“We need to get back to the Far Shores,” Eerie said, sniffling. “We also need to, um, live?”
“That should be easy,” Katya said, grinning.
Eerie said nothing. Katya’s grin faltered.
“Eerie? What’s going on?”
“I lied to everyone,” Eerie admitted quietly. “I was going to leave before anything sad happened. Before Alex could get involved. I was going to send you back to the Far Shores, and then…”
“Then what?” Katya looked around apprehensively. “What’s going to happen?”
“I already made arrangements. He is coming to collect me,” Eerie said, the color draining from her face. “John Parson is coming, to take me to the Church. I thought…I thought it was okay, that it would be…oh, I didn’t know I would be so scared. I’m so, so scared, Katya. I didn’t think it would be like this.”
“Okay, calm down, this is okay,” Katya said. “You were going to send me back, right? So, do that thing, just with both of us.”
“I’ve been trying to do that. Nothing works,” Eerie whimpered. “He’s suppressing my protocol. He didn’t used to be able to do things like that, but now that the Church is almost here…”
“Who is John Parson, Eerie?” Katya grabbed the Changeling’s hand, and started back down the beach, though they were at least an hour from the main campus. “Why is he doing this?”
Katya stopped and stared as a man in a brocaded coat stepped from the placid surface of the Sea of Ether onto the beach beside them.
“There is nothing better than hearing two charming young ladies discussing you,” John Parson said, slicking back his hair as he approached them. “I’m very glad you contacted me, Ériu. It will save us all trouble and disagreement. I assure that I have no desire to harm anyone unnecessarily. This way will be so much easier.”
“I know,” Eerie said solemnly, letting go of Katya’s hand. “That’s why I called.”
“And I have come on request,” John Parson said, not leaving any footprints in the sand as he walked. The closer he got, the more Katya became aware of the smell he exuded – a rank blend of dried sweat and hot metal. “Are you ready to go to the Church?”
Katya reached for the needles she had tucked behind her belt.
“No,” Eerie said, shaking her head. “I have changed my mind. I always change my mind.”
“That’s too bad,” John Parson said, his skin pallid and splotchy. “I regret that I cannot do the same. I must take you to the White Room, Ériu, and you must remain there, until there is nothing left of you.”
Eerie looked at Katya and shrugged.
“What do we do now?”
“I guess it’s my turn,” Katya said, stepping in front of the Changeling. “Stay behind me, Eerie.”
“Okay,” Eerie said obediently. “Good luck!”
“You will need more than luck,” John Parson said, sweat soaking through his jacket and dripping from his cuffs. “I cannot imagine what you intend to try to do to stop me. Of all the players in this game, you might be the least significant.”
“I’m an assassin, asshole,” Katya said, bisecting his cerebral cortex with an acupuncture needle, and then adding a pair of sewing needles to his heart for good measure. “You aren’t supposed to notice me.”
John Parson turned to look at Katya. He made a strange face, shook his head aggressively, and then spat the needles back at her. The sewing needles did not have the mass to do much damage, pricking her arm before they fell, but the acupuncture needle went about halfway through her forearm.
Katya grimaced and backed away slowly, holding her pierced arm.
“Oh no!” Eerie stepped forward. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Eerie,” Katya said, pushing her back. “We need a plan, though.”
“If you don’t want your friend to die, Ériu, then the plan you should suggest is immediate surrender,” John Parson said, spittle leaking out of the corners of his mouth, pink with blood. “Or I promise you that I will kill her, after she suffers horribly. Then I’ll find your boyfriend and do worse to him.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Katya said, watching John carefully. “It’ll be fine. Just think of something, okay?”
“Okay,” Eerie said. “I’m working on it.”
“You can’t,” John crowed. “I’ve suppressed your Kismet Protocol. You won’t be quite so fortunate today.”
“You did. I mean, you were. Or, you could,” Eerie agreed. “For a little while. I’m the youngest, though, and you know what that means.”
“Are you trying to distract me?” John’s eyes protruded unnaturally from the sockets, thin rivulets of tears and mucus dribbling out of the far corners. “I won’t be distracted, and I won’t be fooled. Shall I show you what I am capable of?”
“Be quiet,” Katya said, picking up a handful of sand.
“You’ll like this, I think. It belongs to a boy in the Anathema who reminds me a bit of you – a low-level talent, in this case telekinetic, but he has will and ingenuity.” John Parson grinned at her. Vorpal Blade.
The sand in Katya’s hand disappeared.
Eerie screamed.
Katya made a strange noise, and then the lower half of her arm tumbled onto the beach.
“I warned you,” John said, wet sand dripping from the corners of his eyes and pouring liberally from both ears. “You should have just come with me, Ériu. Now it will be unpleasant.”
Eerie ran to Katya’s side. She tore a strip from the bottom of her T-shirt and used it to tourniquet Katya’s severed arm.
“Eerie, you gotta run,” Katya said, her voice hoarse and faint. “Leave this to me.”
“You hurt my friend,” Eerie said, turning a baleful stare onto John. “You hurt Katya!”
“You are the one who hurt her,” John said, shuffling toward them with sand leaking out of his face. “You created this entire situation. All of this is your fault.”
“I wasn’t angry before,” Eerie said, holding tight to Katya, so that the assassin would not simply fall over. “Now I am very angry.”
“Really?” John loomed over them. “Then how much more so…?”
He leered, and Katya’s right leg was severed at the knee, her lower leg rolling briefly across the sand before it came to rest, toes pointing stiffly up to the grey sky.
Katya went white, but she set her teeth and said nothing. Eerie howled.
“What now, Changeling?” John asked smugly. “Do you volunteer to return with me to the Outer Dark and to the Church of Sleep? Or do I continue my deconstruction of your friend?”
“Eerie,” Katya gasped, clutching her leg. “Run!”
“I don’t need to do that,” Eerie said gently, removing Katya’s belt and using it to stop the blood pulsing from her new amputation. “I told you I was working on it, right? Well, I was. Thank you for buying me the time, Katya. I’m sorry it took so long, but you did everything you needed to do.”
John Parson tilted his head and then smacked it twice, dislodging a clump of coarse sand from his ear.
“What are you talking about?”
Eerie jerked her head in the direction of the main campus.
Mitsuru Aoki stood nearby, her sandals sinking just slightly into the sand.
“I decided to take a walk on the beach this afternoon,” Mitsuru said, peeling off her windbreaker. “Just a minute ago, I got this strange notion that it was extremely important that I hurry out this way, even though I’ve never been here before. It’s funny how that works out, isn’t it, Eerie?”
“Not really,” Eerie said, fussing over the semi-conscious Katya, now lying on the sand. “Nothing is funny.”
“This is quite the surprise,” John said, turning to face her. “You are meant to be dead.”
“Opinions vary,” Mitsuru said, reaching for the gun strapped to her lower back. “These girls are students at the Academy, and therefore in my care. Eerie, is Mr. Parson bothering you?”
“Yes, he is, and he hurt
Katya,” Eerie said promptly. “Please do something, Ms. Aoki!”
“There you have it,” Mitsuru said, shrugging. “Not like I’d let you just have your way.”
John Parson squinted, and the sand where she had been standing burst into an impossibly regular column of flame, blue at the base and searing hot. Mitsuru was already moving, so the flames only caught the back of her sandals and singed her ponytail.
Mitsuru connected to the Network and accessed the menu of protocols available for download.
She started with her native protocol, launching a flurry of probes and feints to keep Parson busy and provide her with analytics.
Her vision was augmented by combat telepathy, mapping fields of fire and angles of attack.
A psychic early warning system gave her a half-second to tuck and roll to avoid another spontaneous combustion event, and as she recovered her footing, Mitsuru decided it was time for some offense.
She searched the database for an old favorite and came up empty.
A more thorough search turned up a list that was missing several familiar entries, while including more that Mitsuru had never seen before.
John tried the same attack a third time, but Mitsuru was moving quickly, and the flames erupted far behind her. She opened fire, the bullets slamming into an invisible barrier that coated John’s skin.
Mitsuru’s eyes flicked over to the Changeling, urgently occupied in ministering to Katya, who was in shock and twitching on the sand.
This is a very old server, Eerie.
This was the only backup server that responded when we powered them on. It’s just luck that it happened to be this one.
Luck?
You have changed, Ms. Aoki, Eerie thought. Isn’t it time you found out just how different you really are?
There was no saying how it was done, except that it was not telepathy, nor any form of psychic communication that Mitsuru had ever previously experienced.
One of the protocols on the list of available downloads was highlighted, though the Changeling possessed neither a computer nor telepathy to give her the means to connect to the Network, much less to Mitsuru’s implant.
John appeared to be preparing another attack, his utterly alien Etheric Signature irradiating the surrounding beach as it charged.
There was nothing for it.
Mitsuru downloaded the protocol and activated the new routine, which was actually a very old routine, the metadata indicating the most recent download had been performed shortly after her own birth.
It was like spontaneously understanding a foreign language. Mitsuru could taste nothing but the tang of hot nickel in her mouth, but her nose was filled with an incongruous scent of lemons. Hypnagogic imagery flickered and then vanished, leaving behind brilliant afterimages, outlines of strange and alien forms that evoked an intense rush of nostalgia.
The flow of time dried up like old tree sap, congealing into something that she moved through with difficulty, a viscous gel that clung to her skin and clothing. Beneath the taste of metal, Mitsuru detected a hint of synthetic sweetness, tasting the memory of candy on her tongue.
There was no hurry, Mitsuru thought. It would all end too soon.
A tiny fraction of a second later, she had no idea why she had thought that, but her eyes stung with suppressed tears.
The routine completed before John could finish raising his eyebrows in surprise. Mitsuru raised her hand, gesturing lazily at John, who was busy with his own routine. Strands of time adhered to her hand and dripped from her fingers as she extended them.
“Something new,” Mitsuru said, the weighty presence of the imminent protocol in her mind stimulating her salivary glands. Radiant Death.
***
The banquet room at the manor had not been used in many years, and despite a flurry of activity in the hour leading to the luncheon, the long period of disuse was evident in missed streaks of dust on the furniture and a lingering musty atmosphere.
There were tea sandwiches and pickled vegetables and smoked fish, but no one was eating.
Gaul had poured himself tea, but the steaming cup was left to cool, untouched beside his folded napkin and pristine silverware.
“This is it,” Gaul said. “We have prepared for this moment for generations. This day will decide who owns the future – the Thule Cartel, or our enemies.”
He paused and looked down at the table, as if inspecting the recently applied polish. Lóa touched his bandaged head gently, dispelling the worst of the pain. Gaul collected himself, and then nodded to his niece gratefully.
“I do not have much more time, but it should be enough,” Gaul said, surveying the room gravely. “Should it not, then all of you know what you must do, and all of you know what your part is to play. When I am gone, Egill will take my place at the head of the cartel, with Lóa as his second and advisor. Unless there are any objections?”
Opposite Lóa on the other side of Gaul, Egill folded his arms and glowered menacingly at his extended family, daring them to speak.
Any empath would have been able to tell that several people in the room were deeply unhappy with the arrangement, but the only empath in the room was among the discontented. Gaul had anticipated that, when he had been in the anticipation business, but there was little to be done about it.
There will always be hurt feelings when there can only be one winner among many losers.
He thought it likely that even Lóa was displeased, though she was all smiles and public support, wearing bandages not unlike his own around her bruised and swollen head.
There was no point in worrying over what would happen when he was no longer around to have an influence on it, and Gaul did not need the precognitive skills that Katya had deprived him of to know that he was dying. He could feel the life within him diminishing. His extremities had stopped hurting the day before, and now he felt nothing at all from his toes, and very little from his fingers. His vision was permanently blurred, and the headaches were an agonizing constant, soothed only by his niece’s telepathic intervention.
In quiet moments, he was certain that he could hear his heartbeat fading.
Any usage of his implant was unadulterated agony, but that did not stop him.
There would be no more doing, and no more suffering, and soon.
“My will is already filed with our lawyers, and will be read after my death,” Gaul said dryly. “You will all receive positions and legacies, to the best of my ability. I know that some of you will be disappointed. While there is nothing that I can say to change that, I will remind you that I wished to have nothing to do with the leadership of our cartel and our family. The responsibility fell upon me, and I did what was demanded of me. This is what the Thule Cartel demands of each of us, and this is what I expect of all of you.”
His audience watched without comment.
It was a small audience and destined to grow smaller in the immediate future. Gaul looked over the concerned faces of his extended family and their trusted retainers, wondering if he had made the right decisions.
He missed his protocol the way an amputee misses a lost limb. He could feel the vacancy in his awareness where future probabilities had existed, and it festered on the surface of his mind, rotting what Katya’s crude surgery had not already ravaged.
Gabriela took a pastry from a covered basket on the table.
“We will soon face our cartel’s moment of greatest trial and opportunity,” Gaul said, his voice cracking helplessly on the final syllable. “The world will be yours to inherit. I expect nothing less from you.”
Egill nodded while Lóa gently stroked the back of her uncle’s head, soothing away the worst of the pain.
“You all know what you must do,” Gaul said, brushing away Lóa’s hand. “The future belongs to you. I leave it to you to decide for yourselves what you will make of it.”
***
The exhausted sunlight of the Far Shores was weaponized, a sharpened radiance that rendered John Parson into a semi-sol
id mass of gore and shredded viscera. The brilliance of the light cleaved through tissue and bone, creating minute scratches in Mitsuru’s corneas and drawing blood from her eyes just witnessing it.
The Anathema was utterly destroyed, every cell of his body perforated and leaking.
The radiance was savage, and when Mitsuru brought up her hand to shield her eyes, it tore gouges in her palm.
Mitsuru’s blood ran from her hands like a white-gold fountain onto the sand.
She closed the loop of the protocol, and the light diminished to its usual gentle state.
John was little more than scraps of flesh and pooled blood, but Mitsuru’s combat readout warned her that he was already beginning to rebuild. She probed the edges of his telepathic defenses as he reconstituted himself, searching for flaws and opportunities.
They wrestled each other on that plane, contesting psychic territory with incorporeal feints and assaults.
She was mistaken. He was not regenerating himself, Mitsuru noted, feeling equal parts awe and horror.
John was restoring to an earlier version of himself, effectively reversing the flow of time in his immediate vicinity to a point when he had been intact.
It was like watching a popsicle melt in reverse. The puddle of viscera gathered into a red outline, a soft and grotesque statue crudely shaped like a man.
Mitsuru opened fire as she charged. She put two bullets through John’s partially rebuilt skull, spraying bone fragments and grey matter across the beach. She distributed the remainder of the magazine through his body, bullets tearing into his sternum, gut, and groin, each round finding a home even as she ran across uneven sand.
Fortified with strength drawn from his Anathema web, John Parson summoned another barrier protocol, a violet-blue field encasing him and shielding his regenerating form.
Mitsuru launched herself at the barrier, her overheated implant scorching her brain as she downloaded a protocol from the emergency archives.
Crackling telekinetic force encased her fist, burnt umber discharging from her fingers to the ground.
She struck the barrier, and there was an explosion, a discharge of feedback that deafened and blinded all of them momentarily. There was sand in her mouth and the scent of ozone in her nostrils. The detonation launched tons of sand into the air and tossed Eerie and Katya meters down the beach.
The Church of Sleep (Central Series Book 5) Page 66