They sat together, embraced and embracing, until long after darkness fell, as her light burned defiance against the shadows.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Running up that Hill
MERCEDES LACKEY AND CODY MARTIN
Sera looked curiously around John’s squat. This was the first time she had been inside his building, but something told her that he was going to be too dispirited to make the climb to the roof tonight. And, truth to tell . . . this was the first time she had felt as if she would be welcome in this, his very private space.
But he had offered her his heart. There was no more private space than a person’s heart. How strange, that they had shared a few embraces, kisses that seemed playful, like the first kisses of almost-children, and had actually led to something so deep. Is this how it always starts with humans? It all seems simple, casual, until somehow one is ambushed by abiding love?
The walls and floor of the single room had been deeply engrimed with enough built-up dirt and oil that they had been stained the color of dark wood. The old mattress on the floor had definitely seen better days. But as she looked about her curiously, taking in the carefully ordered books, the single, battered lamp, and few Spartan possessions he had managed to accumulate, it began to speak to her.
As she closed her eyes and tried to get a better sense of John from this place that he called “home,” she lost track of time and place.
The numerous locks on the door each disengaged and turned at that moment, and John entered. He startled her. A flash of something more than light engulfed her and the squat for a moment. His hand flew to the grip of his pistol; he hadn’t expected anyone to be inside his squat, and though he must have felt a flash of something, he had not recognized it. The suspicion immediately faded from his face when he saw it to be Sera, and not some sort of malcontent. And there was something else that shouted for his attention: the squat and everything in it had somehow been scoured down to the bare cement. It was no less shabby, but now it was impossibly clean. How she had managed that, he had no idea. “It cleans, too. You’re a wonder, love.” He strode in, smiling widely.
Sera could see that he was tired, however, and not just from the exertions of the day. He was pale, and sweating. She held out her hands to him, and felt how drained he was. She did her best to pour strength into him, but it was, ultimately, like pouring water into a container that still had a hole in the bottom of it. “It is a talent I did not know I had until now, beloved,” she said, trying to bring a smile to him. “Perhaps I should advertise it?”
“Naw, I’ve got the bills paid for. Besides, I wanna keep ya all for myself.” He shrugged off his bulletproof vest and duty belt, dropping both to the floor. “I’m gonna grab a shower, get all of this patrol dirt offa me. The Commissar has made me her favorite whipping boy, lately.”
“Have you told her?” She did not have to say what.
John called from the tiny bathroom as the water started for the shower. “Nope. But I’ll have to soon enough.” It was in his nature to not want to be a burden to others, to be self-reliant. But this was different; this was no fault of his own, and it was much too grave.
Her heart ached for him, even as she wondered at his courage. She settled on the now clean, if still battered couch to wait for him. A conviction was growing in her that it was time, perhaps, to use more than mere words with him. And as she asked, silently, if this too would be permitted, the affirmative answer somehow did not surprise her. Whatever was going on, John Murdock was as important to the Infinite as he was to her, now.
She made herself as human as she could, banished even the thought of clothing, and paced silently into the bathroom. He was just stepping from the crude shower, and had a towel in his hands, and stared at her in dazed astonishment. He opened his mouth to say—something. It did not really matter what. She did not give him the chance.
She went to him, put her arms around him, and pressed herself to him.
“Sera—” he choked.
“Hush,” she whispered, and kissed him. The towel dropped to the floor.
It had been a very long time for him; at first, she knew, he had been too concerned with running. Then he had been mourning for his lost love. And at last, when that wound had subsided into an aching scar, he had been concerned with survival, and not just his own, though he wouldn’t admit it openly. Any woman he was with could potentially be a hunter, or a victim of his hunters.
But now, no matter what he had consciously decided, his body had its own priorities, and made them urgently known. And there was this: he was dying, and the body, knowing it is dying, instinctively yearns for life and will do nearly anything to perpetuate life.
It was a good thing that the mattress that passed for a bed was only a few steps away.
Despite his urgency, he was a gentle and considerate lover, and again, Sera discovered to her astonishment that the memories of others are nothing compared to the real experience itself. Together they joined in fire and joy, in the nearest thing that mortals could do to becoming one.
They lay beside each other in silence for a time; she had the feeling that he was feeling stunned. She understood that something profound had just happened between them, something far beyond the mere physical act. Something to tie him to this mortal life, perhaps? Something to alter that terrible resignation to his fate?
But why, when there was no hope?
Finally, at last, he spoke. “Well, that’s one for the journal.”
She blinked. “Journal? What journal?”
He grinned lopsidedly, waving his hand. “Remind me to tell y’later. How was yer day?”
She raised herself on one elbow and regarded him for a moment, then nestled close into his side. His arm closed around her shoulders instinctively, before he even had a chance to think about what they had just done. It felt astonishingly natural. “An encounter with a Blacksnake operative. Some rescues. I told a child a story.” She kept herself human; that too felt right.
“Blacksnake, huh? Hope you didn’t mess ’em up too much. Commissar would be distraught if her favorite punching bags were put outta business.”
She thought about Fei Li, and the strange, intent look the General had gotten when the sword struck her. If she had been human, she would have shivered. “Not . . . that one would notice. But it was unpleasant.” She decided to change the subject, quickly. “There are things I must speak of, beloved.”
He sat up straighter, angling himself so that he could see her face. He could tell by her tone that it was something important. “Shoot, love.”
“You know of the Infinite. Of the great Law of Free Will. You know why I am . . . constrained to do as little as I can. This—” she waved her hand a little at the clean floor and walls. “This is in that nature; it changes nothing for me to do this, such things come as breathing does to you. But . . . beloved . . .” She felt herself starting to weep. “I know you have asked inside yourself why I have not saved your friends, saved you—”
He was already shaking his head. “Sera, I don’t blame you—”
“Blame? Perhaps not, but the question—I have heard it, even when you have not spoken it. And the greater question: why has the Infinite allowed it?” She took a deep breath. “And you listen to my words, but they are only words. You see me, what I am, you believe in me, and yet, you do not believe beyond that.” Anguish threaded her. She blinked, and shook her head to free her eyes of tears. “Do you want to believe?”
John bit his lip; she wasn’t used to seeing him conflicted in this manner, nor was he used to seeing her this troubled. “Sera . . . by what y’probably are, there can’t be any proof. I’m an agnostic, in that sense; I take it for granted that the definition of any sorta ‘higher power’ leaves it impossible to prove or disprove.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve seen the worst of people, and the worst of myself. I know we couldn’t prove or disprove a god, but I don’t believe that one would exist that would let Evil exist. It
just doesn’t make sense.”
How to show him? How to—not make him understand, because forcing was the last thing she wanted to do, but bring him, by his own will and reason, to understanding? “Evil . . . evil is a choice.” She tried to concentrate on finding the right words.
He smiled, and she could sense that he felt as if he were humoring her. “If we really wanna get into the philosophical implications of Evil and how it disproves an all-loving, all-powerful entity, we could, love. But that’d take a while.”
“Beloved, I have heard all these things before. Mortals have been making these arguments since life began. I am old, old. I am of the Firstborn.” She closed her eyes, trying to think. “Listen. This is no mere story. Before there were such things as Time and Space, the Infinite said ‘I Am,’ and that is what your scientists recognize as the moment when Time and Space came into being. And immediately after that moment, the Infinite knew there were two courses that could be taken. The Infinite could create and control everything. And there would be no evil, all would be harmonious and beautiful and dead. Stagnation. Nothing would ever change, for why change perfection? Or . . . the Infinite could forever hold itself apart from creation, and make the First Law that of Free Will and Free Choice, and allow the universe to evolve as it would. There would be evil, yes. Terrible things would happen. Those creatures that evolved would sometimes tear themselves and others apart, and there would be pain and death and sorrow. But . . . they would grow. They would become. That is what the Infinite chose, as a good parent chooses to stand aside and let his child grow and become. But that is also when the Firstborn were created, who are less, who cannot See all, so that sometimes, sometimes, when an Instrument was needed, when a peril was so great as to threaten even more than just a world, there would be help.” Someday, perhaps, she would tell him of the Fallen; it was not the time for that now. “We are, if not mortal, the Finite interacting with the Finite. We have less Free Will than mortals, but that is because we trust more, and because we have more power. With great power comes—”
“—great responsibility?” he quipped.
“The need to do the most with the least,” she corrected. “I could level a world. I must use only what is absolutely needed, with the least amount of interference. I must not ever interfere with the exercise of Free Will, even when the choice is for evil.” As it was for Dominic Verdigris . . . There had been that moment, that single, telling moment at his party, when he could have taken the path for such good. . . .
He held up a hand, still unconvinced and changing the course of the conversation. “Discounting the problems with Moral Evil, what about Physical Evil? Natural disasters, plagues, and the like? It just doesn’t hold water, with the logic that’s available to frail ’uns like me, dear.”
Unexpectedly, without her even thinking to ask, she heard the Voice within her. Bring him.
“Death is so far from being the end of life that Physical Evil does not matter . . . please, may I show you?” she begged, clutching his hand in both of hers, looking up at him pleadingly. If only he could See . . . that would bring the understanding. Surely, surely.
John shrugged. “You’re certainly welcome to try. I don’t know how y’could, dear, but—”
She held his hand tightly. He had given permission. Now, the rest was as easy for her as breathing was for a mortal. She concentrated a moment, gathered him to her, and enveloped them both in the Glory. Time stopped. She gathered all her strength, and made the Leap. In that moment, she brought him to the Heart of All Time.
This, for her, was home. She became Light within the Light, immersed in the sound that was the Song of Creation, the great music that came from her Siblings and constantly changed as creation itself changed. More than immersion, it was completion, and she gave herself up to the pure joy of it. Here she was most truly herself, no longer subject to the laws of the physical, mortal universe.
Beside her was John; stubbornly clinging to what he knew, he looked exactly as the mortal self that had been lying beside her, as he pictured himself. Here where all things were possible, he retained his worldly form as he thought of himself: clothing, expression, and scars. She, of course, was her truest form; a slender creature of pure white light, with a halo of wings that resembled wisping ethereal fire, with only a suggestion of a face in which her golden eyes burned, and only his will imparted to her the sense of femaleness.
Initially, John panicked. He flailed in place, trying to right himself where an “up” didn’t exist. He looked bewildered, frightened . . . and then his face softened. Curiosity overcame his sense of awe and fear. He waited a few heartbeats in a place where time had no meaning. “Sera . . . love . . . where on Earth are we?”
Not on Earth at all. This is the realm of the Firstborn and the Siblings, the Heart of All Time. The Infinite itself is here, insofar as you could say that it is anywhere. Perhaps it is truer to say that the Infinite is visible and manifest here. Everything is possible here, and all that ever has been is remembered here.
“So, this . . . this is Heaven?” Still accustomed to speaking, John did so, even though there was no air to breathe as such.
There was a sense of joyous laughter. There are as many Heavens as there are beings to imagine them. This is beyond those. This is the purest place of being beyond death.
He looked mortified. “Am I dead, then?”
A “wing” caressed him tenderly. No, beloved. Rarely, we can bring someone here. You have been granted that gift. Best beloved, this is to prove to you—death is not an ending, and forgiveness is always possible.
“And . . . Hell? Does that exist? There’s gotta be an opposite for every reward—”
They were joined at that moment by another presence. Not as bright, or as shining as Sera. But it was one that “felt” so familiar to John that he was startled—
“Who are you?” John was still guarded, still suspicious, even here.
Like Sera, the newcomer “spoke” without speaking. Forgotten me already? A laugh, like one he knew, but without the pain that had always colored that laugh, as the light took on colors and a shape. Hell, John, I am crushed.
“I—” He looked at Sera, upset and confused. “Love, what’s going on here? I don’t understand.”
The newcomer chuckled as her form became as mortal as his. A young woman with freckles, intense brown eyes, shoulder-length brown hair and a firm jaw, wearing fatigue pants and a black T-shirt. Tanned and muscled, she was clearly a fighter, but the huge, guileless grin on her face said that she didn’t feel the need to fight here, and the gleam of her eyes was a reflection of the joy that Sera radiated. “It’s just more proof for you, lover.” Jessica turned in place for him. “See? It’s me. All here.”
“Jessica . . . how?” John’s facade of toughness cracked, then shattered, and he began to cry; first silently, then with harsh, tight, small sobs that sounded as if they were being torn from him.
When Jessie had been murdered, he hadn’t wept; he’d snapped. He hadn’t cried for her, properly mourned her loss, in all that time. In all the long years since, he had not cried. Not all the times when he had been a heartbeat from ending it all. Not when he had been sure his parents were dead, killed in the Invasion. Never.
Now he did. Now, finally, the last barrier had broken, and the grief was overwhelming. He mourned for the loss of Jessie, for the loss of everything he had been, for the terrible things he had done, for what he had become.
“How is this possible? You’ve been—gone,” he looked down, not willing to state that she was dead. “Gone for six years. How are you talking to me?”
“You mean dead? Just the shell, hon. Like old clothes. The shell wasn’t me any more than that nasty old uniform they made us wear was.” She put both hands around his face, and gazed intently into his eyes. “Sera’s right. Everything’s possible here. Death doesn’t end us; I’m your proof. Remember that poem you used to quote? Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion. F
orgiveness is there if you want it, I’m proof of that too.”
John’s whole body shook with grief and despair. “There’s so much I haven’t said. So much wrong I’ve done, Jess. It’s too much, all of it. I can’t ever make it up. I can’t ever make it better again.” He hung his head. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.”
Sera’s light throbbed, as a heartbeat throbbed, and the beat was compassion. This is the Infinite, John. Would you put limits on what the Infinite can do?
He didn’t respond, locked within his own terrible sorrow.
You asked me of Hell. Hell is within you, within all thinking creatures. As they make their own Heavens, they make their own Hells, and if they cannot see past them, if they cannot reach for the forgiveness that is freely offered, and as freely make reparation, they dwell in them. A feeling of sadness too terrible for tears swept over all three of them.
“It was all my fault, though.” He looked up through tears to see Jessica beside him, her pose a mirror of Sera’s. “It’s all my fault. I didn’t do it right, I didn’t stop things before they went too far. I took out the innocent along with the guilty.” He shook his head, still sobbing pitifully. “It’s my fault.”
“Your fault?” Jessica blazed up with anger, losing her form for a moment. “All your fault? What about the people that tortured us, tried to break us, murdered me? Was that your fault too?”
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t stop ’em, didn’t disagree. All I did was kill ’em.” He shook harder, violently. “That’s all I am. A killer.”
Around them, the light dimmed, and darkness spread from him. The Song turned to one of mourning. Shocks of purple, like permanent lightning, shot through the Heart of All Time, spider-webbing through it. It came to Sera that they resembled his scars; scars of mind and soul as much as of the body.
Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle Page 59