The Illusory Prophet

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  Movement behind me draws my attention. Commander Astoria has come up to my side with Delphina and Grayson flanking her. “Whoever has done this, Eli,” the commander says, “I believe they must be within the Resistance. I promise you, we will find the person responsible.”

  The flurry of activity that swept me away from the barracks and the fuzziness of my head have prevented me from asking questions before now. “Was anyone else hurt?”

  “Thankfully, no,” Delphina says, her voice grave. “From what we can determine, the bomber managed to slip past a rotation in the guard at the back of your barracks and leave a device next to the side of the tent. It was wrapped in an invisibility suit, which is why it was undetected. It’s possible the bomber themselves actually wore the suit and carried it to detonation.”

  A suicide bomber? “Who would do that?”

  Commander Astoria answers. “That, Monsieur Brighton, is what we are trying to determine at the moment.” She glances at Grayson, but he shakes his head. “However, we do not think the bomber was killed in the blast. The shredded remnants of the invisibility suit were easily found—rendered visible when they shorted out after the blast—but we haven’t found any human remains so far.”

  Kamali’s hand tightens on my arm.

  I just nod, dully.

  The command pod door slides open. Tristan and Nathaniel whip their weapons to point at whoever’s coming through, but it’s just two of the Resistance’s militia and a woman in their custody. She’s mid-twenties and muscular-looking, bleeding from a head wound and snarling at her captors’ grip on her arms. I recognize her instantly.

  Melanie. The woman whose sister lost an arm in the attack on the camp. The sister hated the ascender tech that had replaced it, and Melanie insisted that I fix it.

  Only I didn’t.

  The attention of everyone in the command pod rivets to her. She’s fighting the hold the two men have on her, teeth gritted, but it’s not until she sees me that she truly becomes animated. She lurches toward me, but the men hold her back.

  “Why do you get to live?” she demands, hissing at me across the dozen feet that separate us.

  Tristan waves the door closed behind her and levels his gun at her head.

  She ignores him—her glare is all for me. “You killed my sister!” She’s throwing the words at me like she doesn’t care who hears. Or how they indict her. I didn’t kill her sister, but I know exactly what Melanie means—her sister had attempted suicide before. This time, she must have succeeded. And Melanie is holding me responsible.

  Cyrus breaks away from his guard duty by the door and stalks over to me. He points his gun at the floor, throws a tense look at the woman, and leans in to hoarsely whisper to me.

  “This is my fault, Eli.” His voice carries over the quiet of the command pod.

  I lean back, squinting at him. “No, it’s not.” I don’t understand what he’s saying.

  Commander Astoria marches past us to examine Melanie up close. “Are you responsible for the bomb left outside Elijah Brighton’s barracks?” she asks with a coolly official voice that tells me this is suddenly a trial, and Melanie is accused of attempted murder. “If you confess, we may let you live.”

  The woman holds her chin up, saying nothing. The cut across her brow, which she must have gotten when they captured her, is slowly leaking a trail of blood down her cheek.

  Cyrus’s voice in my ear drags my attention away. “I meant to help her before I left. I promised I would find someone who could heal her sister, but I ended up in the fight with you… then we decided to leave…” His voice is rough.

  “This isn’t your fault, Cy.” My gaze is glued to Melanie’s defiant stance. She has it right—this is my fault. I could’ve healed her sister. I could’ve painted with reality back then and healed her missing arm. I didn’t know it at the time, but mostly because I didn’t want to. I didn’t try to explore my ability because I didn’t want to own any of this.

  I stride away from Cyrus.

  Melanie sees me coming, her eyes going wide, then narrowing with hatred.

  Commander Astoria is still waiting for an answer from her, but it’s easy to see Melanie’s not going to give one. She’s already admitted her guilt with her outburst. And knowing it was her who tried to kill me somehow makes it less disorienting. Like the universe has clicked back into place, making sense again.

  Commander Astoria lifts one eyebrow as I edge past her and stand before Melanie. The militia on either side of her tighten their hold. She’s eyeing me with a palpable loathing, and I don’t blame her. She’s a warrior for the Resistance who pledged her life to the cause—then she lost her sister to it, and that turned everything around.

  “The answer isn’t killing,” I say to her. “The answer is never more bloodshed, or at least it shouldn’t be.”

  “You have no right to say anything!” she spits back. The blood from her head wound has been trickling a slow path down her cheek, and it’s just now reaching the edge of her chin and threatening to drip off. Her words don’t affect me as much as that thin red line.

  How much more blood will spill because of me?

  “You don’t have to listen to me. But it’s the truth.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know the truth doesn’t matter to her, not right here, right now. I have lives upon lives swimming inside me, and with all that perspective, so much life lived and pain felt… I understand what’s happened here. This woman is hurting. She’s lost her sister, and her pain and rage drove her to try to kill me. And now she’s throwing away Commander Astoria’s offer to escape the penalty for it because she’s still mired in her anger and pain.

  But dying for this will solve nothing.

  I slowly reach a hand toward her face. She whips it away, keeping clear of my touch, so I stop moving, leaving my hand midair. Instead, I shift slightly into the fugue. Her Resistance camouflage fades, replaced by nothing but black—skinny black pants and a harshly cut t-shirt, both revealing the strength of her body. The fierceness of her eyes is just as strong in the fugue, but there’s pain behind them. Losing her sister is breaking her. I bridge the distance between us with my fugue form, moving slightly out of my body, but not enough to send me tumbling to the floor. When I reach the cut above her brow, her pain washes over me like a wave of glass, shredding through my mind. I know every intimate detail of her relationship with her sister—the arguments, the love, the intense closeness she’s never felt with anyone else. I fight through the onslaught to imagine her small wound healed, the external one, the one I can fix. I’m just bringing the reality of her flesh back into resonance with the reality of her soul.

  Not only does the wound disappear, but the blood does as well.

  In the real world—the one everyone else can see—I haven’t touched her. But the startled looks on the faces of both her and her guards show they’ve seen what I’ve done.

  I could use the flood of memories to find Melanie’s sister on the other side, but unlike everyone else I’ve brought back, she wanted to leave this world. She’s probably happier there. It seems wrong to force her to return. That she’s there through her own choice leaves me with none.

  I let them both go.

  Melanie is wide-eyed, the defiance in her eyes replaced by a dazed confusion.

  I pull back my hand in reality.

  She touches her head, and her hand comes away clean. She stares at it, then back at me.

  The room is silent.

  “I made a mistake before.” My voice is rough with the memory of her pain. Her gaze locks onto mine. It feels like there’s just the two of us in the room. “I should have healed Sarah. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  She blinks like I’ve stunned every thought from her mind.

  Commander Astoria’s mouth works like she’s struggling for words. Finally, she clips out, “Take her to the brig.” That snaps the guards out of their slack-mouthed awe—they renew their hold on her, but now Melanie is offering no resistance. Her s
houlders have dropped, the rage and anger having disappeared along with the blood on her face. She keeps blinking too fast.

  The guards escort her through the door.

  A deep, resounding silence blankets the command pod.

  Then everyone talks at once.

  Commander Astoria wants my attention. Lenora’s suddenly by my side, along with Marcus. The whispers running around the command pod ramp up, a swell of noise asking what just happened?

  All the words wash over me, unheard. I’m still staring after Melanie, wondering what will happen to her. I twist around and seek Kamali’s face across the room. The fierce look of approval on her face is all I need.

  Commander Astoria’s voice is getting more insistent by the second. “I want you on our next PR campaign,” she rasps out, half command, half angry request. Like she’s not happy about any of it but doesn’t have a choice. “I have a plan to provoke the legacies in Seattle. I want you on the ground there.”

  “No!” Lenora comes alive next to me.

  Marcus steps around her to stand uncomfortably close as if he thinks the commander is going to physically steal me away and force me on her mission. “We’re taking him,” he tells her flatly. His glaring contest with Commander Astoria reminds me they’ve always been allies of convenience.

  “We have a bigger problem than PR in Seattle.” I’m speaking to the commander, but my words are for everyone. I’m finally recovering from the shock of the attack, and the last thing we should worry about is the state of the Resistance in my hometown. I’m sure Miriam has moved up the schedule for the next Offering—the one that might be as dangerous as I am. My vision of Hypatia disassembling my body and replacing it with ascender parts wasn’t just a nightmare—it was a glimpse of what’s coming. And that’s an even bigger threat.

  I have everyone’s attention. “Augustus is resurrecting,” I say.

  Lenora and Marcus exchange a quick look but wait for more.

  I pick up the pace to fill them in. “When I searched for him before, I couldn’t find him, but I think that was only because he hadn’t resurrected yet.” This bothers me. Why can’t I access Augustus in his backup state? Or Hypatia, for that matter? It’s like Lenora and her splintered mind—does dividing a soul destroy it? Maybe I can’t find Augustus’s backup because he has no soul at all… just a fugue-state form that’s operational if the power is on. “Hypatia is building a new bodyform for him—she’s not done yet, and that’s the reason for the delay. The custom bodyform probably has some enhanced cognition features that he needs.”

  “Then we need to waste no more time,” Marcus says harshly.

  “Agreed,” I say. “We need to find Hypatia and stop her before she finishes the job.” I only saw her in a vision, but she could have resurrected and started building this new bodyform since the last time I searched.

  “Which is why we need to move you out now.” Marcus directs that to me but also to Commander Astoria. “Eli is key to stopping this threat. Ever since we destroyed the Mind, I’ve been searching through the ascender world for Hypatia and Augustus, but I haven’t been able to find them. They could be staying off the grid, away from Orion, but if Eli can sense them…” He looks to me for confirmation.

  I nod, even though I’m not even sure that Hypatia has resurrected. If she hasn’t, she will soon. Either way, we need to stop her before Augustus resurrects into his new bodyform. Then I can get back to worrying about Miriam and her new Offering.

  “Then with Eli’s help,” Marcus continues, “we have a way to find their hideout. And the best time to strike is now before they’re ready. Before Augustus has a chance to resurrect.” The fear in his voice echoes the swirl of black wisping along his skin. “I have a place we can take Eli. He’ll remain safe while we conduct the search.”

  I nod my agreement, hoping I can pull this off. If the vision is of the future, we still have time to prepare. If not, time is seriously against us.

  Commander Astoria doesn’t look happy. “I agree that we need to stop the rise of Augustus again, if that is possible, but I assure you, we can keep Eli secure here—”

  “Commander, that’s not even close to true.” Marcus’s tone drips with arrogance. Which isn’t helping.

  I cut in before he can make it worse. “When I come back from this, we can discuss my role in the Resistance, Commander Astoria. But this has to take priority.”

  I can see her struggling with it, but the truth is she can’t keep me, and she knows it.

  “We have allies that can help,” Lenora says, finally speaking up. Black tendrils are writhing across her skin too, and she’s giving Marcus a cold look to go with whatever transmissions they must be sharing. To the commander, she says, “This is a threat to our world as much as yours, and that makes it a very dangerous thing. The less entangled you are, the safer the Resistance is as a whole.” She softens her tone. “This is our world, and you don’t have a place in it, Commander Astoria. Not yet. Someday, but not yet.”

  The commander’s jaw tightens, but I think it’s the threat to the Resistance that sways her. It’s also what solidifies in my mind that I’m doing this alone. I need Kamali and Cyrus and everyone I care about far away. Commander Astoria gives her nod of approval, finally, but it’s already a formality. Across the room, Kamali is having an animated, whispered conversation with Cyrus. Basha is weighing in with shakes of her head.

  I turn to Nathaniel and Tristan, who are hovering nearby. “You need to protect them while I take care of this.”

  Nathaniel accepts this immediately, giving me a short nod as if that’s a given.

  Tristan has a more pinched look. “I don’t like you going off with ascenders unguarded.”

  His concern is still strange to me, but he’s probably thinking of me as an asset to the Resistance if nothing else.

  Grayson speaks up from behind the commander. “Which is why I’m going with him.”

  I frown. He’s an augment, so he has a chance against sentries, if it comes to that. He probably just wants to make sure I come back to the Resistance. On the other hand, he did help with the sunbikes and his silence when we took off for the Makers.

  I owe him one. “All right,” I say, tipping my head.

  “We should leave immediately.” Marcus’s patience is wearing thin.

  I ignore him and push past the humans and ascenders gathered around me, heading straight for Kamali. Her blazing eyes say she’s ready for a fight—with me—which isn’t how I want this to go. Cyrus stands behind her, shaking his head as a warning, but I don’t need it. I know exactly what both of them are thinking—that I’m out to save the world again with something that’s just going to get me dead.

  “You need me,” Kamali says before I can open my mouth. But I also hear the words she’s not saying—I need you.

  It brings a smile to my face. “In ways you don’t even know.”

  A sheen of tears springs to her eyes. Cyrus rubs his forehead, like he thinks I’m blowing this. I pull Kamali into a hug, a strong one, and I hold her while she buries her face in the crook of my neck. But that melting of her body against mine only lasts a second. She pulls back and grabs hold of my cheeks, gripping my face in her soft, soft hands while staring fiercely into my eyes.

  “I don’t want to be that thing that slows you down.” Her voice trembles. “That holds you back from what you need to do.”

  I smile against the hold of her hands. “You’re never any of those things.” Then I pull her into a kiss that feels urgent and hot on her side even as I try to reassure her with my touch. There’s something about this moment that’s illuminating and lifting. Of all the things I’m going to do—and it feels like an infinite field of strange and uncountable things stretches before me—this feels like the most important. This feeling I have, this connection to her, is the gravity that pulls it all together. It’s not simply that I’m heedlessly in love with her. It’s not even that I would give my life to protect her. It’s that this feeling—the one we
’re sharing in this moment—is the reason all of it is worth saving.

  Awareness of the world, the sea of staring faces in the command center, crowds in on me.

  I break the kiss. Tears are free-flowing on her face.

  I smile a little as I wipe them away. “My kisses aren’t supposed to make you cry.”

  This just makes her face wrench up more.

  “It’s going to be all right. I promise.” Then I release her and turn to Cyrus. “I’m not going to kiss you, so if you’re expecting—”

  “Shut up and give me a hug.” He pulls me into a brotherly one that’s a little harder than I expect. “I’m letting you call the shots from here on out,” he says quietly. “Don’t mess this up.” He quickly lets me go, and the look on his face—and Basha’s and Kamali’s and the rest of the command center silently watching—makes it clear they think I’m walking off to my death.

  Strange how I don’t feel that at all.

  But then again, death is starting to take on new meaning for me.

  I give Cyrus a small nod, squeeze his shoulder to reassure him, and turn my back on all of them. I stride toward Marcus and Lenora. Grayson is waiting with them.

  “Let’s go,” I say as I brush past them, heading out the door.

  I’m flying away in a transport with Marcus, Lenora, and Grayson.

  The snow-capped spread of Mt. Rainier slowly crawls by, looking flat at this altitude despite its height. We’ve been in the air for twenty minutes, heading south from the Resistance camp, the ship on autopilot to somewhere while Marcus and Lenora commune in the corner. Their intense transmissions are enhanced by touching hand-to-hand. Grayson alternates between checking the cockpit and watching the ascenders. I’m not sure what he thinks will happen while we’re in flight.

  I gaze out the window, but I’m really focused on assimilating Melanie’s life—and figuring out where I’m going with all this. Not literally in the transport, or even in a next step sense—it’s obvious we have to stop Augustus from resurrecting—but beyond that. The commander wants me in a PR role for the Resistance but… I can literally change reality. I haven’t had two minutes to sit down and figure out what that really means or what I can do.