“I’m fine,” she insisted after a large sigh. “There’s no time.”
Uncomfortably Victorio nodded. “I mean, if that’s cool with you.”
“I’m fine,” she mumbled.
When they returned this time, Victorio could see Purnima breaking up a fight, the heavy gloves she wore sparking with some kind of energy as she kept the two natives away from each other. “Everyone waits their turn! We’re getting close to done, so all of you back off.”
“It’s her fault,” one of those separated snapped, thrusting a finger accusingly. “She thinks she can push past?”
“Just let me on with this group,” she pressed.
“Enough!” Purnima snapped, dials on her gloves flashing and steam hissing out of the machinery she wore like a backpack. “We’ve still got time, no one is—”
“There is no time!” the one with a husky, feminine voice barked. “You think I can’t tell how long the city barrier can last? I worked on these barriers; I know what I’m looking at.”
The air among the refugees grew more desperate, individual voices getting lost in the clamor. Baihé attempted to hold back the rush scrambling to get up the gangplank, but now people were foregoing the plank altogether to pull themselves over the sides.
Adamine led Victorio back from the railing, rushing out to him, “There’s no stopping it now. We just have to make as much room as we can and hope the Runner can still fly.”
Feeling every bit the youngest among the crew, Victorio could only nod and slink back from her. As the deck grew more and more crowded, Gatina and Purnima struggled to regain order on the roof. Victorio was pushed around the deck. Frustrated, he climbed on top of the wheelhouse, taking some comfort in being next to Brasil, who was shouting orders at those on the boat.
Victorio’s eyes then turned back toward the roof and noticed blue movement on another coral-like structure blocks away. The figure in a sapphire, hooded cape and robe was looking his direction, light reflecting off a gleaming faceplate. But they were just standing there.
“Hey, Brasil?” he called, leaning over the edge of the wheelhouse roof to look at him.
“This is more than she can she can handle!” he shouted angrily. “Tell them all I have to go up. If she takes on any more the only place we’re going is down.”
“Hey, Brasil?” Victorio repeated, knocking on the open window’s frame.
“Did ye hear me?” Brasil snapped impatiently.
“Yeah, yeah, but what does it mean if some of the other Guard is just standing around? Is something about to happen?”
A frustrated glare was his reply, Brasil lowered an eyebrow incredulously. “What in God’s name are ye talking about? Just tell them.”
Victorio glanced back to the figure he’d seen, and the original spot was now empty. However, there were now eight identical, robed forms higher up the building. “Uh…Brasil…do you see those dudes in blue capes?”
The word ‘blue’ caused Brasil’s head to snap up. He leaned out of the wheelhouse’s window, struggling to see over or through the packed refugees. His ears stood straight and his jaw dropped. “Oh, God, not now…!” He heaved himself through the window to stand next to Victorio, then cupped his hands around his mouth to bark, “Purnima! Baihé! Gatina! The Walking Tide is here! Look, look—the Noa!”
During the panic on the roof, both Purnima and Baihé froze. Their heads spun to where Brasil pointed. Baihé pushed through the crowd to get to the roof’s edge, while Purnima called out to Adamine, “Get that ship out of here!”
The reaction of the Cartesian Guard had been instantaneous, and that fact sent a shiver down Victorio’s back. As he looked toward the figures again, all of them were gone. Brasil scrambled to slide back through the window to the wheel, and in the midst of the refugees, Adamine shouted and herded others from the lifting gangplank. Victorio didn’t know what was happening, but it was serious. Victorio leaped off the wheelhouse roof and used the sail to slide over the crowd and off the side of the Twilight Runner as it ascended.
Landing on his feet next to Gatina, he heard her yelp in surprise. “V-Victorio! What are you doing—The ship’s going without you.”
“I know,” he said with a shrug, calling the Spear to his hand.
She gave him some nasty side-eye, but only huffed and used her wand to amplify her voice. “Everyone on the roof, stay here. All of you are safe, the ship will be back as soon as it can.” Without acknowledging the refugees or their pleas further, Gatina grabbed his wrist and joined both Baihé and Purnima at the edge of the roof. The three glanced between each other and at Victorio.
Baihé gasped in dismay. “He stayed?”
“He’s tough, he can handle himself,” Gatina insisted, though her voice was stiff and forced.
“I mean, sure,” Victorio threw out confidently.
“Gatina,” Purnima whispered, shaking her head. “There are bound to be more coming…All we can do is buy time…What if these are masters?”
Victorio could see the worry in her large eyes. “It’s gonna be fine. It has to be.”
Shaking her head as well, Baihé let out a soft sigh, then jumped off the roof.
Victorio nearly shouted in shock, but Purnima followed and Gatina yanked his arm. Suddenly he was falling. His voice dry in his throat, Victorio was unable to do more but dumbly watch the approaching, shimmering streets. Then a gust of wind slowed them and carried them to the ground, the star on Gatina’s wand glowing.
Viciously he turned his head to snap something at Gatina—that holy shit she could have warned him—but an approaching smell that reminded him of California’s beaches hit him just before a blue shape was beside him.
The next few moments were a blur. A burst of lightning arced in front of his face, shoving the attacker down in a swirl of blue fabric. By pure rote he gripped his lance, spinning on his heels to catch Purnima moving one of her sizzling gloves back to her side, not even considering Victorio as another azure shape swiped at her with only their hands as though they were blades.
His attention was brought back immediately to himself as the one Purnima had struck down barreled at him with a fellow close behind. A short blade that he couldn’t see lunged at him just before he brought up the spear to block. Victorio’s head spun in panic as he was left backing away and guarding every precise strike thrown at him. He could hear the whooshing and sparks of Gatina’s magic close by—firing with a ferocity she didn’t even use on the Empty.
But he couldn’t see her. He had no idea what the girls were doing, and he couldn’t think about them. In his eyes, there were only adversaries doing everything they could to murder him.
He should have stayed on the ship. He should have stayed on the ship. This was nothing like the Empty—it was so much worse—how had these things closed the distance between buildings so fast?—how did they move like water?—how had they been standing on the side of a building?—Why were they attacking them? There was no reason!
—And was that one of the refugees? Wait, no, something was weird—
Victorio was suddenly surrounded by figures that looked like the natives of this world, but they were emaciated, flailing their arms to get in the blue-robed figures’ way. The barrier of stiff, shuffling forms was discolored. Patches of their skin looked inky black, covered with silver circuitry that somehow reminded Victorio of something…His eyes went to Baihé and he saw his answer: the same black and silver pattern he recalled adorning her nails now reached from her fingertips in a layer across her outstretched arms; more of it filled her eyes. Droplets of some kind of black, opaque fluid streaked down her face.
“Oh my God, you make zombies?” he mumbled.
“I manipulate dead bio-matter,” she corrected, though her voice sounded pained. “And there has been a lot of death on this plane.”
The addition of the extra bodies on the battlefield allowed only a moment’s pause. Victorio attempted to steady his breath and adjusted his grip on the Spear, but he felt his stomach leap into
his throat as several of the attackers in blue simply weaved through the hordes of ‘manipulated dead biomatter.’ They flowed like streams of water, slipping between grasping arms before lunging back at the Cartesian Guard.
Victorio found himself guarding Baihé, swinging his weapon to prevent any approach to her. But these things were fast, and his entire body screamed for relief, he wasn’t sure how much longer pure adrenaline was going to last. As his arms throbbed in agony, he decided enough was enough. He had never tried to banish something that wasn’t the Empty, but he couldn’t keep on like this. With a furious swing, he plunged the head of the Spear into the shell-dotted concrete at his feet. A boom like thunder sounded, and much like when he would seal weak points between worlds and the Empty, a burst of wind shot from around him in a ring.
Then silence.
All was still as he panted with exhaustion, his limbs burning. He was almost afraid to stand, but he couldn’t just stay on the ground kneeling forever. As he slowly dragged himself to his feet, he saw the ripped apart bodies that Baihé had summoned. She was splayed on the ground, weakly groaning in pain. Gatina slid to her side; Victorio wanted to blurt out an apology, but he paused when he noticed Purnima’s shell-shocked expression. Her gauntlets steaming, shoulders rising and falling from exhausted exhales, her brassy-gold eyes widened and darted around them.
The eight blue-robed figures had completely stilled, standing out of any range that any of them could easily reach. Not frozen, not at the ready, just standing motionless. For the first time, Victorio could see what “the Noa” looked like: they were various builds and heights, but all wore identical baggy pants, heavy boots, and gloves, along with blue tabards intricately decorated with swirling symbols and patterns. Around their wrists and barely seen around their belts hung gauges and devices, and each of them sported cobalt, hooded cloaks and completely smooth, featureless faceplates. Breathing apparatuses snaked from the masks and disappeared under their tunics, but nothing in their posture could read as breathing, and the pristine, reflective-chrome surface of their faces showed no emotion.
Purnima’s eyes swiveled back to Victorio, and she whispered, “What…What are they waiting for?”
The Guard flinched visibly as one of the taller Noa parted the folds of their cloak and took a firm step forward.
“Spear Bearer.” The voice was deep, its bass rumbling across the distance between them.
Purnima’s arms slid limply to her side and Victorio heard her whisper, “Oh my Lord, they talk?”
“The Noa had learned a new Bearer has taken the Spear of Creation,” the spokesman continued. “We did not know your face. Nor your allegiance with the Cartesian Guard,” he added in a bitter tone.
Victorio wanted to demand some kind of explanation, but the sheer terror of the last few minutes had taken its toll and he could only swallow hard to keep from straight-up sobbing. He gripped the Spear just to hide the trembling of his arms.
“The Noa has always honored the Spear Bearer as the keeper of balance across the multiverse,” the speaker continued, gently holding up a gloved hand. “We will never impede your mission. But we ask you to reconsider your alliance.”
“Sure you do,” Gatina growled, her fur standing angrily.
“Those who traverse dimensions, unbound by any plane’s laws or consequence,” the speaker said, gesturing to the bodies lying in shreds around them. “They are dangerous. They are disruptive. Regardless of their intent, they can do no good in inserting themselves into affairs not their own. The Cartesian Guard are not unique in their well-meaning malevolence. Drifters, crime syndicates, cults, they are myriad—and they are all ultimately identical in the damage they inflict.
“As the Spear Bearer you are a force of balance and have no place among such creatures of chaos.”
The Noa fell silent and motionless—awaiting a response, he guessed.
Victorio blinked away moisture from his eyes and inhaled, thoughts forming cohesively in his brain. Gripping the Spear, he swallowed hard and looked to the Guard. Gatina still propped up Baihé, the latter wearily staring up at Victorio, blinking away tears of ichor. Purnima stood at the ready like a coiled spring, her brow hard as she glared at the Noa from behind sweat-drenched, fire-red hair.
“Okay,” Victorio finally said, nearly startling himself at the sound of his own voice. He cleared his throat, struggling against the urge to cry, and brought the Spear closer to him. With forced strength, he said, “Right now I see a bunch of refugees trying not to die with their universe. And I see the Cartesian Guard doing something about it, and you trying to stop them. So, how about you suck my ass instead?”
Purnima let out a boisterous laugh along with Gatina. The Noa’s reaction was unclear at first, remaining still. The speaker then bowed, and the other Noa behind him followed his lead.
“We understand your decision, as much as we disagree with it. This world, in its final moments of life, is under the protection of the Spear Bearer and the Cartesian Guard.”
None of the Noa turned their backs on the group, as one they simply walked backward. Again, Victorio noticed a wave of aroma like an ocean breeze, and the ground behind them rippled as though turning into a puddle. All eight sank in the fluid surface wordlessly, and the street re-solidified.
Finally, he broke. Propping against the Spear to stand straight, Victorio let out coughing sobs, embarrassed to cry in front of the adults. None of them were crying. Just him.
Purnima gripped Victorio in an elated hug, practically sweeping him off his feet as she laughed excitedly. “They left! They actually let us live, you glorious, foul-mouthed angel!”
“That’s our boy!” Gatina chimed in.
From Baihé, a very weak, sickly, but still somehow cheery, “Yay, we’re alive…even though I think I almost died…yay…”
Chapter Thirteen
A Rest After Darkness
The Twilight Runner arrived back in the ziggurat, with crowds of Cartesian Guard awaiting their arrival. As the last ship to land in the hangar at the end of the evacuation, it was met with cheers and applause. Baihé was carried down the gangplank first, her body limply draped over a blanket Gatina had given Adamine and Purnima for a makeshift stretcher.
His face pale with worry, Bakchos ran up to them, rushing past any of the well-wishers to get to Baihé’s side. “Oh, gods, Bai…Bai, what happened?”
“It’s okay,” Baihé assured him in a weak voice. “The Spear Bearer kinda banished my puppets…it sucks, but it’s okay.”
Without hesitation, Bakchos swept her off the blanket into his arms and looked over his shoulder up the gangplank where Victorio lingered. Red-eyed and weak from all the sobbing like a baby he’d done through the last of the trips, Victorio gave him a guilty look. “M’sorry,” he mumbled, aware that there was no possible way it could bridge the distance.
Bakchos smiled as Gatina and Brasil joined his side. “You did just fine, kid,” he assured him. “Baihé’s complicated, but you saved everyone’s lives. I’m not gonna give you shit for that. They all mean too much to me.”
In relief, Victorio smiled and shuffled down the gangplank. He was greeted by a grateful Cartesian Guard and swept up in their excitement. While there was still work to be done in the wake of the evacuation, there was also cause to celebrate. The last of the cities had been completely cleared of the citizenry, and that universe had passed into eternal darkness peacefully.
Throughout the night Victorio was shown around the headquarters, overwhelmed with new sights; the various halls that had been converted to dorms, the rooms used for training and planning, and way, way more staircases than he was used to climbing. With an air of celebration over the tower, the Guard brought in music and food, none of which he would ever remember the names of by the end of the night; and introduced him to so many Guard his brain was ready to explode.
Flashbang had been the first to pass out where he sat, Victorio noting him slumped limply against the Trireme’s side in the hangar.
Others came and went from Victorio’s attentions, and bit by bit the crowds waned, and the energy slowed. At last Victorio found himself with just Gatina and Brasil, the three of them sitting on a balcony along one of the ziggurat’s higher levels. After all the events of the day, it felt like such a relief to just sit and look up at the sky—a living, star-filled sky. Victorio couldn’t think of a time he’d been more at peace just to stare up at constellations and galaxies.
On his left, he heard Gatina beginning to snore, and he adjusted her lean against his shoulder to make her more comfortable.
Brasil was still wide awake, staring upwards. He’d been oddly quiet much of the night, letting the other Guard take the lead.
“So…what’s the deal with the Noa, anyway?” Victorio ventured in hushed tones.
In a soft voice, Brasil said the first words Victorio had heard from him in hours: “They think they’re the guardians of the multiverse. They show up sometimes to observe the last hours of some universes or worlds, and they hate plane hoppers like us.”
“Aren’t they plane hoppers?”
Mirthlessly Brasil chuckled. “Indeed they are. Indeed they are. But because their laws prevent them from interferin’ in affairs outside themselves, they think they’re all high n’ mighty.”
A brief silence passed, and Victorio grinned. “Nah, they’re just assholes.”
Brasil smiled sadly, then lowered the brim of his hat over his eyes. “I’m sorry, son.”
In confusion, Victorio blinked at him. “Huh?”
“I shouldn’t have agreed to join the evacuation,” he murmured. “If the Noa hadn’t realized who you were they’d have killed ye for sure.”
Indignantly, Victorio scoffed. “And instead just your friends would’ve died.”
“You’re my friend too,” he blurted, jerking around to face him. His eyes were misty, and he wiped them tiredly. “I…I don’t mean to say anyone should have died…just…you’re so important, Victorio. You ‘ave to know that.”
A thought tugged at the back of Victorio’s mind, but the only words he could think of to articulate them was: “M’not special. Not like you guys.”
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