Fade

by Chad West

  “You will not leave, either.” He looked at Angela. “For that, I am actually sorry. In a way, it is my fault you are here.” He sighed and the dust between his feet rose and danced.

  “So you don’t plan on hurting us?” Angela asked, just to be sure, and the giant’s head moved like a pendulum. So Angela stepped toward him, her confidence blooming. “Then tell me why we can’t leave. My friends are in a war and they need us.”

  His lips tightened. “On the second Earth?” His head lolled to the sky and he sat. “You’re still causing troubles,” he said to the air, then looked at them as if they would understand.

  She hesitated, trying to get all the crap Jonas had told her straight, and ignoring the blue man’s comment to nobody. “Yeah, I think, the second Earth. My friend Jonas brought me from the, um, first one to save me from a different war. Well. The same war, technically.” She looked at Kah’en. “With his people.”

  Kah’en took this as the cue it was. “Yes, our people came in search of our queen, whom we wish to raise again. They will destroy this girl’s planet and its people if we are not allowed to return and help stop them.”

  “What makes you think she can be raised?” The Guardian’s eyes narrowed.

  Kah’en’s mouth hung open a moment. “That is always been known.”

  “Mira’s Janar, always more clever than I gave them credit for. Always skulking and watching.”

  “The staff can raise her,” Kah’en continued. “We once believed by magic, but now we know it is technology.”

  “That damned staff,” he said under his breath, one of his hands on his face. “I have known for a long time that your people had the staff when,” he pointed at the Fade behind Kah’en, “they began appearing here. That’s its default address: this wretched place. My sister’s doing. She would send her enemies here when…” He stopped and pinched his nose, screwing his eyes shut. Angela had begun to wonder if he would continue and had opened her mouth to speak when he started again. “So, I felt responsibility. I helped many of them settle in the beginning. I even befriended some, and then made the mistake of telling them that I came there of my free will, and that I controlled the gate. It did not take long for them to gather, thinking I would let them leave. They did not understand that I could not let them leave. So they attacked. Dozens died at my hand.” His face was pained.

  Angela raised a hand, felt like she was in elementary school again, dropped it and spoke. “So, what is here? Is this really where the queen or whatever came from?”

  The Guardian nodded. “This was once our home world, yes.” Her heart broke at the sadness that statement brought to his face. But he firmed his jaw and looked back at Kah’en. “How did your people come to understand what the staff could do?”

  “The staff was in a museum for years. Then, only a small cult of Mira’s followers remained. It was not until later that our scientists began to look closer at the staff, finding the technology inside,” Kah’en said. “Aern was the first to hold it in centuries. I believe banishing people here made him feel as if he were like the queen.” He said this with a sneer.

  “In ways he would not wish to be,” the Guardian said. “I imagined the worship of my sister would have been forgotten by the time your people had the technology to understand what it could do.” He flinched.

  “So, where is our queen? She was not on the first Earth we attacked,” Kah’en said, then looked up, what the Guardian had said obviously just hitting him. “Your sister?”

  “No, she was not on that Earth.” The Guardian’s smile was grim. “And, yes, your so-called queen, Mira, is my sister. We are the last of our kind as far as I am aware.” He looked at the sky as he spoke. “This, our world, was at war with itself millennia ago. We all saw the end coming, but no one would stop. I made the staff to take my sister and myself off of this world before it was destroyed. We escaped to the closest planet that could sustain our life. It was the planet of the Fanil.” He looked up at Angela. “You call them the Fade, I believe.”

  “If you were there,” Kah’en said, emboldened, “why do our stories not speak of you?”

  The Guardian looked at him. “Because I was not fool enough to involve myself in their primitive society.” He ignored Kah’en’s contemptuous look at that remark. “We both felt powerless, angry, after we escaped, but my sister could not let it go. At first, she focused her need for some kind of order, after such chaos here, on your people, and named herself their protector. Then she began to use the staff to travel to other worlds that might someday threaten her Fanil children—observing them.”

  “Yes. Then she deserved her reputation.” Kah’en nodded, his chest poking out in an almost comic manner, which Angela tried not to be disgusted by.

  “She did mean well, Janar. Earth was one of the planets she observed and, early on, she brought your people from slavery there, giving you a new life among the Fanil. Your slave masters were the first that she sent here, to this desolate world, to show them what evil men like them did to beautiful worlds.

  “But, as time went on, none of this helped her get over our planet’s destruction. She became more paranoid and bitter angry. Observing planets that might one day be a threat was no longer good enough. She had made it her obsession to see no harm ever come to any of you, her adopted children. I should have stopped her when she returned covered in the blood of a world. But I let myself believe she was still the sister I love, and she wooed me with her insane rationalizations.”

  Kah’en bristled at this. “Where is she, old one? Is she here?”

  “In a manner of speaking, she is, Janar.”

  “Then, let me—”

  The Guardian held a hand up, stopping Kah’en. “I will finish, Janar.” He waited until Kah’en backed down, then continued. “My sister killed so many. But I could not make myself kill her. So I caged her life-force here. I wanted to show her that she was no different than those she sent here. I hid her body away so that one day, when she returned to her senses, I could restore her.”

  “Wait, doesn’t that make her dead?” Angela asked.

  “She is different. A warrior made in the womb to survive. She can die, but her body prefers life. That body will reform if her consciousness demands it. But I found a way to imprison that consciousness.” He said it as if it was no more complicated than two plus two.

  “As I said, we did not find this body,” Kah’en said.

  The Guardian smiled. “I did not hide it where either the Fanil nor the Janar might think. And I hid the location deep within my staff.” Then his smile wilted. “But you did find it, didn’t you? You stumbled onto it.”

  Kah’en looked at Angela, eyes wild. “The Queen truly is on your world as Aern thought.”

  “In Mira and my final battle, she made sure the staff was left behind. I was fearful for the misfortune, but I never believed this child-race would figure out the puzzle. I never had as much faith in them as my sister. If they bring it to her grave,” he looked back at the shimmering blue, “it can be used to open this gate, she will be free, and this world will finally die. I did not mean this to happen.”

  Angela put a hand on his arm. “I know. But the Fade have the staff, and they are searching for her right now.” She looked at the Guardian, hoping not to have to make the connection for him.

  He stood to his full height, turning his back to them. “Two warriors will make no difference in a war. Besides, even if Mira’s body is found, it’s a useless dried corpse. I’m still certain they won’t know how to use the staff to bring her back.”

  “You’d take the chance that they couldn’t figure that out? You didn’t think they’d get as far as they have. They’re crazy and devoted. Not a combination to underestimate, apparently. And we do believe two warriors can make a difference. I have,” she had never considered a word to explain what she had, “powers.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, looking anxious. “My sister, too. She is strong, like me, and, as I said, her body heals quic
kly. All of our people were genetically altered to be useful, better. She was born to be a warrior. I was born to be a maker. Our people altered ourselves right out of existence. Big plague. Big war. Big death. Mira fought hard to save this world. It did her no good. Because she was just one.” Angela could hear a low growl in his throat. “Power gives false hope.” He turned his head more, to look Angela in the eye. “So, no, you cannot go home.”

  Angela took a moment to settle herself and asked, “Why? Aern has the staff. He will find a way to release her.”

  He turned, putting one of his hands on the head of a Kull that had wandered close and ran his fingers through its coarse hair. “Understand, child: this world was nearly destroyed by our civil war. After coming back here, I found that it was ripping itself from its orbit, which would make it uninhabitable. So I used the gate as a power source and created a bubble of artificial atmosphere around the entire planet. As I said, this is my gift. I am a Maker. It is how I made the staff, how we all understand one another’s disparate languages. So know that I am not a fool about such things.” He stood again, bending toward her, making Angela feel like an ant. “To use the portal, the bubble which sustains this world has to be shut down. The bubble is already weak. The chain reaction would be too swift to stop, once started. And it would be almost impossible to stop her departure while a world falls apart around me. So, if you leave, she leaves. I would rather take the small chance that this Aern will fail.”

  Angela found herself exploding. “You’re telling me that we can’t go back home because you couldn’t bring yourself to kill your psychopathic sister?” Her face was no longer only red from the sun. “Now half of my friend Jonas’ planet is dead, and my Earth might die too! I don’t think keeping that bitch here is doing the fabulous job you thought it would.”

  “She is my sister.” He held his hand out to stop her rebuttal. It dropped in slow motion and he looked away from her again. “It is not so easy to kill that which is loved.” He rubbed at his stubbled throat with one of his hands.

  Kah’en said, “you say this bubble you created is weakening. The queen is strong. It will not hold her long.”

  “That’s right,” Angela said, wound up again. “What happens when your stupid bubble prison pops? Are you sure you aren’t,” she took on his deep tone, “a fool about such things?”

  For a moment, the Guardian showed his teeth and a bolt of fear struck her as Angela believed she’d gone too far. But, a moment later, he bowed his head. “Daily, she berates me. She says she is strong. She says that my love for her is a lie. She reminds me that even time has begun to unravel here and soon she will be free. But that she will stay long enough to see me suffer in death.” He stretched his long neck up, his jaws clenched, his voice heavy with grief. “My sister says this to me.” After a long time, he looked at both of them. “I have kept myself from considering all of this. I have held out hope. But, even after all this time, she has not changed. She has just grown angrier, more insane. She would destroy your planet to spit in my face.”

  “So even if you don’t let us go she’s still going to eventually get out?” Angela didn’t care that he was near tears. She was trembling with anger. “Yes, by all means, let’s not take the chance we might have to stop her!”

  The Guardian looked down, in shame. “I had not even thought finding the second Earth possible.” He was frustrated rather than mournful for the first time. He took a breath. “I no longer ignore it.”

  Angela fought the sudden urge to yelp in joy.

  Kah’en placed a hand on Angela’s shoulder. “Time is different, you said. Unraveling. I have met old men that, to me, were in their youth only a few years ago. To us, we have been gone for months. What does that mean? It…” He glanced at Angela. “May be too late for our allies.”

  The Guardian frowned, thinking. “There are small pockets in which time passes more slowly here, and some, more quickly. At one time, I could keep up, but now it is erratic and beyond me. Perhaps seconds, perhaps days.” He shrugged, looking sorry for his answer.

  Angela brightened. “That’s not bad. Especially the seconds thing.” She looked at Kah’en who seemed less bright than she. “We can do this.” She hugged him. “We can go home.” Kah’en turned and began to explain in his own language what he could to those who had come with them.

  The Guardian considered. Angela’s eyes were on him again, holding her breath at what he might say next. “I hope this is… the wisest choice.” He was silent for a time and then nodded his heavy head. “I will not go with you. This world might well try to come into yours and I do not know what would happen if that occurred. This is my work, but it is old.”

  The leader of the Fade who had accompanied Kah’en and Angela stepped forward, his voice a bit hesitant. “What happens to the rest of us? Can we all go home after our queen is gone?”

  The Guardian looked away, then seemed to force himself to turn back to the Fade warrior. “The bubble I have this world suspended in will collapse after the door is opened. Those left will die with this world.”

  Angela looked to Kah’en, realizing she could understand the Fade’s words. The Guardian’s device, she imagined.

  “You have to give us time!” The Fade leader said. “We will at least go back and gather our village. It will only take—”

  “No. I empathize with you, but I have made my decision. I did not bring your people here. You were sent here by your own kind. They are responsible for the deaths. But I am sorry for it. You few are free to leave with these two.”

  Their leader looked back at his men, then at the Guardian. “Then they just die? On a whim, you decide to open the door home and those be damned who are not nearby?”

  “This was no whim, Fanil. I would wait until time itself stopped to keep my sister here if I had not been persuaded that this might be the best time to act against her, and help do what I should have done so many years ago.”

  The leader growled. “No matter how you—”

  “Enough!” the Guardian said, his voice sending them cowering. He turned to Angela. “Prepare yourselves.” He glanced at the others. “You too. My whim is your blessing today.”

  The Fade grumbled but did not refuse the invitation to live. Neither Kah’en nor Angela decided to have a dog in this particular fight. But Angela couldn’t help but think about the people they had met, both good and bad, and how their lives would just cease. Who knew how many people inhabited this planet? How many had been sent off to this unknown place by that damned staff that was at the center of so many people’s pain? Was their murder—and that’s what it was—in this unfamiliar world worth the exchange for the lives in a world with which she was simply better acquainted?

  Angela turned to find the Guardian again. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I can’t let these people die because of my choice.”

  “My mind is decided,” he said with what Angela thought might be tears in his eyes. The awesome blue light, somehow, began to shine even brighter. A long, bright tunnel appeared at the center of what had been a wall of light before.

  A pulled cork, Angela thought. There was nothing she could do now. The sky faded to a darker color. Tears swelled her eyes and her chest tightened. Her lips moved up and down as if still looking for words that might change the Guardian’s mind—words that were dead and meaningless now that the gate was open and his sister was free. It had all been piled onto her shoulders. She had talked him into letting them—and the queen—go. It was her responsibility to see that Mira was defeated.

  Logically, it seemed better than waiting for Mira’s cage to rust around her, sending her someday into an unprepared world. But the price had been so high. Too high, she was realizing. Angela took another look back at the lackluster land, taking in a dry, hot lungful of air, holding it, perhaps even savoring it. In the distance there seemed to be a rumble. She tried not to imagine what might be going on as the shield around that world failed. She expelled the air in a long breath and turned, closi
ng her eyes, moving with the few others into the light.

  TWENTY

  Cynthia dug her feet into the earth, pushing herself forward, faster at Aern; she launched her fist at him. He slid back, latching onto her arm and twisting. Cynthia felt the splintered bone move under her skin. She howled as Aern punched her in the face. Her cheek split. No sooner had she hit the ground than the wound on her face had healed and her bone mended, but the pain had been immense. She pointed her head at Aern who was unmoving, but smiling. Fear engulfed her.

  She shot at him again, a bullet. But it seemed now that she might as well be a fuming child. Each time she blocked or took one of his punches, she felt herself falling further and further toward defeat. Finally, she wheeled back, arms thrashing, bared teeth outlined in blood.

  The crowd of remaining Fade behind Aern clamored and cheered. Aern came at her this time. He was done with trifling games. A sneer pushed his upper lip into an almost comical curl. He broke her nose. A flood of red rushed over her lips. She coughed a hoarse breath as his fist pushed her ribs past breaking with a snap. A mist of red puffed from her lips as he punched her in the stomach. No matter how many times she hit, blocked, dodged, there was no foreseeable victory for her. Each of his punches was ten of hers.

  The idea that if she couldn’t break the man she could break the source of his strength had been the first to occur to her. But his armor was now just as protected as he. (Probably not all that useful otherwise, dumbass, she berated herself.) A force field or some other type of sci-fi crap, she imagined. So, now there was just keeping herself from taking too much damage too fast. But that was proving less than easy.

  He broke her faster than she could heal. Now she could see how even a world full of people like she and Jonas could fall to an invading force such as this. She squeaked in pain with each well-earned breath as they pounded each other—her single-action revolver to his fully automatic machine gun.

  Cynthia rammed him full speed, knocking him off his feet, into a tree—using those trusty laws of physics to buy herself some time. The tree, at least three feet in diameter, snapped, leaned, but stood. She took the moment and breathed; stood up straight, let herself heal, if only a bit.