by David Beers
Nicki looked away from her mother and father. She stared across the kitchen to the far window. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” her father said.
“What about my dad?” She shook her head. “Not you, but my real dad.”
“He’s going to live,” her mother said. “Everyone is going to live because you came this far.”
Nicki nodded, tears again in her eyes, though unsure why exactly she was crying. Whether because of her impending death or because she’d never see her father again.
Another question came to her.
“Why us? Why are we in your will, but It’s not?”
“That question, it isn’t for you to ask, nor for us to answer. Not right now.”
Nicki’s face whipped to them. “I don’t deserve an answer?”
“You may deserve it, Nicki,” her mother said softly, “but that’s got nothing to do with it. This isn’t the time.”
Nicki stared for a second longer, and then looked away again, letting the question go. “Do I have to? … Do I have to still do this?”
Her father placed the bowl on the counter, and then walked forward. He pulled the chair from the other side of the table and put it next to his wife, right in front of Nicki.
“No, you don’t,” he said. “When you go back out there, you’re going back into pain. We can’t dull that, nor take it away. You don’t have to go back, though. You can pass from existence right now, and all that pain will remain in the past.”
“But if I don’t go back out there, then the Black wins? Whatever that means?”
Both parents nodded.
“The choice is yours, Nicki. We came here because you deserved it. Because you deserved to know what this meant, but our will, it isn’t absolute. Humanity has to want it, too. And now, humanity rests on you, Nicki. You’re its sole representative.”
Nicki was silent for a long, long time. The two in front of her looked on, but neither said anything. If things were happening outside of this time and place, Nicki didn’t know.
“Will you tell my dad I love him? Will you make sure he knows that?”
“He does, Nicki,” her mother said, “but we’ll send a message.”
“And my mom?” Nicki said, he voice cracking and tears flooding her eyes. “Is there any way you can let her know? There has to be, right? If that Laurel woman is still alive, then maybe my mom is, too?”
“Yes, honey. She knows, but we’ll remind her.”
Nicki nodded, the tears overflowing. She nodded a few times, coming to grips with what it all meant. This whole journey, for her to end up here with a single decision.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
She looked at the two creatures resembling her parents. “I’m ready.”
Pain had gripped Nicki Sesam, and in much the same way, terror gripped Raylyn Brinson.
The Prophet.
Rhett Scoble.
Rebecca, now dying next to Raylyn, spit flying from her mouth.
All of it brought Raylyn to a nearly immobile stupor. Paralyzed.
She watched Hollowborne descend into the water, a huge cloud of static hanging in the air, having clearly killed Nicki Sesam.
It’s all going to end, she thought. Right now. Right in front of you. The world is going to end.
Wind whipped around her, sending her hair across her face.
“I love you.” The words barely found Raylyn’s ears, but they did, somehow breaking through the terror possessing her mind.
She looked down and saw the woman on the ground—Rebecca. Did she say them?
“I love you.”
Her face was purple, a huge vein sticking out across her forehead. One eye was a bloody, swollen mess, her cheek sliced wide open.
“I love you,” she said again, the words barely passing through her lips, and growing weaker each time. Scoble kept bearing down, strangling the life out of her.
Raylyn stared down, not moving, watching death yet again.
“I—” the woman tried to say, but Scoble fell off before she could finish, and Rebecca was thrown into a coughing fit. Spit and ragged air rushing from her mouth.
Scoble rolled onto his back and screamed, his right hand banging the pipe down over and over on the ground. He yelled into the air, his face twisted in a grimace while Rebecca rolled onto her side, coughing over and over as she curled into a ball.
You’re about to die, Raylyn, the stubborn part of her said. Do you want to do it watching these people?
No, she thought, realizing that it truly didn’t matter if either of them died. Not to her. She didn’t know them, and weeks ago, she’d been willing to kill them both.
They didn’t matter.
She looked across the dirt covered river bank to the transport.
If you’re going to die, do it with him. Not for him. Not for his Prophet. But with him.
Raylyn passed by the two on the ground, not sparing them a glance. The wind rushed around her and the water flowing to her side gurgled its angry curses at her, but she went without caring about the world at all.
She didn’t even see the Prophet disappearing beneath the water.
It only took a minute to reach the transport, and Manor stepped outside.
“It’s too late,” he said. There were tears in his eyes. Exasperated, he half laughed. “You can’t take the Blood now.”
“I’m not here for the Blood, you idiot. I’m here because if I’m going to die, I want to do it next to you.”
The two stared at each other for a second, Raylyn hoping—almost praying to gods she didn’t believe in—that he would finally understand. That she loved him. There were an infinite number of other words and phrases she could say, but in the end, that’s all she wanted Manor Reinheld to know. That she loved him.
He opened his arms, tears still in his eyes, and Raylyn went to him.
Her soul was her own, but she would be able to share it with someone, if only for a few moments.
In their moment of bliss, neither of them saw the black orb spark into existence beneath the river.
Nicki went back into the world, into a body that should not be alive, but somehow was. She left the gods or God or whatever words humans used to describe things they couldn’t understand. She left peace and entered madness.
It was brief, and that’s all it could have been, for to stay in such pain and insanity for longer than a single moment would have killed her.
The Old World based their entire existence on a story of a god born as a man, who gave up his life so that humanity could have eternal life.
Perhaps it was true.
Perhaps it was false.
But thousands of years later, a human did something similar. She gave up her own life, and not even for humanity to live forever, but simply to live a little longer.
The well inside Nicki Sesam exploded.
Those on the riverbank watched first, and then the rest of the world understood shortly thereafter.
The black orb in the water was growing, unable to be ignored any longer. The Prophet had opened the doorway, and his God was coming through.
Someone from the bank finally understood, shouting, “IT’S PULLING US!”
And the black orb, growing, began to eat.
One half of the river was flowing backwards, slowly but perceptibly. Dirt on the edge of the bank started rising into the air and then zipping forward. The blackness calling the tiny particles to it.
No one looked at the large static mass above, feeling the slight but growing tug on their own bodies—pulling them to the boiling water, even as it was disappearing.
The mass rippled, though. It started in the middle, and then flowed out, the static growing brighter as the ripple moved to the edge.
Another ripple, this one quicker.
A shoe flew off someone’s foot and rushed through the air, creating a small splash as it sank beneath the water.
Another ripple, the cloud too bright to even look at.
Those on the ground tried to grab onto something, instinct taking over as the force grew greater.
One last ripple, flowing from the cloud’s center to its very edge.
There was no great expansion, no ripping forth of gray static. Instead, the sky simply started to fall. A single strand of gray dripped down like syrup, finally separating from the overall body of static. It hit the river gently, dissipating and immediate cooling the water around it.
Another strand dripped, again over the river, and where it touched the water, the river grew calm.
More poured down, falling over the river, but spreading outward too—across the banks and then further into the land.
The sky rained gray static, and finally, those near the river looked up and saw it. None tried to run, so amazed at what they watched that they barely recognized that the pull on their bodies was fading.
Two people lay next to each other, staring up at the sky, neither truly understanding. Two others hugged each other, and a gray strand hit one of them, running down their arm before disappearing—sinking into them.
None felt pain as the gray rain fell on them all, and they remained watching. For hours. Until the sky gave up all of its static, and only black night remained above.
Epilogue
The four Ministers sat around a single table.
Three of them had been in their positions over the past year, watching the Black’s rise and the near destruction of the world. Their names were known throughout Earth now, sung as heroes and to be remembered until the last human took their last breath. Those three had defeated the Black; those three had saved humanity.
There was a new Minister, the True Faith having raised someone to the High Priest post.
His head was shaved, his eyebrows missing, and to Yule he looked just as weird as the other two had.
He was just glad he didn’t have to learn a new name. High Priest would suffice.
The Pope understood he was looked at as a hero, but he also understood he didn’t deserve that mantle. He’d agreed to go along with it though, at least inside the other Ministries. There was rebuilding to tend to, and morale to raise. Heroes were needed, and Yule understood the four of them had to shoulder the burden.
He looked around the table at the other three Ministers. Connor, Trinant, and the new High Priest. Each of them had an assistant behind them, taking notes on what was said.
The meeting had already stretched for three days, and they were on their ninth hour of the fourth.
“The Prophet’s followers,” Trinant said. “They’re next on the agenda.”
“The True Faith’s feeling on this is simple. Every one of them dies.”
Yule looked at the High Priest; he’d heard other pronouncements like this over the past few days. The balance of power had shifted, most definitely, but the True Faith seemed to either not understand it, or be doing everything they could to fight against it … At least with how forcefully the man always spoke.
“We’re in agreement,” Connor said, speaking for the Constant.
Trinant looked at Yule.
Much of the past few days had been serious and painstaking work, but the Ministries found general alignment on the items discussed. Yet Yule knew this would be the first major issue viewed differently.
“The Old World will welcome the Black’s followers as lost brothers and sisters. We’re not going to imprison or harm any of them.”
“That--,” the High Priest started, his head shaking and his eyes wide. “That’s ludicrous.”
Yule met his gaze. The man was younger than anyone else at the table, lacking the flab and wrinkles of his predecessors.
“We’re also going to allow conversion for any of the Black’s followers in other Ministries. If you’re going to kill them, then we’re going to house them.”
“No--,” the High Priest said.
“Why?” Trinant interrupted.
Yule paused for a moment, thinking about how he wanted to answer, and the High Priest took the opportunity to jump back in.
“The Black travels through their blood. If they live, if they reproduce, the next time It comes, there will be that many more.”
Yule leaned back in his chair.
“That’s fine,” he said.
“What?” the High Priest asked. “It’s fine if the Black has more followers?”
“It is with me.”
“Why?” Trinant asked again.
“My faith doesn’t rely on the Black, and my God doesn’t serve It.”
“That’s rid--,” the High Priest tried interrupting.
“Hush your mouth, you fool,” Yule snapped, turning his head slowly, his lips thin and his jaw set. “You will tell me nothing about what is ridiculous and what is not. I was in that Globe with these other two, while you were sitting at home hoping that we invented a plan to save the world. Let me tell you, we had no plan. The three of us here? We didn’t know what to do at all.”
Yule looked at the other two, daring them to disagree. He saw only still faces. He turned back to the High Priest, his dreadful calm spilling out with each word.
“The world was lost. You realize that, don’t you? The world was lost, and everyone in it. We had no way to stop the Black or Its Prophet. And yet, everyone is still here. All three of us are sitting at this table talking, and for the most part, our Ministries are intact. We didn’t save anything. We simply allowed something greater than us to take over, allowed it to protect us. So, no, I’m not worried about how many followers the Black has if It ever returns. And no, I won’t murder those that followed it because I’m afraid of something that might happen. They are God’s children, the same as you and I, and I will treat them the same. If they wish to rejoin society, then they are welcome in the Old World.”
Yule finished and the room was silent.
A minute passed, maybe two, and then Trinant spoke.
“The One Path agrees with the Old World.”
Yule looked to Benten.
“It doesn’t seem smart,” he said.
Yule neither nodded nor shook his head.
“You’re right, though,” Benten continued. “We had lost. We did nothing, and could do nothing to stop it from happening.”
Again the two looked at each other.
“The Constant Ministry is in agreement with the Old World and the One Path.”
The three looked to the High Priest.
“You’re all mad,” he said. “… You’re all insane.”
And that was just fine with Yule. The faithful had always been looked at as mad, and he was proud to join their ranks.
Rhett looked at Rebecca’s back.
The moonlight streaked in through the room they shared, and it lay across her bare skin. Blankets covered her from the waist down, but her upper half was naked.
She lay on her stomach, her head turned away from him; she’d been asleep for the past hour, with Rhett lying next to her.
He’d sat up about ten minutes before and simply watched her sleep. The bruises he’d left were healed. The True Faith had fixed her face while they were detained. She looked as if Rhett had never tried to kill her.
Three months had passed since that day. They spent the first inside True Faith cells, though there’d been no torture this time. No First Priest trying to extract everything he could from them. For the most part, during that month, they’d been left alone.
Rhett had known he was going to his death. Known it every single day right up until the moment they opened his cell and told him he was free to leave.
There’d been documentation ready for him, and a ten minute conversation in which he was strongly encouraged to convert to the Old World’s Catholic Church.
Apparently, the True Faith really wanted to lose its parishioners--at least those who once followed the Prophet.
It didn’t take a lot of convincing for Rhett. He’d taken the documentation and a day later was flying on a transport to a world he’d only visited before. One
he’d never liked. Foreign and primitive. Yet, Rhett would be able to live.
Rebecca had found him a month later.
She’d showed up at his small motel room.
He’d nearly shut the door in her face … but he hadn’t. For some reason, he kept it open and said, “What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” Rebecca said. She looked him directly in the face, not hiding, not ashamed of anything.
The two stared at each other for long seconds, maybe even long minutes.
Finally Rhett said, “Do you want to come in?”
There had been no love in his voice, none in his heart. He’d let her in because …
We’re the lost.
That’s what he’d thought as she walked through his motel door.
We’re the lost and we’re never going to be found.
Rhett had hated her for the first month. Hated her with a fierceness that bordered on insanity, and each night, he’d thought he might kill her.
Eventually, the two of them started talking.
They spoke about Raylyn Brinson and Manor Reinheld. Brinson had reached out to Rebecca briefly. The two were going to give it a go, and Rebecca said she thought that was good. She wished them the best.
Rhett wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He supposed if someone could find happiness in this world, then they should do what it took to keep it. He wasn’t sure Reinheld would ever find it, though. Not in Brinson, nor anything else.
The conversations between him and Rebecca always came back to that.
To the Prophet. David had been the centerpiece of their life, the only part that truly mattered. And now he was gone.
Rhett told her about how many times he’d put a pistol to the side of his head, nearly killing himself. She told him that she’d thought about doing it countless times. He asked her how that could be possible and she said that she never stopped loving David.