by Gwynn White
I tried to think past the pounding in my head, but I was still coming up blank.
“There was a bright light,” I said, when he didn’t speak. “I guess one of them must have done something to the fire, because once I could see again, it was spread all over like this. A lot of them were on fire. Screaming, like you said.”
“One of them?” he said. “You mean one of the Mythers decided to let you go?”
I shook my head. “They said they weren’t Mythers.”
“Stop derailing. Whatever they were… one of them tried to let you go? Which one?”
I looked around at the bodies on the ground, but it didn’t really help. I only recognized a handful of the faces, and none of the ones I knew seemed likely candidates for a sudden change of heart. I counted ten cultists total. I’d seen roughly that many before, but I hadn’t seen everything they’d been doing or heard all of their words.
I didn’t exactly have the best vantage point, chained to that log.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess?”
“Why would they do that, Alyson? Why would they kidnap you, only to try and free you?”
I threw up a hand, wincing when it hurt my arm. “I have absolutely no idea. Why would they want to set us on fire in the first place?”
My answer only seemed to frustrate him more.
He didn’t say anything, though.
Sliding an arm around my waist, he pulled me off the log, leaning me against his side to support some of my weight. I flinched a little when he first touched me, but I felt zero agenda in the contact; it was perfunctory, rote.
Without asking a second time, he began walking me over to the man still tied to a log.
23
True Believer
As we approached, I saw the bare-chested man lying there had even more symbols carved and inked into his skin than I’d realized. He was also younger than I’d realized.
Looking at his face, I guessed him at early twenties––mid-twenties, at most.
We were about halfway to his log when he began to speak. He didn’t aim his voice at us; he spoke his words to the night sky, murmurs that sounded like prayer.
“…And the day will come when the darkness will become Light, and the light, Dark," he intoned. “And the One God will open the great gates a last time, and the brothers and sisters will look across time and remember they are no longer alone. A new world will await them, many worlds, far across the stars, and they will go there, or be hunted onto death…”
Flinching, he turned, watching our approach.
Once he made out my face in the starlight, he began speaking louder, his eyes so wide they looked like silver coins punctuated by his irises, black with pupil.
He stared at me alone.
“AND THE END OF TIME WILL COME AFTER THE THIRD RACE HAS BIRTHED...” he said. “AND THOSE WHO ARE NOT CLEANSED SHALL BE FORCED TO REMAIN BEHIND, IN THE DIRT AND ASH OF THAT BROKEN, FORGOTTEN WORLD, UNTIL SHE COMES FOR THEM, UPON TIME’S END…”
“Who?” Simon said. “Until who comes for them?”
The man blinked up at the black-haired man.
He looked at him blankly, as if noticing him for the first time.
“The Bridge, of course,” he said, his voice oddly normal.
The black-haired man frowned, glancing at me.
“Some kind of scripture,” he muttered.
I sighed. “I figured.” Letting go of him, I caught hold of the log where the man was bound, straightening with a grimace as I looked down at him.
He was so damned young. I looked over the scars on his skin and winced, seeing a few that looked like brands. Some looked old enough that he must have gotten them when he was a kid, maybe even pre-adolescence.
“What does any of this mean?” I asked Simon, still staring down at the marked skin. The cultist’s blue eyes really were unnervingly like those of the man with the blond ponytail. “Do you recognize these symbols, other than the spirals? Do you know the scripture he’s talking about? You SCARB guys have to study all this stuff, right?”
The black-haired frowned at me briefly.
Then, turning away, he clicked under his breath.
“No,” he said, staring down at the man chained to the log. “I don’t know it. Not the scripture, at least.”
“They said they weren’t Third Myth,” I repeated. “They said they followed something older than that… some dragon god. The one true god, they called him.”
The black-haired man didn’t respond.
He seemed to be scanning the symbols on the blond’s body now too, squinting as if trying to identify them. The man on the log must not have tried to get away even once during the gunfight. He still lay on the very top of the log, his eyes wide as he looked between our faces. From his expression, we could be speaking a language he didn’t know.
He still stared mostly at me.
I saw fear in his eyes, coupled with a fawning reverence. That reverence unnerved me more than the fear––and more on him than it had on the seer.
“Did they say anything to you?” the black-haired man said, still studying the symbols on the man’s skin. “Why they were doing this?”
Realizing he was still speaking to me, I shrugged. “Standard blood and fire whacko religious crazy shit. Something about an offering. Their leader said the ritual was supposed to call the Bridge here. And someone called the Sword.” I frowned, trying to remember more. “There was a fair bit about that dragon god. They said they needed one of each of us.”
The man looked at me sharply. “One of each of what?”
“I don’t know, exactly.” Thinking, I shrugged. “My brother, Jon, mentioned some seers believe in three races. I figured that’s what he meant. I thought the third race were like angels, though, not actual people living down here.” I glanced up at him, still frowning. “They called me something. First race. He said I was an inter-medi-something––”
“Intermediary.” The black-haired man continued to stare at me, his face unmoving. Finally, after another pause, he said, “Why would they think you were one of those?”
I threw up a hand, wincing again when it hurt my arm. “How would I know? I don’t even know what that is. Again, you’re asking me these things like I have answers or something, like I know anything at all about arcane seer religions, or the cults that exist around them. I still don’t even know why you saved me from that bomb in San Francisco––”
“I meant, did they give you a reason?” he growled.
I sighed, looking down at the blond kid. I watched him murmur his prayers up to the night sky, that reverence still in his eyes as he looked at me. I really wanted to believe he wasn’t that other guy’s son, but the more I studied his features, the stronger that gut feeling grew.
I looked back at the black-haired man, trying to answer his question.
“They said something about medical records,” I said finally, exhaling. “And someone who helped them… they called him ‘patrón,’ or maybe ‘The Patrón.’ Whoever that is, real or imaginary, they claimed he gave them information that helped them find me. The head guy, the one with the blond ponytail, said they found nine of us down here.”
The black-haired man visibly flinched.
Turning slowly, he stared at me. “Nine?”
I nodded. When he didn’t say anything else, I gave a low snort.
“Apparently I was convenient,” I added sarcastically. “Oh, and I’m doing nothing with my life, so there’s that. They figured no one would miss me if I died. They were all just so thrilled and honored to meet me, though… right before they set me on fire.”
The black-haired man didn't seem to notice my tone of voice.
I saw him thinking, staring down at the bound man. I flinched when he leaned down, catching hold of our prisoner roughly by his straight, blond hair. Clenching his hand tighter, he lowered his face, speaking in a harsh voice.
“We can start the fire again,” he said, his German accent thick. “No ritual
this time… no glory. No wreathes of garlands from the Ancestors. Just pain. Just fire.”
Symbol-guy’s eyes shifted from me to the man holding his hair.
The black-haired man’s grip looked like it hurt, but the blond kid didn't look afraid of him, or of his words. Mostly, he looked confused.
“Are you her guardian?” he said finally.
His voice was tentative, childlike. That and his wide-eyed expression made him seem even younger, like he was barely out of high school. I winced at the thought.
The black-haired man didn’t seem to be moved.
“Yes,” he said, colder. “I am her guardian. And you’re going to answer my questions, or I promise you… you aren’t going to like me very much.”
The younger man swallowed, but his wide-eyed expression didn’t change.
“How did you find her?” Simon said.
“We were wrong,” the other told him seriously, not seeming to hear the last thing my friend said. Nodding solemnly, he looked back at me. “We were wrong. Very wrong. She wasn’t Serpent. She wasn’t Trickster. She is one of them. One of the Four. She was hiding––”
For some reason, his words seemed to anger the black-haired man.
“You’re damned right you were wrong,” he growled.
He gripped the man’s hair tighter. Then he shocked me, smacking the blond head against the log, hard enough that I flinched.
“How did you find her?” he said again.
The man smiled. Looking up at the stars, he began speaking in a faraway monotone, as if reciting something from memory.
“Abnormalities of the blood, matched to certain illnesses documented incorrectly as genetic defects,” he said, smiling wider. “…Differentials in heart rate. Reflexes. Abnormality of heart placement. Accelerated brain tissue growth. Rate of cellular and genetic degeneration––”
“Where did you get the ID? No one has a reliable ID for intermediaries. No one.”
“The Patrón…” the man said, still in that faraway voice.
“The patron of what?”
“He is a prophet. A man of wisdom…”
“Where is he?”
The man’s smile remained blissful. “The Patrón comes to most of us only in dreams. Javier spoke to him. He spoke to him in the flesh––”
“Who is Javier?”
“He’s dead,” I said.
When the black-haired man looked at me, I pointed at the Latino man who’d shyly told me I was the Serpent. I saw the black-haired man’s frown deepen. He looked back at our captive.
“Who else knows?” he said, his voice a harder growl. “Who else has her name? Anyone?”
When the blond didn’t answer, the black-haired man slammed his head on the log again, making me jump.
“Are there more of you?” he growled. “Who else has the fucking list?”
“We are everywhere… our spirit lives forever.”
“What about in the flesh? How many of you are still here? On Earth?”
“The Patrón,” the man said again. He looked up at the black-haired man, that blissful smile widening on his face. “The Patrón knows…”
“What the hell is wrong with him?” I said. “Is he just crazy? High? What?”
The black-haired man looked at me, as if remembering I was there. He released the man’s hair in the same instant. His face remained in a scowl.
“He’s drugged,” he said. “It’ll probably kill him, whatever it is. It’s the practice for willing martyrs in his sect. They drug them so the death isn’t prolonged. So he’d be mostly, if not completely dead before the fire killed him. Or at least in a lot less pain.”
“His sect? What sect is that?”
He gave me another sharp look, then frowned.
“He’s an Evolutionist. That’s the European name for them, anyway.” He glowered down at the man tied to the log, his voice threaded with disgust. “There are other names for them. They’re old. Pre-First Contact. They claim to come from a movement started prior to the First Displacement. Kardek was said to be a secret member… as were many of those in the Elaerian high council. They worshipped the first among them. The first of the First. They called him ‘Dragon,’ the One True God, for he is said to have spoken the rest of the gods and mortals into existence. According to scripture, his voice alone could manifest beings, calling them from as far as the places beyond the Barrier.”
I blinked at him. For a few seconds, I wasn’t sure which thing to ask about first.
“What’s a Displacement?” I said finally.
“A species-decimating event.” The black-haired man looked at me, frowning. “Not quite an extinction-level event, but one that wipes most of a species out, pushing them off the top of a global food chain. It is said that two have happened so far… for two humanoid races. According to the Myth, a third will come, and wipe out most of the current species of human.”
I blinked at him again. I was starting to feel really tired.
I shook my head, fighting to think.
“So this Dragon-god––”
“It’s not important right now, Allie,” he said, his voice warning. “It is a myth… a story. But you asked why they did this. This is why. They want to bring the Third Displacement. They believe it will cause them to evolve into super-beings of some kind.” Exhaling, he combed his fingers through his dark hair. “I am more concerned that they might try to use you for this again, that they might have your name on a list somewhere.”
I swallowed. “Oh.”
I looked at him again, tempted to ask what he was doing here for real, what his deal was with me. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the answer to those questions, though.
“What about this Patrón stuff?” I said. “What do you think that means? They have a big boss somewhere, pulling the strings?”
“I don’t know,” the man muttered. “But that’s what we need to find out.”
He glanced around us, then gave me a grim look. “Keep an eye out, will you? I may need most of my consciousness for this. Smack me on the arm if you hear anything… if you pick up on anything at all. Don’t speak or call out. Don’t make any noise at all, if you can help it. I don’t want you drawing anyone down on us while I’m gone.”
Puzzled, I started to ask, but he’d already looked away.
I watched him stare down at the bound man, his eyes slightly out of focus. His pupils grew smaller while I watched, until they were bare pinpricks, almost invisible in the crystal-colored eyes. He didn’t move, but continued to hang over the bound cultist.
That went on for a number of minutes.
Longer, frankly, than my frayed nerves could handle.
Remembering what he’d said, I leaned close to his ear.
“What are you doing?” I murmured.
He jumped violently.
Turning his head, he frowned, seeing me so close. As I moved my head back from his, I watched his pupils go back to normal size.
“Did you need something?” he said, still staring at me.
He spoke in a normal voice, so I did, too.
“Yes,” I said. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” He frowned harder, his eyes holding a flicker of disbelief. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m reading him.”
I stared at him, then down at the man tied to the log. It took another span of seconds before his words made sense to me. But I hadn’t heard him wrong.
“You’re a seer?” I said, looking up. “A fucking seer?”
The black-haired man’s gaze flattened. Staring at me in disbelief, he stripped his voice of emotion, making it utterly deadpan. “Are you kidding me right now?”
I didn’t have a response for that, so I just stared at him.
Clicking under his breath, he shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said, gruff. “But we can’t talk about this right now. Could you just… you know… be quiet for a few minutes? Even your thoughts are loud, and he’s dying, doped to the g
ills and there’s some kind of block on his light. I’ll explain after, all right? Just keep a look out for me. Grab my arm if you hear anything.”
Falling silent, I just nodded.
I didn’t move as he leaned over the man again.
I couldn’t stop staring at him though, even as a lot of things fell into place behind my eyes. How he’d known about the bomb. Why he’d taken us to that sex club. Why I hadn’t heard him talking to that seer female. How he’d known seer sign language.
Of course, he still might be SCARB. I’d heard they hired seers to track other seers. But why the hell would he be tracking me? And where was his handler?
I found myself looking at his neck, and the complete lack of a collar around it.
As far as I knew, all seers had to be collared in public places in the United States––even those working for the government, unless they were with a human handler and working a specific job. That wasn’t just California law––it was the whole country. Moreover, the penalties had to be stiff, given that enforcement still fell under World Court jurisdiction.
So where the hell was his handler?
Assuming he had one, and they worked for the Feds or SCARB, they must be using him illegally. That, or Simon himself was totally off the grid.
If the latter was true, he would definitely be classified as a terrorist.
I couldn’t help but put that together with why he’d cut the collar off that female seer.
The black-haired man’s eyes clicked back into focus. Shaking his head, he frowned, staring down at the blond in frustration.
“I can’t get through,” he muttered.
“What do you mean you can’t get through? Why not?”
He exhaled in frustration. “I told you why.”
I frowned, thinking. “But why should any of that matter? He’s human, right? I thought seers could read any human. I thought you only had problems reading other seers.”
Turning slowly, he gave me an incredulous look. “Despite human myth, we have never been able to read ‘any’ being of any race. There are many reasons why we might not be able to read a human. Further, there are seers we can read quite easily, especially if they are young, untrained, or have a lesser sight rank than we do.”