Harbinger (The Bleeding Worlds)

by Justus R. Stone

  Lights started going on around her. Bright, powerful spots. She braced herself.

  “You seem to be failing this exercise, Fuyuko.” A male voice said.

  As he stepped from the shadows, she gasped.

  “Paltar?”

  “Who else would be evaluating you?”

  Fuyuko’s eyes grew accustomed to the lights. Not just Paltar, but the entire Ansuz team, including Jason, were present.

  The sight of Jason made her heart leap. She wanted to tell him about everything that had happened. Her need to have him hold her and say everything was fine verged on desperation.

  But Jason did not seem pleased to see her.

  Nor did anyone else.

  “I don’t understand.” Fuyuko said. “What do you mean ‘evaluating’?”

  “This has been a test. Sending you out on your own, having you chase after that boy. Even having you end up here, all part of a test. But you haven’t scored too well. Especially since you’ve spent hours wandering around in the dark. I mean, did you ever think of trying the Veil for some aid? Or maybe that if you are attacking an enemy’s stronghold you should be prepared with things like a flashlight?”

  “It all happened so fast. None of us—”

  “Of course none of you did. Certainly, the two men you came in here with weren’t going to come up with that. They were waiting to see what you would suggest.”

  “Why would they—”

  “Because they were in on it. Do you honestly think something like this would happen without Suture being heavily involved? I mean, really, a vortex about to collapse the world and you think we would send just you?”

  “I thought it was odd, but a test?”

  “Well, we don’t let just anyone onto the Ansuz team. You had to be put to a test to prove yourself.”

  “I have proven myself.” She lowered her voice and fought back tears. “I went through all the training, completed five field missions, I even pulled a rabbit out of the hat.”

  “Yes, I heard about that.” His expression said he didn’t believe it. “I’d like to see it for myself.”

  Fuyuko looked at her teacher for a long time. Hadn’t he been there when she had done it? Hadn’t he been the first to pat her on the back? No. Maybe not. Her mind felt muddled. But she had gone through too much; put too much effort into making the Ansuz team. She wouldn’t let it go.

  She tore into the Veil.

  Pulling a rabbit out of the hat, their slang term for pulling an actual being across the Veil. It was difficult. No, it verged on impossible. Unlike Curses, which were creatures who came through a tear of their own volition, these creatures were often extensions of the Anunnaki’s abilities and, if done right, obeyed them.

  She pushed harder into the Veil. Tearing the Veil as an Anunnaki was easy. To push all the way through, to tear deeper than the surface so that the creature could come forward, required intense concentration.

  Fuyuko willed the tear to widen and deepen. At the other end, something began to pull at her mind. Most failed at this point. One of three things happened; you severed the connection, you pulled the rabbit from the hat, or you lost your mind. Fuyuko wouldn’t lose. In her mind, she pictured herself pulling on a fishing pole, reeling in the creature from the other side.

  It resisted her.

  She pulled harder.

  Its consciousness touched her own—feral and angry. She didn’t remember it being so mad before, as if she were doing it some great harm or injustice.

  The tear extended from her arm down to the floor and up above her head. It yawned open and the best lumbered forth.

  It hunched forward on its knuckles—roughly the shape of a gorilla though double the size. It snorted through large nostrils and regarded her with huge yellow eyes. It shook; its long white hair moving in waves and ripples across its skin. Then it roared.

  Fuyuko filled with horror. She wasn’t in control.

  The beast leapt away from her and tore into one of the Ansuz team. Someone screamed. Bodies scrambled anywhere for safety.

  Paltar stood his ground. He tore into the Veil and drew his battle–axe. As the beast approached, he twisted in a smooth motion and cleaved the beast’s head in half.

  The moans of the injured and the weeping for the dead filled the room.

  Paltar approached Fuyuko. “Not only are you not worthy of the Ansuz team, you are not worthy of Suture. Perhaps you should do the honorable thing and fall on your spear.”

  Fuyuko couldn’t remember pulling her spear from the Veil, but now felt its weight in her hand. The sharpened tip beckoned to her and she readied herself to answer the call.

  §

  The room had gone dark for a minute.

  When the lights came back on, Pridament found himself alone. He made a quick scan of the room. No windows and no door behind him where it should’ve been.

  He resisted the urge to call out to Gwynn or Fuyuko. Somehow, they had been folded away from each other—most likely sent to differing areas of the warehouse.

  Pridament tore into the Veil and called his staff. The heft of it helped to drive away some of the dread he felt for his lost companions. He gripped the staff tighter and drew a deep, slow, breath.

  He was in a long, low ceilinged, room littered with boxes. The fluorescent light in the ceiling flickered and sputtered, casting chaotic shadows across the walls and floor.

  Pridament took slow, measured, steps toward the door at the other side. He paid special attention to his balance, his gaze sweeping from one side of the room to the other.

  He stopped. A deep hiss came from the right side of the room.

  A shadow moved on the left.

  Ahead of him, a stack of boxes fell.

  Pridament swung his staff.

  Behind.

  Catching the Curse in the head, sending it flying hard against the wall.

  Pridament twisted the ends of his staff in opposite directions and drew the two halves apart. Thin blades extended from either side. He waited for the Curse to make a move. Boxes flew in all directions where the creature had landed. Something scuttled across the floor, sounding like a million cockroaches fleeing a fire.

  The shadows shifted to his right.

  Pridament attacked to the left.

  The Curse howled as one of the blades slashed across its face.

  Pridament took a clawed hand to the side—dagger–like nails digging trenches in his abdomen. With the warmth of blood coursing down his side, he cracked the Curse in its skull with the other end of his staff and threw himself away from its grasp. Pridament dashed for the door. Boxes tumbled all over the room. The room shook and tilted. He struggled to maintain his balance.

  With a hiss, the Curse flung itself at him. Pridament ducked down and shoved his blades into the air, catching the Curse in the torso.

  Momentum carried the monster forward. The blades cut a deep trough down its centre, splashing the walls and Pridament with black tar. It crashed into the opposite wall and crumbled into a heap. Pridament sat on the floor puffing. When his heart ceased its threat of leaping out his throat, he stood and took a hesitant step toward the Curse. He kicked it hard and the thing crumbled to dust.

  Pridament reassembled the staff and reached to turn the knob to escape. His heart stopped beating for the long moment between twisting the knob and finding out if the door would open. A satisfying click signaled his escape from the room.

  Pridament found himself in a hallway. He hadn’t inspected the building while outside, but based on the length of the hall, he assumed it ran the entire length.

  Pridament inched his way along. Apart from the door he had used to enter, one other door led off the hall. At the end, a set of stairs went up. When Pridament got to the door, he reached out to the knob. An electrical jolt bit his skin when he touched it. His gut seemed to react. He looked down the hall toward the stairs. After a minute of mental tug–o–war, he left the door alone and continued to the stairs.

  From the bottom
of the stairs came the soft whir of machinery.

  He ascended, keeping his back toward the wall and his staff in a defensive position. The top of the stairs opened into a large room. His stomach tightened. He couldn’t see the tear, but he could feel it.

  A single machine occupied the room. It consisted of a large pod connected to several monitors. Pridament hazarded a glance in the pod and gasped. He tore at the cords and cables and fumbled his hand along the edge searching for some kind of release mechanism. A moment later a click and swoosh rewarded his efforts and the pod lifted open.

  “Gwynn.” Pridament called.

  The boy lay inside the pod, his upper torso stripped bare. Wires from the pod ran to a number of sensors attached to him. Pridament took quick stock of the boy. He was breathing, his skin color appeared normal. He had the scar on his abdomen.

  But he wasn’t wearing the St. Christopher medallion.

  “Gwynn.” Pridament shook him.

  The boy’s eyes fluttered for a moment, and then crept open.

  “Who are you?” Gwynn croaked.

  “It’s me. Pridament.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “What?” Pridament searched the boy’s face. Had something happened to his memory? Or maybe… His heart pounded in his chest. Hope. He let his defense slide, revealing his true face.

  “Dad?” Gwynn asked. “Oh my God, Dad?”

  Gwynn sat up and threw his arms around Pridament’s neck.

  “All these years.” There were tears in Gwynn’s voice. “I’m so sorry. I’m so stupid. I ran away, I never meant to go far. I never meant to be gone so long.”

  Tears flowed down Pridament’s face. “It’s okay son, I forgive you. Everything’s going to be fine. We just need to get you out of here, close that tear, and find our way home. All right?”

  Gwynn’s eyes filled with fear. “It’s too late Dad. We need to get out of here now.”

  Gwynn stumbled out of the pod. He drew a breath and then tore the Veil.

  “C’mon Dad, we can leave this way.” Gwynn held out his hand. “Just take my hand and we can be a family again.”

  22/ Acceptance

  Gwynn looked to Xanthe and then to the crumpled body of his father. He just had to fall on the sword. No more suffering, no more hurting the ones he cared for. Just an end.

  “You know it’s the right thing to do.” His younger self said.

  He felt a light touch on his left shoulder. No one was there.

  A familiar scent of blended fruits carried on the wind. It tugged at his memory. Like an old VCR, the tape of his mind clicked and whirred in reverse. Sophia, smiling, telling him that when he had looked her way, she had looked back.

  “I was too afraid of fate.” She said. She told him to take her hand. She said, “No matter what, always remember, what happened to you parents wasn’t your fault.”

  The evidence lay in front of him. He had killed his father.

  “No matter what.” The wind seemed to reply.

  Gwynn gave his head a shake. The younger version of him stood stone–faced a few feet away.

  “Somewhere, you and I are in love, untouched by all this madness.” He would never forget her smile. “You need to protect them, Gwynn. Only you can.”

  Another soft touch on his right shoulder—different from the other. He turned, no longer alone.

  “Adrastia.”

  Her lips curled into a smile, but her eyes showed disappointment. “Yours is not to be defeated by phantoms.” She raised her arm and pointed.

  They were further down the street. From this angle, Gwynn saw a tear in the Veil near the road. Something had come out. A Curse.

  The car came around the corner, catching the Curse in its headlights. Tires squealed and the vehicle went spinning into the ditch.

  A few minutes passed. This time, Gwynn didn’t come out of the ditch first, his father did.

  The older man limped and blood streamed down the left side of his face. He gripped his abdomen.

  The Curse hissed and charged.

  The older Dormath tore into the Veil and drew a familiar staff. Was this why Pridament’s staff seemed familiar?

  A fight ensued. But with his injuries, Gwynn’s father couldn’t prevail.

  Gwynn turned away, unable to witness the creature’s killing blow. An agonized scream echoed along the pavement. He turned back to see his younger self watching from the side of the road.

  “I…saw?”

  The Curse scrambled along the road toward the young boy. Instinct kicked in and Gwynn moved to defend the child. Grips on both his shoulders restrained him.

  “There’s nothing you can do. This is just an echo, a memory long forgotten.” Adrastia said.

  The Curse readied to strike down Gwynn’s younger self when the same light he had seen in the other vision erupted.

  In the flash, Gwynn just made out the Curse bursting into dust.

  The Curse gone, his parents dead, the younger Gwynn lost consciousness and fell to the pavement.

  “But I didn’t wake as an Anunnaki until just now. How did I do that?”

  Adrastia moved in front of him. “You’re wrong. You awoke then. Because of the trauma of it, the pain, you subdued it. It lay inside you, waiting for the time when you would call on it again.”

  “So what is this? Why am I dreaming this?”

  “It’s not a dream.” Adrastia said. She nodded behind Gwynn. He turned to see the other version of his younger self, eyes ablaze with white light. “You’re being manipulated, your memories pulled and twisted.”

  “Why?”

  “Why don’t you ask it?”

  Gwynn called out to it. “What do you want? Why have you brought me here?”

  With no emotion it said, “Do everyone a favor and finish yourself.”

  “So it brought me here to drive me to suicide?”

  “It’s an effective way of dealing with enemies. Use their own memories against them.”

  Gwynn strode over to his younger self with the blazing eyes. “I’m done with this game.” He brought Xanthe down on the boy, shattering it into a million pieces like a smashing mirror.

  Gwynn blinked and found himself in a new room. Pridament and Fuyuko were beside him. A cloaked figure stood at the opposite side of the room. Three threads extended from the hood and attached to Gwynn, Pridament and Fuyuko’s foreheads.

  Gwynn slashed upward with Xanthe and severed the thread. Then he spun and cut the threads connected to Fuyuko and Pridament, who crumpled to the floor. The person in the cloak hissed. It bounded from floor to ceiling and crashed through a door at the other end of the room.

  Gwynn rushed to Pridament and Fuyuko. Gwynn shook Pridament by the shoulders and called out to him.

  Pridament came around and Fuyuko soon followed. Gwynn explained the cloaked man and the dreams that had meant to destroy them.

  “So we should follow the wizard behind the curtain?” Pridament asked.

  “I’m guessing that’s where the tear must be.” Gwynn replied.

  “OK,” His eyes were a mix of anger and longing, “fair enough. Let’s go.”

  The three inched along the office area toward the door the cloaked figure had used to escape.

  Cubicles cluttered every inch of available floor space. With each step, Gwynn scanned the tops, waiting for an attack. When they made it to the door, Pridament eased it open with the end of his staff.

  Three threads hit the door with a loud ‘Thock, thock, thock’ sound.

  “Looks like our friend hasn’t gone too far.”

  Pridament went to one of the desks and grabbed a chair. “When I count three, I’m going through the door. When I do, I want you two to dash out and take that bastard down, clear?”

  Fuyuko and Gwynn nodded.

  Pridament counted. “One, two… Three.”

  The older man plunged through the door with the chair held in front like a shield. Pridament staggered as the threads hammered against the chair. Gwynn
and Fuyuko charged through the door.

  They were in the main warehouse area. Fuyuko leapt over Pridament and ran in a zigzagging manner toward the source of the threads. Gwynn followed on her heels. A second volley of threads cut through the air toward them. Gwynn slashed forward with Xanthe. The sword reached out, slicing the threads to harmless ribbons.

  Fuyuko’s spear stabbed toward the figure and deflected with a metallic clang. The cloak slid down, revealing the man’s arm encased in steel that extended to a lethal point at the end. Gwynn attacked from the other side, but the man used his other arm to deflect Xanthe.

  The three began a deadly dance. Every advance Fuyuko or Gwynn made, the man’s armored arms turned aside. In the heat of battle, the cloak fell back revealing a man from the nose up, but his mouth resembled a spider’s mandible. The man threw himself back against the wall and scurried into the ceilings.

  “Damn.” Fuyuko huffed. “That guy is fast. Did you see his face?”

  Gwynn tried to catch his own breath. “Trying to forget it, thanks.”

  A staff slashed through the air above their heads, knocking several threads aside.

  “Pay more attention you two.” Pridament yelled, “He’s above us.”

  More threads came down. These ones smashed bits of concrete as they struck the floor.

  “Not trying for subtlety anymore.” Pridament said. “One of those hits you; it’ll split your head like a melon.”

  Instinct hit Gwynn and he threw Xanthe above his head. The sword deflected the threads, but the reverberations on the steel sent painful shock waves through Gwynn’s arms. “We need to get him down from there.”

  Pridament shook his head. “No. We’ll never win that way. Gwynn, guide us to the tear. Hopefully he’ll have to come down to try and stop us.”

  Gwynn scanned the warehouse floor. There were no boxes or shelves, just wide–open space. Yet he couldn’t see anything.

  “It’s not here. I mean, not that I can see.”

  “Just feel your way to it. My gut’s saying up.” Pridament said.

  “Me too.” Fuyuko chimed in. “Is there another level?”