Star Angel: Prophecy

by David G. McDaniel

  At the other side of the clearing she paused and held a crouch.

  It felt like she was cramming for a gymnastics tournament or something; something which she kind of once knew how to do but with which she was now mostly unfamiliar. One that was happening in a few days and she was just getting the hang of the balance beam, had never seen uneven bars and, so far, really had no idea how to do a floor routine. And as she thought of this she wondered just how much of what she was doing, making it up as she went along, was her, Jessica, and how much came from some deeper place; things she knew in the past as Aesha. Leaping and spinning, a lot of the actions most definitely came from skills she’d learned as Jess; tricking, gymnastics, MMA and such. Swordplay she’d learned as Jess, but not this good. She felt like a master. That must be from her time as Aesha, or even further. The force blasts themselves were definitely new, something learned as Jess yet, she knew how to do that as Aesha. Further back as well? Contemplation of that, she’d found, was a losing enterprise, and so she focused on the now. Extending those abilities, from whatever origin. Discovering new ways to use the energy; amplifying that undefined power. And it was on the rise. Once learned, once uncorked, it seemed as if it only grew. Locked away, untapped, the idea of moving something with her mind was impossible. Now that the power was unleashed, now that she knew she could do it, it was as if the resulting flow was unstoppable. Kind of like opening a valve. Closed, nothing was possible. Once opened … the flow rushed to open it wider and wider.

  More and more with each passing minute she felt the confidence she would need to do this.

  She rose from her crouch, unsheathed and resheathed the sword a few more times, feeling the utter fluidity of the armor in action—so smooth it actually felt as if it enhanced her movements, rather than restricting them.

  She turned and eyed the Jeep.

  She was out on the moors near town, somewhere in the woods a few miles from the safe house, having found her way there after a short bit of driving. Earlier she took a Jeep from the small motor pool, an actual American Jeep, an old, faded-yellow Wrangler with oversized knobby tires, no top, roll bar and a row of aftermarket lights across the front brush guard. Like everything else in town (or so it seemed), the Jeep was from the 80’s, heavily used and abused, though it had been maintained and it ran great. And so she got the keys, drove to the woods, found a hint of a trail, turned into the trees and followed it, then made her own trail when the ruts ran out. Mud now caked the wheels and tires and much of the yellow was covered in slick splatters of grays and brows after her forge deep into this unvisited place. She’d kept on, powering through tough spots, banging over obstacles, down through deep gulleys and other things she thought for sure would end her adventure but didn’t. With the hubs locked and the low-range transaxle engaged the Jeep was frighteningly unstoppable.

  And there it sat. Parked and waiting, for when she was ready to go, for her to crank it up, slam it in gear and grind up over the next hill.

  Ideas were forming.

  She didn’t want to lose her ride back, but she was curious. And if she really messed it up … the walk wasn’t that far.

  She sheathed the sword and set her stance.

  A little more refinement was in order.

  So far she was just blasting things. Could she move something? Without hammering it? Could she actually push the Jeep? Or would she put a dent in it?

  There were other things around to try shoving but she wanted this. Everything else was stuck to the ground or small. This was just sitting there, and it was heavy.

  She dug her foot in behind her, thought it through, imaging the feel of the force, the directing of it, how it would channel, remembering what it felt like when she leapt, fighting the Kel, fighting the horde, something instinctive she wasn’t sure how to tap; that similar, almost-success as she fell through the skies of Osaka, apparently directing enough repulsive energy to at least save her from dying, and in fact save her from broken bones; a sort of steady application of the field. With the sense of those instances in mind she took a breath, concentrated, held both hands before her, focus on the Jeep …

  Nnnn! like physically pushing without touching and …

  The body of the Jeep rocked on its shocks.

  “Yes!”

  The sound of a flock of birds squawking into action somewhere in the woods snapped her from her stunned regard. Had they responded to her efforts? Did the field set off some bird sense? Did the movement of the Jeep?

  It was back to just sitting there. Old and waiting. She replayed the action in her mind. Her invisible shove had made it rock, like if three or four people tried to shove it over. Three or four people could not, of course, tip over a multi-thousand-pound vehicle. But they could definitely make it move. And that was exactly what happened. It moved. She’d shoved it without touching it, and she did so with an overall force way greater than she alone, teenager Jessica Paquin, could have done with her bare hands. A wave of energy—again, no speculations on from where or how; there was no reason to try to explain, only to know that it could be done and do it—and it moved the entire structure.

  I can do more.

  She set herself again; dug the one foot in deeper behind, bracing against the earth …

  NNNNN! and the Jeep rocked hard, all the way up, two wheels coming clear and she saw its undercarriage and driveshafts and differentials and realized it was too much and threw her hands out to the sides in alarm, releasing the force and lunging to it—as if to grab it and pull it back before it toppled all the way over. It was a foolish reaction and pointless—the Jeep was too far away to reach in time, even if she could bodily pull it back to all fours—and, in the end, unneeded. She’d released it quickly enough aaannnd … it paused in mid-air, on two wheels, held, teetered, then … came dropping back down before its center of gravity was lost.

  Pumpf! the tires smooshed into the rich earth, it bounced a few times on the shocks and was motionless once more.

  Amazing. Her heart thundered with the effort, and the incredible success ... and the near miss.

  But the Jeep was fine.

  It got her thinking of other things.

  What if …

  What if she could use that force on herself? Like in the leaps, where she’d instinctively magnified the motion, just a little, giving length and height to a human-scale action.

  Once more she eyed the Jeep, felt it a little too close for the intended arc, backed up a few steps, centered herself, took a running start and jumped, up and out, focusing that same energy through herself with an eye to clear it and felt a tingling rush of vertigo as the self-generated wave passed through her and she was suddenly leaping much higher in the air, like a three-fold extension of what the muscles of her legs might’ve accomplished, soaring upward but … not high enough and thu-thunk! she crashed into the roll bar with her shins as she sailed not quite over it. The resulting fail as she scrambled to remain upright and not fall into the interior of the Jeep was not pretty, but she managed to get it together, arms flailing, grappling for a hold and twisting herself around until she was perched atop the bars. Good thing she had the armor. The solid thunk of contact against her shins brought no pain, just the embarrassment of being a spaz as she fought to hold on.

  But it worked. Ungraceful as it was, she’d made herself jump much higher than she could’ve with just her legs.

  Quite a bit higher, in fact, and farther.

  This was something to work on.

  She got her feet under her and stood atop the roll bar, balancing awkwardly until she had her poise. Once she had it she stood a moment, like a ballerina, arms out at her sides, standing on her toes; perfect in form.

  Looking for her next target.

  Slowly she turned in place, eyes cast high, looking into the loftiest branches, practicing her balance even as she searched for the next place to leap.

  There. A thick branch, probably fifteen or twenty feet above the ground, way high in view of what she was about t
o attempt but not that high in the grand scheme of things, nearly horizontal, no other branches or obstacles around it. A good landing spot, basically. Her attention settled on it and she began to imagine the arc of her ascent. Perhaps not the best second attempt at this ability she had not yet, actually, done successfully.

  If she missed a fall from that high would hurt.

  But she brushed those thoughts aside and focused on the execution. She knew what to feel for now, how to adjust it.

  This will work.

  Steadily she crouched, maintaining her balance, bending deep at the knees, tensed for the leap, readied the direction of force to match it—in that instant she had the notion it was like the jump jets in the Skull Boys, it would feel exactly the same; jump and then, at just the right moment, hit the juice and get the boost that sent you flying—and with that thought in mind she sprang hard from the roll bar with the branch firmly in her sights, channeling the force as she felt it rush through her …

  And she was soaring. Right toward it, right on target, arcing up just so and pulling her legs up and planting her feet, perfectly, realizing in the same instant—as the euphoria at having made it washed over her—that she hadn’t thought through how to stop. There was nothing to grab onto and, having made it but still filled with momentum she was in danger of shooting on over to the ground on the other side.

  But she managed to arrest the forward motion. As if sticking the landing were part of the routine, she held. A centering of energy and she was balanced again, body held in check, and it was back to her and her own wits and her own sense of balance, just like on the roll bar only now much higher, holding herself in perfect form high above the ground on the branch.

  She bent forward and back, got steady and whooped.

  “Yes!”

  Her mind floated with the buzz of energy.

  This was amazing.

  Slowly she turned, catching herself once as she did and feeling the fear of falling from that height, a fear that was so ingrained it overcame her analytical reasoning that she could, in fact, and would, in fact, have to, leap from there to the ground. She had to believe the same force that got her up there could get her down.

  It was still a little scary.

  And as she turned to face the Jeep, way down there on the ground now, twenty feet below and at least that far away, a ridiculous smile of exuberance on her face—she knew must look insane but that didn’t matter because there was no one there to see …

  Someone was looking.

  Pete.

  Standing at the edge of the clearing, not far from the Jeep. Staring up at her in absolute, wide-eyed, dropped-jaw, I-can’t-believe-what-I’m-seeing shock.

  Where did he come from?!

  Her smile fell, completely, all sorts of terrified reactions fighting to take its place.

  Behind Pete other bodies were coming through the woods; Steve, she noticed, jogging up, leaves scrunching as he ran—she heard them now—other footfalls; Heath, then Zac. Jogging toward the clearing, like maybe they’d been out for a run. Or looking for her. Probably both, finding and following the ruts left by the Jeep, deciding to come see where she was.

  And now they’d found her.

  “There it is,” Steve said unnecessarily, pointing to the Jeep as he jogged up and stopped. His eyes were at ground level, on the yellow Jeep, not yet tracking Pete’s upward stare. Then he saw where Pete was looking.

  His own eyes widened. “ … What the …” He looked around, confused. “How the hell did you get up there?” For Steve her being so high in the tree was a mystery, no doubt, but not in the same way it was for Pete.

  Pete saw. He saw how she got there. She could tell from the look in his eyes.

  He saw it all.

  Heath came into the clearing next and stopped, near Steve, Zac with him. Heath looked up at her. “You shimmy that trunk?” he asked in disbelief. But the trunk was too thick. Heath knew right away she couldn’t have shimmied it and all at once his mind was working. Looking for clues.

  Jessica’s eyes locked to Zac’s, way down there, knowing he would put together what she’d done. Zac would guess. How she got up there. His own eyes so blue, so sharp in the golden gloom of the afternoon forest. Looking up at her with all the rest.

  For the longest, most difficult moment no one spoke. They huddled down there staring up; Zac and three athletic, top-tier American soldiers; warriors, splattered to their knees in mud, breathing steady after a good run, ready for anything—anything but this—staring in awe at the armored girl perched way, way too high up a tree to have gotten there any other way than with a huge extension ladder or a rope.

  Of which there were neither.

  She steadied her breathing. How to handle it? The nerves of being found out failed to gain full purchase and she was left with Pete. Betray him? Answer “Yes” to Heath, say she did shimmy up the trunk and make up some story to explain it away, then play damsel in distress and ask Zac to catch her when she jumped into his arms? Or have him leap up and “rescue” her? Like a fireman getting a cat out of a tree?

  Oh, Pete.

  She couldn’t betray him. Because if he kept his mouth shut, he’d be sitting on something that would probably eat him up. And if he said what he saw, and she didn’t back it up, they’d think he was crazy.

  She had to come clean.

  “I jumped,” she said.

  At first Heath laughed. A nervous reaction. Steve too, but she wasn’t joking, and as that settled they looked to Pete, who was still staring. Like a zombie. Slowly their expressions straightened as they began to consider what Pete might’ve seen; the possibility that, somehow, some impossible way …

  You jumped? The question was on both their faces.

  Writ large.

  No time like the present, she thought and stepped forward into space, ready to continue testing her personal power. And, to a lesser degree, their sanity. As she jumped Steve and Heath lunged to catch her, too far away to reach her but too shocked at what she was doing not to react. Pete and Zac stayed where they were. The drop lasted only a second, but she got her arms down and sent a wave coursing through her that, to her satisfaction, cushioned the landing. She hit the ground soft, like a butterfly alighting in that final instant—it worked!—knees bent fully though there was no need, and she held like that a moment, then stood smoothly to face them.

  Now they all looked like Pete. Only Zac was immune. Only Zac was not surprised.

  Then they began to notice. Other things. Trunks, ruptured from the inside. Splintered wood, popped outward and fresh. Stripped bark. Broken branches.

  Toppled trees.

  Broken rocks.

  She could see the wheels grinding harder in their heads, sparks flying by now. Obviously she did this. No one else was out there. Did she do it with the sword?

  Impossible.

  Suddenly nothing made sense. Their worlds were rocking, worse with each advancing second, with each new speculation that could never possibly be true and yet somehow was, and here they were faced with a girl that wasn’t a girl and wasn’t anything they’d ever seen and how did any of it add up?

  How could it?

  “There’s more going on here than just saving the Earth,” she told them, hoping her voice might infuse some calm into the difficult moment. “Zac is here with a purpose,” she directed their attention to him, hoping to remind them they already knew the supernatural, hoping to remind them they already had an example of a human that could do the impossible. Maybe she wasn’t that strange after all. “I’m here with a purpose too.” It looked like it worked. Kind of. She was changed in their eyes, of course, irrevocably so, but maybe that wasn’t the shock they imagined it to be. She would never again be the simple teenage girl they thought they knew, but she was still Jessica. In most every way she was still the same. Looked the same. Sounded the same. Acted the same.

  She was still their friend.

  She said it: “But that changes nothing. I’m still the same girl
you know. I’m your friend, and your ally.”

  Yet, even as she saw that dawning she realized letting them stew on the deeper significance was a bad idea. Trying to explain it … even worse. She needed to advance the moment. To push ahead; past this. And so she sought to bring back the normal. To remind them of the girl they knew.

  Of the world they knew.

  “Feel like a little mudding?” She glanced at the mud-covered Jeep, inviting them to do the same. At first they didn’t move, then they all kind of gave it a look, stunned but following her gaze. “There’s some good spots out here,” she offered. Then: “I’ll drive. That is,” and she risked an easy smirk, “if you don’t mind putting your lives in the hands of a girl.”

  It took a few moments, but in short order the boys were hesitantly agreeing. Wanting to believe.

  They’d been through too much, honestly, to do otherwise.

  CHAPTER 26: SEIZING THE WINDOW

  Bagpipes played in the distance. In the town square, it sounded like, their distinct racket drifting on the cool evening air. There were several, from the sound of it, maybe even a small band, playing mournfully as the sun set. Very Scottish and, for Jess, inspiring. Bagpipes were one of those things most people had a strong opinion on one way or the other (few people were likely to be ambivalent about the pipes), and she’d always been solidly in the “like” camp. They lifted her spirits. Even if they tended to sound like a funeral dirge, no matter the song.

  “What’s that?” asked Zac. They were making their way down a narrow road leading behind a row of wall-to-wall buildings, structures of differing heights that comprised the main drag through town.

  “Bagpipes.” Jess wore her civilian garb, as did he, and until then they’d been walking in silence. “Kind of a weird instrument. Most people either love them or hate them.”

  Zac was really listening, intent on the dramatic sound. “I think I love them,” he said. Then, wondering: “Are you one that hates them?”

  “Actually, I love them too.”