"Do you have any tips for finding the password?"
"All you can do is search. But do your best not to appear too obvious. Remember, your dad knows what I can do. If you make him too suspicious, it could cause him to fight against you. The mind has numerous safeguards and they can still be dangerous to you."
"Ok. Thanks again, Angie."
Angie came close and drew Fuyuko into an embrace.
"You know I wouldn't let you, or Katsuro, down. I just hope this helps and doesn't make things worse."
Their embrace ended. Fuyuko turned and made her way to the lake. While it appeared miles away, in the logic of dreams, she reached its shores in a matter of steps. Though the grass continued to ripple and sway with the breeze, the surface of the lake remained an unbroken mirror.
Fuyuko took a deep breath and shook out her arms, feeling a sudden stiffness. Was it just nerves? Staring at the water, her reflection looking back at her, the ludicrousness of her plan struck her. Sneak into her father's dreams in the hope she could recover a password from his subconscious mind. Even Angie, who had mastery over the dreams of others seemed to doubt the likelihood of its success. So why bother? Why not go back to Angie and end this foolishness before she got hurt?
The water rippled, distorting her reflection. In that brief moment, Katsuro's eyes met her own. She blinked a couple times and leaned closer to the water. Only her own reflection greeted her.
Maybe I'm just seeing things.
Still, that glimpse renewed her resolve—even if it only meant she could meet Katsuro in her father's dreams. Perhaps that alone would make the trip worth it.
She took a gulp of air and jumped into the water. She'd braced herself for the sting of water just thawed after winter. Instead, waters baked under the summer sun to a bathtub-warm temperature wrapped around her. She kicked her feet and pushed herself deeper. How far would she have to go? Would her held breath last the entire trip? Could you drown in a dream? What happened to you in reality if you did?
Before she could work herself into a panic, her head broke through the surface—or bottom—of the lake. As Angie had described, she found herself in a room with white, featureless, walls. She swam to the edge and hauled herself onto a cool concrete floor. By the time she got to her feet, she was dry.
A single door led out from the room. She opened it onto a long tunnel with a bright light at the end. She took a single step across the threshold and was propelled forward. She threw her arms up to cover her face as she crashed against the light.
She took a stumbling step into a room that appeared to be a church. It was long, with a series of pews on either side, leading to a front area where a small podium stood next to a…casket.
Fuyuko took a sharp breath. With the disorientation of her journey wearing off, recognition of the place began. Her knees threatened to buckle and she strangled a sob that rose in her throat.
Katsuro's funeral.
She took a step forward then stopped, Angie's warning ringing in her ears. Where had she come in? She stood near the back, on the right side. Turning around, she saw a single door with an illuminated 'Exit' sign above it.
Fuyuko moved along the side aisle toward the front. The room was empty of mourners, quite different from the actual day of Katsuro's funeral. But in this dream world, only a single individual sat in the front pew, his head held low—her father, Shinji Takeda.
She reached the casket. The top lid was open, revealing the familiar features of her brother. She was struck again at how unreal this version of him appeared. Katsuro exuded the energy of life. Even asleep, it radiated from him. This empty shell felt nothing like him, and the more she looked, increasingly appeared less like him. The body seemed a mockery of the young man it imitated. She fought the urge to slam the lid shut.
Her father had yet to lift his head and take notice of her. Should she intrude? Apart from the door she had come through, there were three other doors leading away from this room. The double doors at the far end of the main aisle, a matching door on the left side from the door she'd entered through, and a final one here at the front, just to the right hand side of the casket. Would those doors lead to other dreamscapes belonging to her father, or was this place a true representation of the funeral home and they would lead to other areas? What happened if she left the building? She fought back the urge to explore.
"Fuyuko?" her father said.
She managed a sad smile. "Hi, dad."
She sat beside him, but not too close. Should she sit closer? What would Fuyuko in her dad's dreams do?
Her father's gaze remained locked on Katsuro
"I failed him," he said.
"No, you didn't. What we do is dangerous. He knew that."
Her father gripped the railing that ran along the front of the pews. "No." He shook his head. "You don't understand. I did this to him."
"Dad." She reached out to touch his hand, but he flinched away from her.
"You don't know. How could you?"
She tried to keep her voice calm and soothing. "Tell me. Help me understand."
He turned to look at her. Tears welled up within his eyes and rims of red made it clear he'd already shed a vast amount.
"I've made mistakes, Fuyuko. I let my hubris blind me. Losing your brother was my punishment for treading into the realms of God." He reached a tentative hand up to stroke her face. "But I've saved you, my dearest daughter. If I can protect you, maybe I haven't failed completely."
"You don't need to worry about me anymore," she said. Having him show her love, that he valued her, she began to wonder if she was in his dream or her own. "I'm of no use to Suture without my powers. I won't be sent on any missions."
His hand dropped away. Something filled his eyes besides the tears—guilt? "Are you thankful for that? Or do you hate the one who took those powers from you?"
"I do hate her," she said, thinking of the Fallen, Elaios. "Not because she took my powers. I hate her because she was one of us and turned against us. She turned against everything that we are supposed to stand for. Not just because she hurt me, but because she was willing to kill everyone and think it totally justified."
"Do you miss them?"
"My powers?"
He nodded.
"I…" Her first impulse was to say yes. Then she thought of sitting in the theatre with Angie, two normal girls watching a movie and laughing at the absurdity of it, having a pillow fight and talking about boys, and even a time, eight months ago, when for a brief moment she'd enjoyed the simple pleasure of riding a swing. She never would've had this night with Angie if she'd had her powers. Instead, she'd be with Ansuz, risking her life, performing a mission that only the highest ranks of Suture would truly understand the benefits and ramifications of.
"Sometimes," she finally answered.
"If you could have them back," his voice barely audible, "would you want them?"
"I guess. I mean, I've tried to get them back. If I never could, I think I'd still be happy with my life." This last confession surprised her. Perhaps more than that, the fact she said it to her father surprised her more. Why could something so hard in real life be so simple in dreams?
She looked back to the casket. "Do you know what happened to him?"
"He fell during a mission."
"Was there something more to it than that?"
Her father's eyes hardened and his jaw tensed.
"You shouldn't ask that."
Had the lights in the room dimmed? Why did she feel threatened?
"He was my brother and I loved him. Don't I deserve to know why I don't have him anymore?"
"You do deserve to know."
The lights flickered. In that moment of darkness, had she seen something moving in the shadows? Her muscles tensed and her pulse quickened.
"But it's something you can't know. Please," he looked toward the shadows, "don't ask me again."
They sat in silence.
I'm never going to get his password this way. I've was
ted Angie's help.
She looked to her father again. Even if there was something outside the other doors, this was the only place where her father would be. There were no trials to overcome, or tricks to be played out. Shinji Takeda was only in this one place in his dreams, and all the secrets were, just as in the real world, locked within his own mind. She couldn't ask him about Katsuro's death. If that information evoked such a strong, and perhaps dangerous, response, she couldn't risk asking about his password. She thought about their conversation. Was there something here, something she could leave with that would at least help her better understand her father, or make it seem like the effort had been worth it?
"Dad, why are you so interested in my feelings about my powers?"
When he didn't answer, she decided to press more specifically.
"Dad, did you do something to my powers?"
He turned in the pew, so his eyes were away from her and the casket. She gripped his shoulder.
"Don't hide from me, dad. Just explain it to me. I always thought you were proud of us because of our powers." She added in a quieter voice, "I always thought that was why you preferred Katsuro—because he was a Script."
"I know why you're here," her father's voice trembled with anger. "You're wasting your time."
Even in the dream, Fuyuko felt her heart skip.
"What did you say?"
Her father turned, his eyes full of terror and fury.
"For a moment…you had me for a moment. In all the nights, you've never…"
One of the doors Fuyuko had wondered at opened. Her mother, dressed in the same black dress she'd worn at Katsuro's funeral, entered the room.
Her mother wore a smile alien to her face—a predatory smile. She knelt in front of Fuyuko's father, taking his hand. He tried to pull away, but her grip wouldn't release him.
"Yes, sweetheart, tell her the truth. Tell her how you've been able to develop a way to rob Anunnaki of their powers."
Fuyuko's eyes widened. "Is that true? Did you do that to me?"
"You can't fool me," Shinji said. "You think I don't know what you're doing? My mind is my own," he shouted. "Get out."
The shadows erupted in a mass of muscled tendrils that smashed down on the pews.
Fuyuko rolled away, a tendril turning where she'd been only a moment before into splinters.
Her mother continued to wear the monstrous smile, even as a tendril crushed her to a bloody paste.
If only I could still access the Veil.
After a few moments of dodging, one of the tendrils hit her left foot, pinwheeling her against a wall. The wind went out of her and she was certain something had popped in her chest.
Where was the exit?
Her head spun. She'd come in at the back, but was it left, right, or center? There'd been an exit sign, but now all of them had exit signs.
Smash. The pew in front of her exploded in a shower of splinters. She scrambled away, all feet and hands digging away at the floor.
A dream. It's just a dream. How can a dream hurt?
Angie's repeated warnings filled her head. Maybe her body wasn't being hurt, but what of her mind? If she died here, would she be left a vegetable in the real world?
My mind.
Yes, this was her mind, connected to her father's mind. Her body betrayed her, and could no longer find the Veil. But in her dreams… In her dreams, she was still an Anunnaki.
She reached down into herself, found the burning sun that blazed within her, and rode the rays of energy that poured out and connected to the vastness that was her Veil self. She marvelled at the enormity of it and basked in the sense of completeness she felt, being able to reach it again.
A tendril shot toward her, and was cleaved in half for its efforts.
Her spear, a shaft of ice, with a blade that curled down and around the shaft. Holding it in her hands filled her with a strength she'd longed to feel for eight months.
Everything returned—her strength, agility, and the thrill of plunging into chaos. Yes, she'd begun to achieve peace with the idea of never feeling this again, but normalcy would never be able to compete with this sensation.
Slash, leap, slash, parry, a dance of intricate, beautiful destruction. Her movements returned her to where her father stood.
The tendrils rose up on all sides of her. She hesitated, afraid she would injure her father.
"Dad," she gasped. "Please, stop this. I can fight these off, but I don't want to hurt you too."
He looked at her with the same quizzical expression he got when seeing a new problem to be solved. The tendrils hung in the air, wavering, waiting for the final command to destroy her.
"You're not like the others," her father said. His hand reached toward her spear, but hesitated far from touching it. "For a long time, I've spent every night in this funeral parlour, having the people I love ask me question after question. Every night, I watch them die. None have ever fought back—they seem to enjoy me watching what my defences do to them. But that spear… Do you remember what I told you about its name?"
"You said, 'when a piece of your soul tells you its name, that is for only you—tell no one else.'"
He smiled, satisfied with her answer. "Have you ever told anyone?"
"No. I… You made it sound like you'd be disappointed if I did." That was the second thing defining how she'd lived her life—pursuing Katsuro and trying desperately to never disappoint her father.
He stepped closer, the tendrils melting back into the shadows. His hand raised, brushing his fingers along her cheek with a gentle, breeze-like pressure.
"It's…you, isn't it?" he asked.
Her voice caught in her throat.
"I mean…" He laughed. "Of course, Angie. I should've put that together earlier. I'm getting slow."
"Dad… I…"
"No, no, don't explain. I don't know whether you're here by accident or on purpose, and I don't care. I'm glad you were here."
"Then tell me the truth." She held back a sob. "Did you take my powers somehow?"
"Now's not the place or time," he said. "They never stop listening, even when they aren't in the room. Just understand this—what I told you about the name of your spear, it's more important than I ever knew. Do you understand?"
She nodded, though she didn't. Apart from being rooted in a spiritual belief, what difference did it make? After all, didn't she know the name of several people's Veil weapons? Did it somehow lessen their powers?
"Fuyuko, beware those questions—about your brother or your powers. The past will remain as it is." His eyes pleaded with her to ignore his words. "Studying every small detail will change nothing."
"But…" Who was listening? Why couldn't she know more about her brother's death? What happened to her powers? "Can you tell me anything?"
He pulled her into an embrace and walked her toward the door marked 'exit'—only one door was now marked that way. She hoped it would be the one to return her to Angie.
Her father whispered in her ear. "Suture can not be trusted."
13
Ghosts of the Past
Pridament clamped his hand on Gwynn's shoulder, holding him fast to the spot. Gwynn tried to shake him off, looking toward Sophia.
She's here. I don't know how, but thank you God, she's here.
In the moment Pridament forced him to hesitate, Gwynn caught her eyes, and realized there was no recognition or love for him there. His shoulders sagged and Pridament helped prop him up.
"I'm so sorry, Gwynn," Pridament said. "Everything happened so fast and you had so many questions. I should've been more considerate. This is Sophia, from my Earth. She was rescued by the Fenrir after they received intelligence a seer was being used to discern their movements. I had arrived and managed to convince them she might prove to be a powerful asset."
She took a step closer toward him. Another Sophia, from another world, and yet she resembled his own so much. She even had the same smile.
"Is he injured?" she as
ked.
"No," Pridament said. "You just resemble someone he once knew. He…lost her."
Her eyes widened.
"I'm sorry. Should I go? I don't want to hurt him."
"No," Gwynn whispered. "Please, I'll be fine. It was just a shock."
He stood a bit straighter, relieving Pridament of the burden of his weight.
"So you're a seer?" Jason asked. "And you had a vision of our capture?"
She nodded.
"Then I'd like to say thanks. I'm not sure we're out of the fire yet, but it's good to be out of shackles and not getting kicked."
She smiled and it clenched down on Gwynn's chest.
"So you never really explained, why were we taken to begin with?" Gwynn asked.
"I think I'll answer that."
The new speaker wove through the crowd. He didn't push his way through, nor did the people part like he was royalty, but he moved with a deliberate grace that spoke of being the leader.
"Gwynn, Jason, I'd like you to meet the leader of Fenrir, Ka—"
"Katsuro," Jason breathlessly exclaimed.
The man, Katsuro, stopped and studied Jason's face.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?"
Jason looked from Katsuro to Sophia and then to Gwynn. He shook his head ruefully.
"Damn. Looks like we're both getting visited by ghosts from the past," he said to Gwynn. Turning to Katsuro, he said, "I knew someone on my own world who was probably a version of you. He was my friend and mentor."
"You say 'was,'" Katsuro said. "Then you lost this person too." He looked from Gwynn to Jason. "Two young men already with so much loss, which is exactly the reason we need to fight Woten. He has—"
"Whoa, whoa," Jason put his hands up for emphasis. "What do you mean, Woten? He's a good guy. I mean, without him our world would've been destroyed by tears in the Veil centuries ago. You must be talking about some other Woten, right?"
Pridament shook his head. "No, Jason, I'm sorry, but he does mean your Woten. As it turns out, he means the only Woten."
"No. Bullshit. I won't stand here and listen to this."
Suture (The Bleeding Worlds) Page 15