If…If he really was with the Wandering Stars…then was he…?
Slowly, Victorio took steady steps to the boat’s railing, his anticipation building as any number of scenes from the cartoon played out in his mind. Brasil lingered at his side, smiling knowingly, but saying nothing as Victorio gingerly placed a hand on the polished, wooden railing. He looked over the side and was struck dumb at the sight. The boat floated a good fifty feet above a sparkling, starlit ocean.
Victorio’s hunch was right. He was on the Twilight Runner, the flying ship of the Wandering Stars. He now drifted in the air—no jets, no blades, just floating.
Far below the boat, shimmering fish flitted in and out of the water like scaled hummingbirds—while a massive, serpentine form broke the surface, indifferent to the comparatively minuscule fish, or the observers above. In the distance, resting perfectly on the calm currents, was a city. Spires rose from platforms connected by bridges, and atop nearly every surface multi-hued light shone and reflected off the sea. The ship hovered too far from the metropolis to distinguish any residents, but Victorio could only assume no race he would recognize as human lived there. After all, he was very, very far from home.
“Whoa…” he breathed in awe.
“Welcome aboard the Twilight Runner,” Brasil said with a short pat on Victorio’s shoulder.
“I…I can…kinda remember…” Victorio murmured, rubbing his temples as though trying to shake off sleep. “There are worlds…infinite worlds…I remember being told that.”
The dog chuckled sympathetically. “Ye were told a lot, I’m sure.”
“I don’t…” He looked at Brasil, his brow tightened in worry. Awe had faded, and now an unsettling unease crept in. “What’s happening?”
“We’re not goin’ to be the best ones to explain,” Brasil said with a short shake of his head.
“If there’s anyone who’s gonna be best it at,” Gatina added, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the bow, “it’s gonna be our boss.”
“Your…boss?” Victorio repeated, feeling queasy as his memory returned to the episode he had watched only hours before all of this happened.
Seeing that Victorio could guess his answer, Brasil’s smile deepened in empathy. “Lord Enki.”
“Hello, young mister Cruz,” a rich, baritone voice called, reverberating through Victorio’s bones and the sky around them.
He winced, hesitant to look up in the direction of the voice, but knowing he had little choice in the matter. Uneasy, Victorio turned his eyes skyward, and immediately his jaw fell open. In the stars themselves, shining as the clearest constellation overtaking the night sky, a massive figure gazed back at him. Wearing an ancient headdress, and sporting a beard down his chest, the stars came to life to form a pair of flowing rivers running off his shoulders. The regal, stiff caricature of a man in the heavens stared down at the deck of the Twilight Runner.
“This is happening way too often,” Victorio said in a low voice.
“You are confused?” the constellation asked, points of light shifting into a smile.
“No shit I’m confused!” he called back. “What’s happening? Where am I? Why the crap was I in China killing monsters? And why did I know how?”
“Ah, the woes of the chosen one becoming clear,” the stars said gently. “Not even a single word of humility or greeting, even in the presence of a god.”
Dumbstruck, Victorio’s voice dried in his throat. Weakly, he stammered out, “O-Oh…H-Hi, sir…”
“Much better,” the voice replied. The constellation shift, the stars growing closer to form a vague silhouette in the heavens. “And if you don’t mind, I haven’t been able to introduce myself in some time. I am among the first great pantheon, a wielder of both chaos and creation. Water runs through me, from me, giving life to cracked deserts and the infertile.”
The figure in the sky molded to a thinner outline, and a hazy halo grew near the deck of the ship. He continued: “There was a time when even writing was an unknown mystery to man, and in that age, they called to me for guidance, for wisdom, and the secrets of magic. I am the first of the ancient ones.” The glow dimmed, and a man stepped onto the deck. He was tall, and Middle Eastern (not that Victorio could ever really tell the difference between a lot of those countries). A smile rested on his dark face, framed by a beard lining his jawline. With eyes that shone like water beneath the sun, he regarded Victorio warmly. He held out a hand, while the other rested casually in the pocket a well-tailored, slate-colored suit. “But really…all of that is a mouthful. You can call me Enki, Victorio.”
Blankly, he stared at the unassuming man and accepted the handshake. “Uh…wait…you’re a god? Like a…god, god?”
“One of the first with a human face,” Enki replied with a grin. “Though, really, the title is tenuous at best. In your world, I haven’t had real believers in thousands of years. Then again, on an infinite number of others, I still do.”
Victorio gawked at him, blinking. “…Huh?”
“All time happens at once, you know. So, I have a group of worshippers on an infinite number of worlds, and on an infinite number, I never have. Right now we’re speaking, and have always spoken,” Enki continued, smiling sagely. “But also…we never have, and never will.”
Victorio curled his lip in confusion. “Whoa, whoa…What?”
“In a metaphysical sense, of course.”
His head hurting again, Victorio held up his hands. If anything like this had been covered in school, he must not have been listening. “No, seriously, what?”
“But…you’re a metaphysical being now as well, Victorio,” Enki added, his voice softening. “No longer quite human, but still mortal.”
This specific phrase made Victorio pause. His eyes pleaded with Enki for some kind of understanding. If the conversation hadn’t suddenly reminded him of all that “Bastion Against Decay” and “Spear of Creation” stuff he had heard shortly before accepting that spear, it wouldn’t have affected him so deeply.
Enki noted Victorio’s expression and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re an agent of Creation now, Victorio. A sort of…what’s a good word you’d know?” He tapped his chin as he mused. “A mortal archangel.”
Not a light word to use on a Latino Catholic. “N-No way,” Victorio scoffed, slipping back from Enki’s hand.
“You’re something other than human now,” Enki continued, unaffected. “You are still you, still mortal; you will still age…but you’re also a conduit of Creation. The Power you now serve is greater than any of the Gods. On your world you knew Them by another name,” he added softly, pointing to Victorio’s cross.
Instinctively Victorio’s hand went to his rosario, blinking in shock. “But…That’s…”
“A little more direct than Creation usually likes to be, I know,” Enki laughed with a shrug. “Personally, I’m too egotistical to be as humble as Creation, but that should be a given. Anyway, the Power still calls upon the occasional mortal to wield Their weapon. Right now, that Spear is still inside of you, and you can call it when you need it.”
When Enki said this, a tingle went down Victorio’s spine. His eyes swiveled down to where he expected to see his wallet on its chain, but when he reached in his pocket, he found his wallet absent, and an unknown weight on the end of the chain. Maybe a pocket watch or something. He pulled out the foreign object and saw it was a compass. He stared at it in confusion, then he swallowed as he studied the needle. It looked exactly like a spear. That Spear.
Uneasily, his gaze returned to Enki. “Why…Why would I need it again?”
After a short intake and release of breath, Enki firmly placed both of his hands on Victorio’s shoulders. “Listen very closely to me right now, Victorio,” he said. “What you saw on your world, those shadows trying to consume it…much as right now you are an agent of Creation, those were agents of chaos. Chaos and destruction are always the polar opposites of Creation, and the two powers are constantly at war for th
e fate of the multiverse—the infinite variations of reality. Those things tried to take your world. And the Power of Creation gave you Their weapon to teach you how to fight those agents of entropy. Now, you will face them on other worlds and protect the universe.”
The information was overwhelming. His head reeled as he returned to the struggle in Hong Kong and the unseen powers that had guided him. Victorio slowly brought a hand to his forehead, and he blinked, attempting to stay in the moment. “I’m…supposed to do that again? I…I can almost remember how, I just…No, way.” He tried to move away from Enki’s grip. “No, way! I can’t do this, I’m not—I can’t save the universe. I can’t…!”
“You can and will,” Enki assured him. His hold on Victorio stayed, but it was not threatening. “You don’t have to be alone in this, Victorio. I am offering you my help.”
Victorio gawked at Enki. “Wait…you…you want to help me?”
“Of course,” he replied, smiling. “Brasil and Gatina, they work for me. I am the figurehead of a group that lends its aid when we can.”
Amused, Victorio scoffed. “‘The Wandering Stars’?”
Enki arched an eyebrow and took his hands off Victorio’s shoulders. “The Cartesian Guard,’ actually. When those who can shift through planes run the risk of upsetting the balance in any world, we step in to right it. And when a new Spear Bearer is chosen, we offer our services. We did to the last one, and he sadly refused. But…if you’ll allow, I can offer my agents, Brasil and Gatina. Should the need arise, I can offer more.
“Believe me,” he finished with a sigh, “I like existing, and if the infinite is destroyed, I will no longer do so. So, it is in my best interest to aid you.”
“Whoa, sweet,” Victorio breathed. “So, like…you can make fire rain from the sky or something if I need you to?”
Enki laughed, scratching his forehead. “Oh, dear…No, no, that’s not what I meant. You have to understand Victorio, gods such as myself only do more harm than good when we directly intervene. I am offering you the aid of my friends, but I myself am more of an…administrator than anything.”
Deflated, Victorio frowned. “Great. That’s useful.”
“Victorio, only a cosmic being bent on being a tyrant would allow themselves to jump in directly,” Enki said. “Never trust one that offers it.”
Victorio’s thoughts returned to subjects heavy on his mind before the Spear had appeared in his dream; he rubbed his arm sadly. “Maybe you should…I mean…we always screw things up.” That forlorn look in Jimmy’s eyes, that scowl on his father’s face. “Why don’t you…I don’t know…just make things perfect?”
“No mortal ever lives up to his greatest potential if he doesn’t have the chance to fail, or have the capacity for evil,” Enki replied, holding up a finger. “I’m a creation god, yes, but I have a sliver of chaos in me as well. Humans need just a little uncertainty, a little upheaval…dare I say it…” he added as Victorio’s face hardened, “A little pain, to achieve their greatest victories.” Enki leaned close to him, a sly grin on his face. “Besides, what is ‘perfect’?”
That was probably the best answer Victorio was going to get, stupid an answer as it was. He scratched behind his ear idly. “Okay…so…I was chosen to fight shadow monsters with this Spear. I think I…I think I’m gonna be okay with that. How…How am I supposed to do it? Can I…like…lose the Spear?”
“The only thing that will separate you from that weapon is either your death or losing touch with the Power that bestowed it on you,” Enki assured him. “Your age and your purity allow you to be a conduit for Creation. Hold on to it. If you allow your bitterness, your power, essentially yourself, to overtake your perception, then it is likely you will no longer make a proper conduit. The one before you lost touch, thus it passed to you.”
“My…death…” Victorio repeated sickly.
“Come now, Victorio,” Enki pressed. “Not every Spear Bearer dies through violence. Just as many die happily of old age in their beds. When you are truly physically incapable to wield it, it will pass on. It is the ultimate fate of any mortal to pass. Even a Spear Bearer.
“For as long as you are able, you will fight the encroaching sea of decay, and you serve the Power of Creation. You were taught how to use it on your world, and now it is up to you.”
“This…Wow…” Finally, it sank in, and by degrees a smirk spread into a smile on his face. “Whoa…” Victorio was a chosen hero. Him. Victorio Marcus Cruz, chosen by godly powers. The compass at his side held a weapon only he could carry, forged specifically to battle the powers of darkness.
He was better than any orphan wizard or radioactive superhero or moon princess or space cyborg from his favorite stories. Now he was the hero.
He was a hero.
And he could go anywhere.
“My brother and sister are gonna freak!” he said excitedly. He could picture their reactions in his head, never mind how hard they were going to go crazy when he brought home the actual Wandering Stars!
Enki’s smile faded. “…There is one more thing, Victorio…”
“I can use the Spear to go between worlds!” Victorio blurted, his smile growing and his hands shaking from rising adrenaline. “It taught me how, I remember now! That’s half what the Spear is for. Dude, I can go to a world where every single video game movie is really awesome, and get DVD’s, and show the guys!”
“Victorio—”
“And I can find, like, some vegetable that doesn’t even exist on Earth, and let Mama plant it! And…I’m totally an archangel,” he breathed out, looking at his clenched fists. “Ohhhh, let’s see what Dad has to say about me being a slacker when—”
“Victorio!” Enki shouted.
The echo in his powerful voice made Victorio flinch and stare.
His face softening in sympathy, very much like Victorio’s dad whenever he had bad news, Enki returned a hand to Victorio’s shoulder. “There is only one catch to your power. Your world. Your specific world, with your family, and your friends…” he explained in a low, gentle tone. “You can never go back.”
“Whoa, bullshit!” Victorio snapped, throwing off his hand. “I can—I don’t have to listen to you.”
“No, Victorio,” Enki said, his voice unfazed by Victorio’s defiance. “The power won’t let you go back. You can never go home. You are the Spear Bearer, and you are separate from any world as ‘home.’”
Something in Victorio shattered. He stared at Enki, bewildered, then he turned to Brasil and Gatina for some sign of confirmation. Gatina was staring off, her chin resting on her hand. Her fuzzy fingers idly flicked a star-topped wand. Her eyes met his for a moment but quickly darted to the glowing tip of her wand uncomfortably. Brasil cleared his throat and adjusted the brim of his hat, a pained grimace on his muzzle.
Victorio turned back to Enki.
“Take a deep breath,” Enki said gently. “And relax. We’re here to help you get through this.”
Victorio’s eyes burned, and the air around him felt heavy. It was difficult to swallow. He stepped back from Enki numbly, shaking his head. “No…No, you can’t…He can’t…I didn’t ask for that,” he whispered.
“Try to understand—”
“I don’t want this anymore,” he said desperately. “I don’t want to go anywhere; I just want to go home.”
“Victorio, I want to help you—”
“Take it back! I don’t want it,” he shouted. “I just want to go home!” A rush came over Victorio; the chain hanging off his belt rattled and jerked. Suddenly, the Spear hung in the air in front of him. It knew he wanted to leave. He grabbed it, ignoring Enki’s cries for him to wait. Victorio felt the Spear in his hands obey his unsaid command, and a rush of wind and snap of static followed. As he swung his arm, a bright shape appeared mid-air, a doorway—one that could take him wherever he wanted to go.
He just wanted to go home. He could go anywhere, he reminded himself as he ran through. Home would be easy to find. Then
he could get rid of the spear, give it back to “Creation” or whatever.
Just…home. He didn’t want to be a hero anymore. Someone else could take it. All Victorio wanted was home.
Chapter Seven
The Other Side of Nothing
There are certain laws not meant to be broken. Certainly, nothing such as “theft shall be persecuted” or “Thou shalt not kill,” such laws are easily bent to the whim of mortal ambivalence. No, truly unbreakable laws say that no matter can be created, nor destroyed, only converted into another form. Even this, in some spaces, is nebulous, but it is said that the closest to true destruction in the natural universe is in the torrent of a black hole. In its grip, both light and even time are twisted and malformed, compacted into nothingness, or at least as close to nothingness as can be understood.
However, there is a deeper level of nothingness than even this. That which lies between what is and isn’t, when even the compaction of light is still too great a substance. The absence of existence.
Beyond what mortals can comprehend there is still a place, formless and yet filled with something. A many somethings, shifting and thinking in a mockery of breath and life. In this emptiness there is flame, as always there was, and there always will be. The flames of forges.
✽✽✽
Flickering light threw gestures of shadows against structures made of gray and rust-colored stone, patterned like rivers of sinew, and dotted with the shapes of myriad faces in torment. The floor, like the columned, high-ceilinged chambers and thick walls—all was solid slate but molded from organic forms. In some realities, these halls mirrored a place of worship, a cathedral. However, despite the massive throne on a raised pedestal, this was not a place of passive respect. This was a place of active artistry.
Flanking the walkway leading to the room’s center were forges alight with perpetual flame. The sound of clanging tools reverberated through the vaulted ceiling, following the motions of massive, hunched, hooded figures. Their spidery, leathered fingers sprouted from the tattered sleeves of layers of fluttering, threadbare robes. They kept their faces turned toward the furnaces and the heated anvils, ignoring the click of a pair of high heels.
Victorious Cross Page 4