“You did not prepare me for what was to come, Father!” Poe’s anger reached its zenith. “You left a sword in my hands, trusting in my care an instrument for killing before I was able to truly grasp what that would mean!”
He gritted his teeth. His eyes stung with tears; he could not breathe. He wept and choked until emotions calmed and he could once again think clearly. Pulling his weathered gloves from his hands, he cupped the clear water and cleansed his face.
“It’s wrong to blame you,” he conceded as calm returned to him. “You did what you could with the time that you had. It just wasn’t enough time.”
Reaching back, Poe rested his hand on the hilt of the Dark Sword. At first he felt the old comfort coming back to him, the security of being able to kill unimpeded. Caressing the cutting edges of the bloated cross guard, Poe felt the spines that protruded nearly through the straps that wrapped the hilt. And then, for the first time since he could remember, he withdrew. The blade had a bloody history whose weight he only now found himself burdened with. The cost paid in attaining it was steep, and the weight in all these years had not lightened. It had led him here, to this moment. If his sins could gather before him, the pool would have clouded with blood.
*
It was nearing twilight when Guardian Poe finally came back, and Jean wasn’t thrilled to see him. Hood drawn and eyes cast low, he still had both swords. Any speculation that he’d gone into the woods to dump them as a sign of good faith went right out the window. Before leaving Earth, Jean had never seen a real sword before, and wasn’t thrilled with this recent up-close encounter. Upon noticing Poe’s return, Mack dropped from the branches to gather the others, who had scattered to spend the day resting, foraging, and hunting.
“Think he’s comin’ back to kill us now?” Jean asked him.
“Aw, Jeannie,” Mack gave her a jovial pat on the back, and spoke in a tone that suggested she was worrying too much. “Maybe.”
Jean flexed her fingers. “If he tries somethin’, even blinks edgewise, I’m grabbin’ him and I’m smashin’ him down.”
Mack grimaced. Maybe Jean couldn’t shift earth around here, but he knew firsthand how nasty things got when she used what she had on a person.
“The Guardian returns,” Chari observed, holding her rifle at the ready. Poe stopped in his tracks, likely having little clue what the former priestess was holding. But—like Jean—he was a fighter, and wasn’t so stupid as to miss someone pulling a weapon on him. Flynn moved in to place a hand on Chari’s rifle, and she reluctantly lowered it.
“You’re ready?” Flynn asked.
Pulling his hood back, Poe nodded once. “I will need to conclude my affairs here. When that is all done, I am at your disposal … for a time.”
“For a time?” Zaja asked. “And then … what, you just up and leave?”
“I was told that what awaits me is too much yet to share,” Poe replied. “One day, if those answers have not come, I may feel pressed to ask for them. I will have the truth then. That is my condition.”
“I accept,” Flynn replied readily.
Satisfied, Poe walked right through the group, splitting them down the middle. Jean tensed as he passed her, ready to crash his skull in. But he made no fast moves, striding onward to the gates. Across from her, Mack was more interested than intimidated.
“I need to speak with the Archangel,” Poe stated. “She established the Guardian line, using words of power to redefine our namesake. If that legacy is to end here, it must be with her blessing.”
“Can’t you just, you know, give notice?” Mack asked. “Hey, sorry, something came up, gotta split?”
Poe glanced back, offended. “I am about to prostrate myself before a sublime being. I have met her only twice before. My forthcoming request is neither easily beseeched nor lightly granted.”
“Pretty fuckin’ humble for an axe murderer,” Jean muttered.
If Poe heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it. He just brought a hand close to the lock, and a glow of light passed between. The gates of Heaven opened with uplifting silence, swinging weightlessly inward, inviting the six who stood waiting. Radiance shone from the passage, deeper than any could see and so bright it should have blinded. But it inflicted no such harm. The pure light called softly. One by one, they entered.
*
Flynn felt a sensation of change as they passed through the corridor leading to the heavenly realms. Glancing at the diminishing world behind as it faded to dull night, he wondered how secure the pathway was, if it was possible to scale the walls or breach them and enter just the same. The wall was, if nothing else, thick. When he looked back again, Flynn could no longer see the ivory road or the forest surrounding it. It had drowned in celestial light.
“I dislike this,” Chari confided. “It feels pompous. Desperately superlative.”
Flynn ran his hand along the wall, and his digits disappeared in a fog of buoyant light that flowed over everything. His fingers brushed against something uncertain beneath, billowy yet firm.
“How is the Saryu afterlife supposed to compare?” Flynn asked.
“There is little concept of it,” Chari replied. “We are born and born again, trying life after life to perfect our actions in service to the Goddess. Those who have most pleased her are forgiven of life and freed from its cycle, placed to rest in the Goddess’s infinite arms.”
“You make living sound like a punishment,” Flynn observed.
“Many see it as such. The harshest judgments fall upon heretics who would mislead us and keep us on TseTsu for generations more. We will know when the final days are upon us when life on TseTsu diminishes. We will know we have found the true way to the Goddess when none are left to be born.” At this, Chari smiled, shaking her head. “It’s a fool’s tale, isn’t it? I could never accept it in my heart.”
Death, Flynn realized, must have been a frightful concept to Chari, to experience rebirth and chance losing some sense of herself, to be trapped in a cycle of torment and resurrection if reincarnation held true on TseTsu. And if it had, did Chari escape that cycle when she left? In staying, could Flynn and his friends have become part of it?
Flynn had never thought so far ahead as death. He had walked with many people who held many beliefs, and so much of those beliefs had been predicated on what happened to them after they died. So much of life was hostile and hard that it wasn’t difficult to grasp why one wanted to escape it, or at least start fresh in better days to come—miss out on the worst generations, come back once the messes had been sorted.
The tunnel ended, and the heavenly realms opened. The sensation of color that greeted them was blinding. After the rooted earth and dark forest they had left behind, this place called Heaven was vibrant—its terrain swarmed with life, as it rose and fell with equal joy for vast stretches to come, almost as though the soft grasses and rivers ahead were a blanket. A warm light like that in the tunnels glowed through the terrain, as if desperate to come out. People moved peacefully, running and talking and at play and passion, and the scene as a whole seemed idyllic.
Yet for Flynn, it rang false. It hurt in his heart to admit it, but something of it felt disingenuous, too good to be true. There was no pleasure without a price, even if the people didn’t know they were paying it. Worse still was the sense of a place that could be touched, trod upon, and walled off yet dared to be called a Heaven.
“Why this place?” he asked Poe. “What purpose does it serve?”
“Those who have died but bear a strong avarice or disdain for life may sometimes be drawn to the World Between,” Poe replied.
“Does that mean you’re …?” Zaja started to ask.
“Not dead,” Poe shook his head. “Merely reborn. I don’t know who I was in my life past—” he rested his hand on the grip of the Dark Sword, “—but it would no longer surprise me to find that misguided greed drew me to this second life.”
“Then this place is a reward?” Chari asked. “For the people reincarn
ated here?”
“Those of purer intent may find the Call lures them here, where they may repose for an eon or two,” Poe replied.
“So you were cuttin’ ‘em down because …?” Mack asked.
Poe lowered his head. “That is a matter I will soon broach.”
The six walked an extensive road through a garden that stretched for miles, leading to an ivory tower that watched over them and the entire breadth of Heaven. The structures around them had walls, yes, but nothing was insulated. The Celestials of this realm moved in leisure, reposing where they wished and doing as they wished, from reading to bits of hobbyist work that reached beyond the vacant culture of this world. Their activities were not all so innocent, and more than a few were in pairs or larger groups, pursuing each other, indulging in carnal passions, their ever-pristine clothes abandoned in shameless heaps.
“Wow, they just fuck in public,” Jean observed with surprise.
Zaja withdrew near Flynn, though she kept one eye on their surroundings, unable to bring herself to look away. She shyly admitted, “Back on Oma, sharing one’s body and warmth … to that degree … is a very private thing. Most people don’t even talk about getting intimate, you know, in that way.” She watched for another moment before jerking her head away and blushing a darker blue. “I guess not everyone’s the same way though.”
Looking skyward, Flynn discovered that the light shining down was so bright it blotted out the sky. As his gaze drifted from the performance stages to the coliseum-like library, he realized they were at last nearing the once-distant tower.
“We’re almost there,” Poe confirmed their destination, pointing straight ahead. At the base of the distant tower was a small building, constructed of sweeping curves and possibly the first closed environment Flynn had seen here, aside from the tower itself.
In a place so open, it raised query as to the sort of person here who had secrets to keep.
*
The door was not locked. Letting Poe lead the way, Flynn and the others followed in his footsteps. They had come into an epicurean chamber, wrapped with silken red curtains. The ivory walls glowed with soft luminescence, muted further by the adorning fabric, and encompassed the chamber in a spiral. In the center of the spiral, draped more lavishly than the curtains surrounding her, was a woman.
“Cybel,” Poe whispered. The Archangel he sought.
Cybel lounged shamelessly upon a reclining couch, plush and rimmed with pillows. In her right hand, an opera-length cigarette holder hung slack, its end trailing smoke to the distant ceiling. In her left hand was a tumbler of whiskey, its cubes aglow from the room’s dim luminescence. Her robes hung shamelessly open as one of the Celestials knelt and serviced her.
Flynn had seen this sort of indulgence before, though he had met few who embraced it so brazenly. Cybel looked to be of a rare breed, exceptionally beautiful and truly flawless. Her skin elicited no signs of want or wear; her eyes bore no lines of stress or age beneath. Though lacking muscle, she had not an ounce of wasted fat. Her face: mature and practiced. Her every asset and curve was equally fleshed; equally perfect. Cybel did not seem the product of her lifestyle; too comfortable for one who was new at it, yet too fit for a long life of indulgence.
When she noticed them, Cybel merely twitched her legs to one side, cuing the withdrawal of her servant, which he did without another sound. At a flick of her wrist, another Celestial emerged from the curtains to take her cigarette holder, which he gripped precariously between pinched fingers as he receded. She sat up, her platinum hair tangled from too many good times.
Zaja’s cheeks had turned a darker shade, while Mack had taken to covering his one good eye in an effort to be polite. Jean just smiled with a hint of envy while Chari seemed more interested in the servants. Poe alone stood stone-faced.
“Guardian?” she asked with weary annoyance. The tumbler of whiskey dangled in her hand, her fingertips gripping the rim. “Why have you brought living souls into Heaven?”
Poe, made contrite by her words, bowed his head as he knelt.
“More: why have you dared to allow any to enter Heaven at all?” She drank deeply of her glass. “Your family’s purpose was laid out generations past. You fail now swifter than the words can fall from my mouth.”
“Archangel,” Poe intoned, “I have come seeking my release from the honor bestowed.”
Cybel seemed both intrigued and agitated by the request. She drained her whiskey and tossed the glass aside to shatter on the floor. Ice broke away in a slick glide. None dared scurry out to tend the mess. She’d not given a sign.
“Guardian Poe.” She approached, pulling tight her robes lest she give some false indicator. Reaching down, she pulled his chin up, asking, “Have you any brothers?”
“None.”
“Sisters then?”
“None,” Poe reiterated.
“I rewrote the legacy of your family, changing the very name—the very nature of it,” she crossed her arms with displeasure. “Ever have you been Guardians to Heaven’s gates. Think you then that this is something I can simply undo—or would?”
“It is necessary,” he replied. “I have shamed my family and the integrity of Heaven itself. If I am to redeem myself, I must depart.”
Cybel looked away from Poe, who averted his gaze from her the moment he was allowed. She scrutinized his company now, eyes passing from Zaja to Chari, from Jean to Mack. She settled lastly on Flynn, and their eyes met. In that moment, Flynn felt small.
Turning back, Cybel commanded her servants, this time not with gestures but with words. “Blind yourselves. Deafen yourselves.”
Behind the folds of a curtain, Flynn caught a glimpse. The Celestial knelt low, her eyes shut painfully tight, her hands clamped discomfortingly over her ears. She held fast, her arms trembling from the pressure. Cybel’s serenity diminished. “Each of you: how dare you tread your filth in Heaven’s walks? To come to my sacred space and steal my appointed Guardian away?”
“Look,” Mack tried to cut in and smooth things out, “we were sent to find a Poe and, in all fairness, this guy?” he indicated Poe, who glanced at him, baffled. “Very Poe-ish.”
Cybel looked upon Mack like he was something disgusting and low. “Sent? By whom?”
“Airia Rousow,” Chari replied, interested to see the Archangel’s response.
Cybel considered the name. After chewing on it for a moment, all she spat back was, “How small.” She turned her back to them. “Turn away. The boy is mine to do with as I wish.”
At this, Poe rose and begged, “Archangel, please! I cannot return to my old ways, not after what I’ve—”
Cybel turned swiftly, placing her fingers to Poe’s lips, and it occurred to Flynn that Poe hadn’t known so much contact with another person in years, for his breath quickened at her touch. As abruptly, Poe’s words were stifled.
“You are in Heaven, Guardian. What are your sins?”
Poe looked away, unable to face his better. “Butchery. Massacre. Scores rot outside Heaven’s walls, yet I—”
“Trespassers?” she interrupted again. “Were they warned in no uncertain terms that Heaven is closed to outsiders?”
“They … were warned,” came Poe’s reluctant confession.
Cybel stepped back. She smiled, satisfied. “You can go then, all of you.”
“Hey, wait a sec—!” Jean cut in.
“The Guardian has done nothing wrong.” Cybel was proud. “His deeds are without shame.”
“Without shame?” Poe repeated, unable to suppress his disbelief. “I have been a slaughterer!”
“You killed for a cause,” she replied, as though delivering the perfect explanation. “All sin is forgiven in the name of Heaven. Yours.”
She looked to Jean, smiling, “Yours.”
Then to Flynn, with the same faux-compassion, “And even yours.”
“Why … why should forgiveness come so easily?” Chari asked.
“Heaven is closed to you,” C
ybel said, as if that concluded the matter. “As none of you are reborn, nor entirely clean, I’ll forgive the Guardian this trespass. But he is still mine.” Casting her gaze upon Poe, she ordered, “Depart.”
Unable to even look her in the eye, Poe acquiesced. He turned and left without another word.
“Seriously, just like that?!” Jean cried in stunned disbelief.
One by one, they followed, until only Cybel and Flynn remained. Muted contempt emanated from her, as though she blamed him for this situation; however, she did not utter a word.
I know what you are, her look said.
And I, you, Flynn’s eyes replied.
Though in truth, he deeply didn’t. If asked later, he could only recount that in this silent clash of wills, Cybel turned away first.
*
Chari was sorry they had come all that way for this. She had known men like Poe before—dedicated to duty, steadfast in their belief in a system that justified the kill.
“You just gonna give up?” Mack had asked after they’d emerged outside Airia’s tower.
“My supplication has been denied,” Poe replied. “However much I wish to leave, what more can I do?”
“You kiddin’ me, man?” Jean scoffed. “Just ditch the bitch!”
Poe became agitated as he defended Cybel’s honor. Chari kept her dismay private, but she’d seen enough. He might struggle for a while, but he had chosen to stay. Duty would envelop him, and in time he would drown. It was here that she felt relief mingled in with the disappointment. She’d had to keep an eye on him whenever he neared, fearing how he might turn in a flash of steel, cutting faster than she could squeeze the trigger. Chari’s finger twitched involuntarily, still new to the concept of combat, the possibility of death. Meanwhile, Poe was an old hand.
“So what do you do now?” Zaja asked as Jean and Poe continued to bicker behind them.
“I do not yet know,” Chari admitted. “Though Flynn has been adamant that we make this work, this is perhaps ‘it.’ Our journey may end here.”
Outcasts of the Worlds Page 34