Shield (Bridge & Sword: Awakenings #2): Bridge & Sword World

by JC Andrijeski

  He is beautiful, in his orchestration of this precise work.

  The work is still work to him. It requires concentration, will, purpose. Yet it fills him with such freedom, of muscles flexing, utilizing complexities in himself that are still new to him, that still fill him with relief, almost longing. The work allows him to breathe. After years and years of repression and hiding and pretending to be what he is not, he lets it exhale outwards rather than eating him from within.

  It makes my heart hurt, this freedom.

  An explosion rocks the ground nearer to where he stands in the physical world. Shrapnel flies towards him and the two seers protecting him.

  I fear for him for an instant…

  Then he throws up a shield of white light.

  It is dense; it pushes the force outward, protecting him and the two males beside him. Fire and iron and wood slide over and around them in a hot wind of explosive air. They are like rocks in the midst of a fast-moving stream.

  I feel the gratitude of the two seers with him.

  They adore him. They absolutely adore him.

  It is what he is born to do. He knows nothing else for which he is suited. Here it is less a question of right or wrong, good or bad, but of untapped functionalities expressed outwards to some purpose… even if that purpose is not really his own.

  He knows now, that this force in him had to come out eventually.

  In one way or another, he would have been forced to express this power inside his light. While he cannot trust those for whom he exerts himself now, he trusts himself even less. So he works for them, and considers himself lucky.

  He has a purpose.

  He helps to make the world better, somehow… if only temporarily.

  Memories break inside my mind, pieces of him mixed with pieces of myself, or maybe just memories of his memories. A historical moment lives here, as well. Something of import, that lives beyond what any one seer or human remembers. A knowing imprints all of them, like a notch in their collective DNA, all of those who witnessed those years.

  Somehow, we are all responsible.

  He is not born. He is created.

  He is made through indifference, through patience and intention.

  A man holds a gun to his head.

  It is a small head, only slightly larger than the one I know from the forest. Dark hair obscures his round face and slanted eyes. I can’t see his eyes though; they are invisible to me, as are most of his features.

  It is not only other seers who work to break him. This one is human. Young. Mean. He works for the other, but he is devoted, not a slave.

  “Disarm!” the human snarls. “Disarm, you fuck! You think he’ll let you live if you don’t? Disarm or I’ll blow your head all over this wall––”

  It shocks me, to hear him talk that way to the boy.

  The boy is both strangely old and strangely young for his years. He copes and shuts down and learns and strategizes, all in turn. Sometimes he does all at once.

  He fights them, too. His mind fights, for his body is fragile.

  His tormenters writhe through his aleimi like metal snakes, but he fights them anyway. He holds onto memories of parents, some glimpse of what it was to be loved. He remembers affection, but it slides out of his grasp so easily.

  It isn’t long before he questions if any of that had been real.

  The human’s name is Merenje.

  “You snot-nosed prick. Don’t care about your life, eh? What about your little girlfriend? How many of us do you think it would take to break her?”

  I feel something in the small chest give out.

  They find his weakness. They always find it.

  I see her then. Large eyes, dark hair. A prostitute they brought him; she is young, almost as young as he is. He knows she was sold to them. He knows she doesn’t want to be there. She doesn’t care about him, either, but she is all he has. She begs him for protection. She begs him, touches him when he wants it. She tells him lies.

  She knows. He is her only hope of getting out of there alive.

  They beat her, too. They beat her, and use her, but she is…

  The cave wavers, breaks apart.

  It collapses around us both and his mind stops.

  A wall of windows appears. In the shifting glass shards of his mind, I dart between fragments like an insect’s erratic battle with wind.

  A burnt out factory stands in a field. A long row of thin, glass panes stand in metal frames, sporadic holes already punched by rocks thrown as rust grew up rows of corrugated iron.

  He is there, young again, still smaller than his years, though not as small as when I saw him beaten and cut and raped in the woods. He is a teenager now, a young man. The emotion remains intact but it is more focused from the years.

  Structures spark around his light. Fear lives there, a crushing grief covered over now in blinding rage… and something else, a feeling of growing purpose, mixed with that wildness, the temperament of an animal.

  Emotion pulses out in erratic bursts.

  I feel his mind reach out. I feel it start, that folding sensation.

  It unfolds entirely, stirring something inside me as he aims. Pent up feeling courses outwards, meeting shimmering squares of glass panes in a rusted, corrugated wall. The power behind it terrifies me.

  I’ve glimpsed that fire-like potential before, in seconds crawling by as I flex a muscle unused. I’ve seen it in me, this fire. Only a half-memory guides me to be cautious, to not fall into it… to not direct any strength or intention its way.

  I am careful as I look at it, like a giant picking up a snail.

  The boy is past that.

  He uncaps that force, a writhing, boiling pit below a thin membrane he uses to hold it back. When he slides back that veil, he screams from the power of it. It feels good, so much better than he’s ever felt before… and I lay there, panting in the dark, remembering that feeling somewhere inside my own being, jealous of him for not caring.

  He exhales it out, and…

  Windows explode inside rusted frames.

  They shatter outwards.

  The release is so profound he is filled with something close to joy. The folding turns into a merging, a oneness with all lights, everywhere, and he sees inside every atom, every moving and shining particle.

  He’s held it back for so long.

  When it finally goes he laughs and laughs and can’t stop laughing…

  23

  HUSBAND

  I SAT HUNCHED over a cup of chai, staring into the fire.

  My mind felt excavated, spent.

  I could no longer think about anything outside of our jumps. I lived there now. Both relief and irritation accompanied my every break between immersions.

  It was like a drug.

  It frightened me a little, to know I was living vicariously through the boy. I was exercising that part of myself through him––siphoning off the excess, so to speak, like watching porn instead of having sex.

  I was aware enough to be disturbed by that idea.

  Day followed day, mostly the same since that first introduction to the boy in the woods. Tarsi and I weren’t any closer to finding the connection to the current day massacre––assuming one even existed––but I felt like I needed to scrub my brain with steel wool and Comet for about a month.

  I don’t think I fully knew it was morning until the old woman came in, holding an armful of wood. Stacking the pieces by the stone fireplace, she turned and looked at me, her light eyes appraising.

  “You need break,” she announced in her choppy English.

  I nodded, vaguely grateful. The irritation came a few seconds later. I pushed it aside, glancing hopefully at the pile of skins that had become my bed.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “Good.” She smiled. “Husband here. Waiting for you.”

  I stared at her for several full seconds, unblinking, until her words sank in.

  “Revik’s here?”

  “You got
different husband?”

  Taking a long drink of the tea, I set down my cup, noticing only then that my hands were shaking. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t felt him.

  Then, thinking about it, I could believe it.

  But that made me wonder again why he hadn’t come before now.

  He hadn’t felt angry the times I’d managed to touch his light, but he hadn’t felt exactly… normal, either. Tugging my boots closer, I shoved my socked foot inside the first one and began knotting it up. I blanked out my mind.

  “He mad at me,” Tarsi said cheerfully. “He say he no leave until he talk to you.”

  My nerves worsened. “Great. Okay. He’s out there now?”

  “He no leave,” she repeated. Her pale eyes smiled at me. Take the yak skin. And keep the clothes. I’ll get them from you when you come back.

  Once I got my second boot on and tied up, I stood, letting the blanket drop to the floor as I looked for where I’d left the coat. Finding it by the door, I fumbled into the arms, and then I felt him, looking for me. A sharp ribbon of pain sliced through my chest, sucking in my breath. I lay a hand on the whitewashed stone, fighting to keep the chai down.

  Once I’d recovered enough, I looked at Tarsi.

  That time, I saw kindness in her eyes as well as humor.

  “Do I need to come back here?” I said. “I do, don’t I?”

  She gestured fluidly with a wrist flick up, a seer’s yes.

  She added, “Go with him now. Both of you are useless.” Smiling, she went on in the more cultured tones of her mind. It is better that we let the two of you be married for awhile. You are both becoming a liability in your current state. Him even more than you.

  At my skeptical look, her eyes sharpened.

  “You need to tell him something, Bridge. Before you leave. I’ll know if you don’t. I’ll come after you, tell him myself.” Use my exact words, she sent. Before you go anywhere with him. He won’t hear it later.

  I nodded, but that last part puzzled me. I finished fastening the coat, standing by the door.

  “Okay. What is it?”

  She told me. Her words didn’t clear anything up, so I repeated them a few times in my head, trying to make them make sense.

  “What does it mean?” I said.

  Alyson, tell him exactly what I said.

  “But you’re talking about me, right? Why can’t I know what it means, if––”

  She clicked at me, loudly enough that I fell silent.

  Alyson, she sent. I am not playing games. Tell him. Or I will.

  After a slight hesitation, I nodded. But I wasn’t happy. Reaching for the wooden door handle, I stopped a last time, looking over the interior of the small cottage. It had become my whole world in the past few weeks.

  “Say goodbye to Hannah for me,” I said. “Tell her thanks.”

  “You stalling, Bridge?” She smiled.

  I sighed. “Maybe.”

  Steeling myself, I jerked the door open and entered the clearing, putting the old woman and the stillborn images of war and glass shattering and dead children out of my mind… for a short time, at least.

  I SHOULD HAVE known he wouldn’t wait in the open unnecessarily.

  And yet, it still made me pause when I couldn’t find him right away with my eyes. I scanned shadows, half-using my sight, and made out his tall form, standing unmoving by a clump of dark, hard-skinned trees. He stood at the opposite edge of the clearing, not far from where I’d last seen Chandre.

  He wasn’t looking at me.

  He’d been waiting for me to locate him, however; I felt that much, but no more. He hadn’t been so heavily shielded around me since we’d been together on the ship. His visibility behind the Barrier existed only in what wasn’t there, not what was. His outline constituted an empty spot in the living light of the forest.

  As soon as I thought it, his light changed.

  Within a blink, his light matched that of the woods with an exactness I couldn’t help but find impressive.

  I began to walk. His long form remained motionless as I crossed the grass.

  Shadows stretched alongside strips of early morning light, dappling his face under the trees. He didn’t look over as I approached, but continued to focus on the sky past the edge of the cliff. It occurred to me he must have left in the middle of the night to get here at this hour.

  When I stood directly in front of him, he turned his head, but still didn’t quite meet my gaze.

  For a moment, we just stood there.

  It was almost easier to be with him like this, with his light so closed.

  I looked up at pinkish clouds, and realized I hadn’t been out of Tarsi’s cave in what must have been a few days.

  When I looked over next, I caught him watching me. His eyes traveled down my body before he felt me looking and averted his gaze. His face was blank, the mask I remembered from when we first knew one another. He had a bruise on one cheek, dark enough that I knew it had to be a few days old, at least.

  Tentatively, I tried to read what was going on behind the mask.

  He didn’t exactly push me off, but I felt him move, sidestepping my light.

  His voice made me jump. He spoke English, his accent thick.

  “Are you staying?” he said. “Here. With Tarsi.”

  I took a breath. “She said I could go.”

  He didn’t meet my gaze, but nodded. “What will you do now?”

  I hesitated, suddenly unsure.

  “I’m leaving,” I said. “With you. Aren’t I?”

  I saw his shoulders abruptly unclench. His light remained firmly closed. He seemed about to say something more, then looked away again.

  “Are you ready?” he said. “Do you have everything you need?”

  I studied his eyes. “Yeah,” I said. “Revik, your face. What––”

  He shook his head. “Not here.” He held out a hand. He didn’t try to touch me, but stopped, palm open, offering it to me.

  I stared at his hand, seeing my father’s ring on his index finger.

  Feeling him react to, and misunderstand, my hesitation, I reached out, but before our fingers touched, I hesitated again, retracting my arm.

  “Wait,” I said. “There’s something else. Something I’m supposed to tell you. Before we leave.” I felt my face warm, and realized I was embarrassed. I wasn’t sure why I was embarrassed, but I fought to block my reaction. All I ended up doing was looking away, towards Tarsi––or towards her door, at least.

  When I turned back, I saw him waiting.

  “It’s ridiculous,” I said. “But she wanted me to say it word for word. Before I went anywhere with you.” His face remained patient, so I ran fingers through my tangled hair. “Okay. She wanted me to say this: ‘He lied to you. In Cairo. She doesn’t know. I…’”

  I hesitated. His face hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “‘…I agree with you. But you need to be… careful.’”

  I felt him waiting still, so I held up my hands.

  “That’s it,” I said. “That’s the message.”

  He didn’t meet my eyes. I saw him look towards Tarsi’s house.

  For a moment, he didn’t move. His light remained tightly shielded, but I felt some kind of conflict on him, or maybe it was an emotional reaction of some kind.

  Hell, he could have been talking to her.

  He nodded a second later, seemingly to himself. I saw his throat move in a swallow, just before he offered me his hand again, giving me a bare glance.

  “Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Are you ready?”

  “Revik.” I studied his eyes. “What does it mean?”

  He shook his head. “We can talk about it later.”

  “Is this about Maygar? Because he didn’t…” I saw him flinch and stopped.

  Pain rippled off him. For a moment he didn’t move.

  “No,” he said finally. “It’s not about that.” He looked me full in the face. “Allie.” He struggled with words. “Allie�
�� are you all right?”

  He had opened his light, so much so that I found it difficult to hold his gaze. Grief spiraled off him, but worse than that, guilt, and a pain that was hard to deal with.

  Looking away from that expression, I tried to smile, backing off.

  “I’m fine.” Still trying to get that look off his face, I joked, “I’m pretty sure he’s not.”

  He didn’t smile back.

  When the feeling on him intensified, I caught hold of his arm.

  “Hey,” I said. I bit back the flare in my light when he looked down. For a moment, I could only return his stare. “I want to go with you,” I said. I released his arm, taking a half-step back. “I’ve missed you like crazy, and we can talk about whatever you want. But I really don’t want to go back to Seertown. Much less the compound, or––”

  “Not Seertown,” he said, his eyes still on mine.

  “Then where?”

  “I found us a place, Allie. It’s safe.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll be alone.”

  I thought about that for another breath, then nodded. I took the hand he offered a third time. When his fingers wound into mine, I felt it down to my feet.

  “Okay,” I said. “Then I’m ready.”

  HE WALKED WITH a slight limp again, I noticed.

  We hiked for hours, and I watched him walk. I wondered if his injuries from Terian were acting up again, or if this was something new––something related to the bruise on his face.

  I almost asked once we were going uphill.

  In the end I didn’t, aware of his probable reaction to my bringing it up.

  It felt at first like we were retracing the steps I’d taken to Tarsi’s, but at a certain point, Revik deviated.

  He brought us through a ravine I didn’t recognize, then further south, towards a different crest of mountains. Helping me up onto a slim trail once we reached the other side of a narrow, heavily forested canyon, he took me past a broken wall of cliffs made up of granite-like boulders.

  I gazed out over the canyon, watching birds skim along the roof of the canopy.

  Hearing the thundering crash of water over rocks after we’d been walking a few minutes longer, I looked around until my eyes found a high waterfall of glacier runoff. The sound grew even louder once we’d rounded another jutting section of rock. He took my hand again when we reached a section where the rocks grew slippery, leading me up to a snaking path through the trees.