck her in the back as her momentum carried her forward. The woman hit the ground but rolled to her feet unfazed.

  Gwynn waited for the woman’s next onslaught. Instead, she straightened and brushed the dust from herself. Pridament didn’t release his defensive stance. Pridament’s chest heaved with each breath, but his staff remained steady.

  “Pridament.” The woman said. “It’s been too long since we danced with each other.”

  “Not long enough, Elaios.”

  “So,” an audible sneer in her voice, “you’ve thrown your lot in with Suture?”

  “You should know better.”

  She gestured toward Gwynn. “The boy?”

  “Just that, a boy who tore the Veil and is trying to understand what’s happening to him. You remember how that felt Elaios? To tear through the Veil for the first time—the pain, the energies you couldn’t control? He’s here because when it happened to him, he didn’t close off the Veil. He’s been attached to it since.”

  “How long?”

  Pridament hesitated. Gwynn couldn’t see the man’s eyes.

  “Almost two weeks.”

  The woman, Elaios, looked at Gwynn with dismay. “Impossible. He’s still intact”

  “Even after what you’ve done to him.”

  “Then he’s…”

  “Yes. A Script.”

  Elaios shook her head. “You know I can’t let him go. If Suture finds him, they’ll use him to stop us. That can’t happen.”

  “What you’re doing is wrong Elaios. Have you lost your vision? Can’t you see the calamity that is coming?”

  Gwynn couldn’t follow their conversation anymore. An elephant’s worth of weight sat on his chest, collapsing ribs into lungs. Any moment, the fighting would begin again. How long until Pridament lost, or the woman got close enough to Gwynn to finish him off?

  “I think, once upon a time, they were lovers.” A soft, high–pitched female said.

  Gwynn rolled over to try to see the source. The crushing in his chest increased. He gasped for air.

  A face came into view over top of him. Her pale porcelain skin contrasted with midnight black hair and
clothes. Her green eyes shone like flawless gems held up to the sun.

  “Do you remember me Gwynn?”

  He remembered her—the girl from Mr. Baker’s classroom. Now, something else played at the fringes of his mind. Through the delirium of dying, or maybe being free of the distraction of his classmates, he truly saw her. Falling into her eyes, a memory lurched into place, a name filed away and forgotten.

  “Adra…stia?”

  She caressed his cheek with a cool hand. “Sweet boy, you do remember.”

  Gwynn wanted to protest. It couldn’t be Adrastia. She had been an imaginary friend, a secret confidant.

  “Let me help, Gwynn. Let me take the pain away. Just take my hand and I promise everything will be better.”

  Gwynn hesitated. If she was Adrastia, something in his universe had changed. Like all childhood imaginings, he’d left her behind.

  “Just take my hand.”

  Gwynn just wanted to close his eyes and forget life and its cruel jokes. Every time things settled, every time happiness seemed possible, life found a way to fall apart. He wanted things to be better. He wanted the pain to go away. He reached toward Adastria’s outstretched hand.

  A sound came to Gwynn. It sounded distant—echoing like it had raced to him through a long tunnel. Maybe a voice? He didn’t care anymore. He’d lost Sophia, his mom and dad were gone, and it seemed to follow that he should go too. Maybe Jaimie could find the life raising him had denied her. Maybe he should let go.

  “Take my hand Gwynn.” Adrastia urged again. “Before you give up, before you slip into nothingness, take my hand. The pain will go away. It’s time you take your rightful place in the story of your life.”

  Gwynn took hold.

  The world exploded into a million shards of glass.

  Everything fell away into darkness.

  As a single drop of water, Gwynn hurtled toward a vast ocean. He struck it and his consciousness rippled to the furthest reaches.

  He was nothing, yet he was everything.

  The ripples rushed back toward him; an overwhelming wave of power. He drowned in darkness. He sputtered and choked. Something tugged at him from below the surface. The tendrils of the ages curled around him. A thing that defied names, definitions and time itself.