Harbinger (The Bleeding Worlds)

by Justus R. Stone

  Falling, falling. Becoming the shadow.

  §

  Pridament choked on the pounding of his heart. He gripped his staff harder, trying to keep it steady and from slipping through his sweat slicked fingers. The cold air blowing through the remains of the roof bit at his face, even as his body pulsed with heat.

  Four feet behind him, Gwynn made the sounds of a mortally wounded man on the battlefield.

  “Step aside Pridament.” Elaios commanded. “The boy is dying, and you can’t stop it. At least let me make it mercifully swift for him.”

  “You forgot what mercy was when you threw your lot in with the Fallen, Elaios.”

  From behind, Gwynn said something. The word made Pridament’s blood chill. Despite the threat from Elaios, he broke his eyes from her and chanced a glance over his shoulder at Gwynn.

  Then he started shouting.

  “No, Gwynn. No, don’t.”

  The boy started convulsing. He’d waited too long.

  “Gwynn…” Elaios said from behind him. “My God, Pridament. You kept going. Even after I told you not to, you still went ahead. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

  “What I had to.”

  The floor creaked under the shifting of her weight. Pridament closed his eyes, drew a slow breath, waited a fraction of a second more, and then spun, throwing his weight behind the arc of his staff. The resistance as it struck Elaios’ midsection gave him great satisfaction.

  Pridament opened his eyes to see Elaios crumpled on the ground. She drew herself up to a crouch, holding her side.

  “You’re a fool. Don’t you remember what I told you?”

  “You said if I kept searching, it would be your undoing.”

  She laughed—a sick, humorless rattle. “Men. Your memories are so selective.”

  Gwynn began to scream.

  “Do the right thing.” Elaios said. “Kill him while you still have the chance.”

  She began to fold space. Pridament moved toward her. If he didn’t grab hold of her, keep hold of her, he would have no way of knowing where she’d gone. His fingers wrapped themselves in the cloth of her cloak.

  “You’ll have to choose.” She screeched. “What’s more important to you? Me or the boy?”

  Behind him, Gwynn’s situation was dire. The transformation had begun. His fingers slipped away from Elaios’ cloak, the world snapping back into place as she fled.

  Gwynn’s eyes were bloodshot. His bones creaked and cracked as his hands elongated into claws. Black splotches mottled his skin, spreading and expanding like a virus. He sat bolt upward and fell to his hands and knees. His right arm tore at the air in front of him. A slight loosening of Pridament’s abdominal muscles gave him a familiar signal; Gwynn had just sealed the tear in the Veil.

  “Thanks Gwynn,” Pridament whispered, “but this is going to hurt.”

  Pridament waited. Gwynn rose up on his knees, revealing Pridament’s target. Pridament jammed his staff into Gwynn’s midsection. Maybe, just maybe, he would interrupt the flow of the energy coursing through Gwynn’s body. Or he would finish the job Elaios had started.

  Gwynn howled and fell backward. He thrashed for the longest five minutes Pridament had ever experienced and then fell silent. Pridament willed himself to breathe. The black splotches on Gwynn’s skin began to recede. The boy’s bones slid back into their original shape.

  When Gwynn’s outward appearance had returned to normal, Pridament risked a basic assessment of the boy’s condition. He moved his hands along Gwynn’s extremities and risked putting some pressure against the boy’s chest. Everything appeared to be in place and whole. Gwynn’s breathing became steady and free of any crackles. The bruising and lacerations on his flesh had vanished. All evidence of Elaios’ beating had disappeared.

  “Adrastia” Gwynn said in the hoarse, hushed voice of the dreamer.

  “No Gwynn. Don’t go with her. Come back. Let go of her hand.” Pridament caressed Gwynn’s face. He placed his hand on the boy’s chest, willing Gwynn back to the waking world. He felt something beneath Gwynn’s shirt. Pridament reached down and pulled the chain around the boy’s neck. Attached to it was a Saint Christopher medallion.

  “I hope he does a better job of watching over you, kid.” Pridament said.

  Gwynn began to stir. Pridament tucked the medallion back inside Gwynn’s shirt.

  Gwynn groaned. “Am I dead?”

  “Not yet kid. How do you feel?”

  Gwynn drew open his eyelids and took a cautious look around his surroundings. “Not as bad as I should. Where’d the psycho bitch go?”

  “Would you believe me if I said you scared her off?”

  Gwynn’s eyes said Bullshit. “Am I that scary when I’m unconscious?”

  “No. Can you get up?”

  Gwynn inched his way to a sitting position.

  “Hurt?”

  “No.” Gwynn seemed perplexed. “A little stiff though.”

  “What about your headache, or that throbbing in your arm?”

  Gwynn blinked. “Gone. Wait, no, still a little, but nothing like it was. What did you do?”

  “Nothing. You closed your tear in the Veil. What about the sky? How does it look to you?”

  Gwynn turned to the torn out side of the roof. “Overcast.”

  Pridament gave the boy a once over. “Are you sure? Overcast?”

  Gwynn shrugged. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Because it’s been sunny for the past couple of days. Quite unusual for November.”

  “That’s not what I see.”

  “I know.” Pridament’s expression darkened. “I thought it was your connection with the Veil playing with your senses.”

  Gwynn got to his feet and walked over to the hole in the roof, his gaze moving up to the sky.

  “My God.”

  “What do you see?” Pridament asked. His stomach twisted.

  “It… it looks like a whirlpool in the sky.” He turned back to Pridament, his eyes panicked. “What is it?”

  Pridament sighed, a weight heaving itself on his shoulders. How many worlds? How many would be enough?

  “I’ve heard of it before.” He shook his head. “A madman once described it to me. He said, “‘The Veil will open its maw and devour the world.’”

  12/ Refusing Destiny

  The key slid in the door, sounding hollow and alone. Fuyuko opened the front door of the small bungalow she had called home for the past three weeks. The silence blanketed her. She had a cot in one of the back bedrooms as her sole furnishing.

  Fuyuko dropped her backpack on the counter and opened the fridge. Another night of noodles. She gave a weary sigh and tried to convince herself this served some purpose. Hadn’t she contacted Justinian for that reason? Because she couldn’t find that purpose. She pounded her fist on the counter. The feel of the impact reverberated up her arm into her shoulder. The sensation gave her comfort. Something solid that pushed back. Her world. No matter what ideas or philosophies Suture taught, this world, the one that she could touch, was all she knew or cared for. The last time she had dared mention this, Caelum suggested she felt that way due to being a Fragment. He made the gentle suggestion that maybe if she were a Script she would understand. She rewarded him with a case of frostbite.

  Caelum remained at Suture. She couldn’t recall a mission they had worked apart. She couldn’t recall a time when any of them had worked alone. Yet here she was. Strong Fuyuko. Dependable Fuyuko. Lonely, confused and frustrated Fuyuko.

  She pulled the cell phone from her pocket. It seemed so heavy and cold sitting in her hand. Just like the house she lived in, there was nothing outstanding or interesting about it. No company logos, nothing fancy, just pure function.

  She flipped it open. If she pressed and held the five key, she would reach Suture. She had done that last night—the first time she had used the phone in her three weeks. She let out a long breath. The silence suffocated her. She needed to call someone.

  Jason. What she w
ould give to speak to him. She sighed. Even if you could reach individual members of Suture, she didn’t know how. She ran through the names of her friends. All of them probably in the barracks or out on some mission. One option remained. Her last option.

  “Hello?”

  Fuyuko winced at the sound of the voice. She had to steady herself before responding. “Hi dad.”

  “Hello Fuyuko.” His tone sounded stilted, formal. “How are your studies going?”

  “I’m on the secure line dad.”

  In her mind, she saw him shift. Initially, he would’ve been reclining in a chair, or reclining against the wall. The mention of “secure line” would have him hunched over the phone, forming a defensive shield with his body. His tone became low, conspiratorial.

  “Good. How is your mission proceeding?”

  “I’d be able to tell you if I had any idea what my mission is.”

  “Is it a matter of not knowing or that you’ve failed to put in the proper amount of research?”

  Her father had a talent of using words like swords—each one sharpened and stabbed at the right place to inflict the most damage.

  “They dropped me off at this house, told me to go to school, and keep my eye out for some kid who goes there. How am I supposed to prepare for a mission like this? No technical data, no specifics on the desired outcome. They didn’t even give me a map of the city or a floor plan of the school.”

  “These sound more like complaints of one who fears work. Or perhaps you have doubts in Suture?”

  “I have never once turned away from difficulty.” Breathe. Breathe and don’t give into him. Fuyuko told herself. “I am just saying that this is unlike any mission I’ve ever been sent on.”

  “Is that why you called to speak with a senior member in the field?”

  It sounded more like an accusation than a question.

  “You know about that?”

  “You must understand my position within Suture by now, Fuyuko. There isn’t much that happens that I don’t know about.”

  She clenched her fists and gave a silent curse. Her father held an important position with Suture. If pressed on it, she had to admit she didn’t even know what he did. But he always knew. If she failed a training exercise, or been less than stellar in the field, she could never hide it from him.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Did he provide you with enough assistance?”

  Had he? Fuyuko almost laughed. He’d done nothing but add to the questions she had. Having mulled her meeting over in her mind as she walked home, she’d come to the painful conclusion that Justinian had told her in a polite way to shut up and wait for further instructions.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Then I suggest you spend some time contemplating what he said. In the meantime, your mother is eager to speak with you.”

  If she had been so eager to speak with me, why couldn’t she have answered instead of you? Fuyuko tried to calm the raging of her heart. She had no desire to take it out on her mom.

  “Hello sweetheart.”

  “Hi mom.”

  “I understand from your father that you’ve been having some difficulty with this mission?”

  “Is that what he said? Difficulty? This isn’t difficult mom; it’s not even a mission. Dad would’ve never allowed Katsuro to be stuck in something like this.”

  Bringing up his name struck her with regret. Silence dragged on for a minute on the other end of the phone.

  “Ah, I see. Well, you know what I used to do as a girl when I needed to figure things out?” Her mother continued past the mention of Katsuro, but the sound of hurt clung to her words. “Go for a ride on a swing.”

  “You know I’m seventeen, right mom?”

  “You are never too old to ride a swing, dear. Besides, it’s quite cool, I would think you’d enjoy the chilled air.”

  “Maybe.” Fuyuko grumbled.

  “Never mind your father’s harsh tone, Fuyuko. He loves you and is very proud of you. It’s just hard for him to say.”

  No, it isn’t. He just has no desire to. “I know mom. Good night.”

  §

  Gwynn’s body shook. It had nothing to do with the cold.

  “You’re telling me you can’t see it?”

  Pridament hung his head. “No. Like I said, I’ve only been told about it.”

  “It looks like a twister is about to rip the town apart! How the hell can you not see it?”

  “Because I’m not a Script.”

  Pridament’s weak smile infuriated Gwynn.

  “You get that I have no idea what that means, right?” Gwynn’s fingers ached from balling into tight fists. “For god’s sake, just tell me what is going on.”

  Pridament moved beside Gwynn. “You need to understand that not all Anunnakis are created equal. You remember how I said my glyphs were incomplete?”

  Had he said that? Maybe. In the coffee shop. That seemed so far away.

  Gwynn just nodded.

  “Because of that, I can’t see the vortex in the sky. I can’t see, or close, a tear in the Veil unless I made it. It takes six Fragments to seal a natural tear in the Veil. Someone like you, a Script, you can do all those things alone. The symbols on our arms are like a story. When you have the complete story, you can see all the aspects and themes of it. You can understand its rules and characters. You can’t do that when you only have a fragment of it. You just can’t see the complete picture.”

  “So what are you saying?” Gwynn inspected his right arm and the symbols that extended to his fingers. “I’m some sort of freak. Some super god?”

  Pridament’s eyes softened. “No, no, not a freak at all. Just, rarer, than the average. At best estimates, about ten percent of Anunnakis are Scripts. If anything, I’m the freak. Fragments are broken, unable to use the full extent of our powers unless as a group. There’s some who think we’re less pure, less worthy of the title of Anunnakis.”

  Too much. They were both freaks, just one bigger than the other. Gwynn gripped his hair and sunk to his knees.

  “So what is that thing? Why is it here?”

  Pridament continued to stand, searching the skies, seeming to try to do what he had just said was impossible.

  “When tears in the veil occur in close proximity, they can weaken the boundary between two worlds. Think of it this way, you have to glasses filled with water, and they sit open end to open end. A piece of plastic is placed between them so the water doesn’t flow from one into the other.”

  “I’m following.”

  “So what happens when the plastic is removed?” Pridament asked. His eyes darkened, and appeared even scared.

  “The water from one glass goes into the other. Probably spills all over the place.” Then it dawned on Gwynn. “Holy shit. You’re saying the veil is the plastic?”

  Pridament gave a slow and sorrowful nod.

  “That woman, the one who attacked me, is she doing this?”

  “I believe so.” Pridament said. “Her name is Elaios. She belongs to a terrorist group called The Fallen. They believe that they must destroy the various versions of Earth throughout the multiverse.”

  “Why?”

  Pridament sighed and sat down next to Gwynn on the floor.

  “The Norse saw the universe as a giant tree, Yggdrasil. The Fallen think that the trunk of Yggdrasil represents the true universe. From that, the branches that continue to multiply are the various universes that splinter off. Just like you prune a tree to keep it healthy, they believe that to save the world, they must eliminate the dead weight.”

  “By destroying entire worlds?”

  Pridament shook his head. “By destroying entire universes. They commit murder in the billions, but they justify it by the belief that all those lives continue in a truer, purer, universe. Some are religious fanatics. They believe when they return to the trunk, they’ll find the roots, and there they’ll find God. I think others just do it because it makes them feel powerful.
”

  “Doesn’t anyone try to stop them?”

  “There is a group…” Pridament trailed off. His jaw clenched and his eyes were angry.

  Gwynn remembered the word. Elaios had said it as she beat him. “Suture.”

  Pridament couldn’t contain his surprise. “How do you know that?”

  “Elaios. She called me a ‘Suture Brat.’ It didn’t make any sense to me at the time. So what is Suture exactly?”

  “About fifty years ago, someone revealed the existence of Anunnakis to world governments.” A tremor of anger went through Pridament’s voice as he said, “To this day, I’m still not certain of that person’s identity.” He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “In any case, the government became aware of the threat of tears in the Veil and that Anunnakis could combat them. A number of years of power struggle ensued. Some governments wanted military applications. Others thought the Anunnakis should guard against invasions from other worlds. Eventually, the threat from outside our world, or a veil collapse, persuaded the world governments to create the entity known as Suture. With the decision made, the varying factions of Anunnakis made a pact. They divided the world into sectors and took ownership of protecting their assigned area.”

  “So who’s supposed to be protecting us?” Through gritted teeth, Gwynn added “And where the hell are they now?”

  Pridament got to his feet and dusted himself off.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? If this is Suture’s job, where are they now?”

  “You don’t seem like a fan.”

  “It’s good in theory, I suppose.” Pridament shook his head. “But how long can you tie egos that large together without a power struggle? These men and women have known the adoration and worship of being gods. They won’t take orders forever.” He turned his head toward the skies over the city again. His voice softened, maybe doubtful. “We might have to do this ourselves.”

  “Say that to me again?” Gwynn’s voice shook.

  “You’re a Script. You could stop it.”