Resonance 4th Edits - Bleeding Worlds Bk 3

by Justus R. Stone

  She gave a murderous glance toward Jason and then stepped back, resuming her place.

  “You will explain this further,” Quetzalcoatl said.

  “Yes, My Lord. The first group is the Valkyries, whose members are all female. Woten used them to visit other worlds to recruit Anunnaki for his special army, the second group, which are the Einherjar. To earn membership in either group, the candidate must pass through the Veil unharmed. The lost weed themselves out, the ones who manage to return but are mad, are put down. I have encountered the Valkyries personally, and they are a well trained and disciplined force. The few Einjerhar I have faced are on a power level with some Ageless Ones. And even the ones who aren’t, are still ahead of any member of the old Suture team, Ansuz.”

  “And you believe he plans to attack us with this force?”

  Jason shook his head.

  “No, I believe he has used members to infiltrate your organizations already. We hoped to secure a list of the operatives before our mission in Egypt, but our spies fell silent and we couldn’t afford to wait any longer. However, the Ageless One, Adrastia, is supposed to return here as soon as she has obtained the list. I hope for it to only be another day or two.”

  “And what do you think these agents are meant to do?” Quetzalcoatl asked.

  “I honestly don’t know. I can only tell you these agents assisted in the destruction of worlds in order to create the bleed throughs we saw seven years ago. I’m uncertain if Woten’s plans have shifted from amalgamation to all out subjugation or destruction. His belief is people, and the world in general, were never meant to be divided. It is possible since his plan of convergence failed, his next step is elimination.”

  Quetzalcoatl leaned back in his throne, resting on his steepled fingers.

  “Until your story can be verified, you will remain in this building with that collar. You will be confined to quarters, but they will at least be more comfortable than our cells. I warn you, I see and hear everything. If you abuse my charity, you will find your head separated from your neck and your heart ripped from your chest. Am I clear?”

  “You are most fair and kind, My Lord. I thank you for your time and tolerance.”

  Quetzalcoatl motioned with his hands that all were to leave.

  “Except you, Fuyuko,” he said.

  §

  Jason was following one of Quetzalcoatl’s aids toward his quarters when a hand clamped on his arm.

  “We need to speak,” Fuyuko said.

  “I was just showing him—”

  “I can do it,” Fuyuko cut off the aid.

  She dragged Jason behind her.

  “Fuyuko, you’re seriously hurting me. Are you using the Veil? You could break my arm!”

  She wheeled around to face him.

  “You’ll be lucky if that’s all I break.”

  They rounded a corner, leaving the bewildered aid behind. Halfway down the hall, Fuyuko opened a door and shoved Jason inside. They were in a room smaller than most walk-in closets. It stank of bleach and a dripping faucet filled the room with infrequent fat, loud, drops.

  “You couldn’t wait until we got to my room?” he asked.

  She slapped him so hard he stumbled back against the wall.

  Fuyuko pressed her hand to the door. Sheets of ice radiated from between her fingers, creeping along the walls and ceiling.

  Jason rubbed at the red splotch on his cheek.

  “Geezus, Fuyuko. First you try to break my arm, then my face, and now you’re trying to freeze me to death?”

  “You idiot,” she spat. “I’m making sure we can talk without being listened to.”

  “You don’t think they’ll get suspicious about us being alone in a janitor’s closet together?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said. “Quetzalcoatl just reminded me he was aware of our previous relationship and that I’d better not let it cloud my judgement. So frankly, for all any of them know, we are having sex in here, or we’re plotting something. But I’m not worried about what they suspect, all that matters is what they can prove.”

  “Well, clearly we’re not going to be having sex, so what are we plotting?”

  “Nothing. Not together, that’s for certain. I’m just wondering how I let myself be played so badly by you. First you give me your sob story about how I’m the only one who can help you, and then you’re just blatantly asking Quetzalcoatl for the Solution. You didn’t think that little stunt might make it impossible for me to get it now?”

  “I’m sorry. I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

  Her hand twitched, aiming for another slap, but she held it back.

  “Was your opportunity built on the corpses of my team?”

  “No. I swear, I never meant for any of that to happen. I hardly know what’s been going on for the past seven years on this planet. I’ve only pieced things together from what Adrastia told me and my knowledge of the members of Suture. Adrastia told me Quetzalcoatl called most of the shots, so I figured I’d be brought directly here. I never suspected Anubis would turn. Hell, I didn’t even know Anubis was in charge of Egypt. I thought Osiris was calling the shots—and he’d always struck me as pretty reasonable.”

  He went to put his hands on her shoulders, but thought better of it, leaving his arms awkwardly hanging in the air inches from touching her.

  “I know you’re angry. I understand there’re lots of reasons for you to be angry. But believe me, please, I didn’t willingly lie to you. What I said to you in Egypt was true. But seeing how dangerous this world is, I just thought I shouldn’t put you at risk. I saw an opportunity in there, and I took it. It was a gamble, I get that. But if it pays off you won’t have to worry about betraying Quetzalcoatl because he’ll willingly give me what I need.”

  “And who you need?” she asked with a lesser, but still very present, level of annoyance in her voice.

  “If you want to stay here, you can. But I figured you’d rather have your shot at cutting Woten’s throat.”

  “Let’s say you’re right, how do you expect this to play out? I realize I know you better than anyone else here—but it was pretty clear you were bluffing about that list.”

  Jason’s eyebrow raised.

  “Really? Maybe about the list…But who said I was bluffing about Woten having sleeper agents?”

  16

  Nefesh

  Gwynn waited for the explosion of pain as his body was ground to dust by those terrible teeth.

  Or, maybe it would be like the cartoons, and he’d drop unharmed into a lake within the beast’s stomach. But if that happened, unlike those cartoons, he would find acid, not water. Acid which would eat his flesh, stripping layer upon layer away, until pain and damage caused him to lose consciousness, and then his life.

  It wasn’t until a few minutes of motionless passed that Gwynn allowed himself to think perhaps there was another option.

  He’d dreamed of a space like this just before waking up in the hospital all those years ago. A space with no up or down, where his body felt liquid and free. It was similar to the Veil, but more comforting—liberating.

  I haven’t been swallowed by a dragon.

  Elaios told him, “You are the dragon.”

  Was this his own soul? Was his dream, when his powers first awakened, more than just a dream? Had he been in his own soul? Could he have witnessed the death of his parents in that space because it had become a part of his soul?

  As if in answer, his nostrils filled with the tangy sweet smell of pine and damp earth.

  No, I don’t want to go back there—I don’t need to!

  His feet encountered a spongy resistance, like he’d stepped on a down-filled duvet. Resistance built up against them until his entire weight bore down on a firm surface. Details of the landscape came into focus, while the space above filled with patches of stars. The full moon snapped into view as though someone had thrown open a set of blinds.

  Gwynn sank to his knees, the forest filling with sounds—crickets fir
st, followed by an owl, and then the rustling of small creatures scampering along the forest floor. He knew the direction of the road, but unlike his dreams, he felt no compulsion to seek it out.

  But what if there’s a new lesson to be learned there? a nagging voice whispered.

  There’s nothing new to learn there. I’ve seen it more than enough times, Gwynn thought.

  You asked for help. Are you going to turn it down now it’s arrived?

  Gwynn got to his feet and walked in the opposite direction of the road.

  “Or maybe my soul’s just messing with me because it’s made its choice between Cain and I,” Gwynn said aloud.

  The sound of a twig snapping reverberated through the trees.

  “Who’s there?” Gwynn called.

  Only the natural noises of the nighttime forest answered.

  Gwynn continued forward, certain at any moment he would hear screeching tires, tearing metal, and shattering glass.

  When he’d traveled five minutes in silence, he stopped to look over his shoulder.

  Is this the right forest?

  Could he have just assumed? No, he knew that spot—there was no way he could be wrong.

  He stared at the path he’d made through the brush. Uncertainty beckoned him back like someone tugging on a rope tied around his waist.

  The branches above his head made the sound of waves as they blew in the wind.

  No. If you have something to show me, then do it.

  He knew he was acting like a petulant child—he recognized it from home. But he’d suffered this nightmare for ten years—probably his soul’s fault because he certainly had no desire to revisit himself. And what more could he learn that didn’t get revealed eight years ago in an abandoned warehouse in Brantfield? He’d seen the truth in its entirety then, he knew why his father died and about his own powers awakening. There was nothing new to learn. Even if there was, he’d left this nightmare behind. He wasn’t the scared little boy waking in a sweat every night, staring at the uncaring digital numbers on his clock, waiting for morning to arrive.

  Gwynn clenched his fist so hard his arm shook.

  “I have my own family to protect. The dead are buried and I’ve left my guilt behind. I am not, will not, be that person ever again.”

  All sound ceased. He thought for a moment he’d slipped back into nothingness.

  A deep, thunderous, rumble of a laugh echoed through the forest.

  “Who won’t you be, little mouse?” a mocking voice said.

  The sound seemed to shift and bounce, circling Gwynn at varying heights. Every syllable came from somewhere different.

  “Did you kill the dead and put them in their graves?” it asked. “Because that would give us so much to talk about.”

  “Who are you?” Gwynn demanded. “Show yourself.”

  “Show yourself. Who are you?”

  The laugh came from everywhere at once.

  “You should be careful what you ask for,” the voice said.

  Something struck Gwynn in the center of his back, just below his shoulder blades. The blow lifted him from his feet sending him soaring eight feet forward. He twisted in midair, facing the direction of his attacker. There was nothing but forest.

  Using the strength from the Veil, he contorted himself, landing on his left hand, pushing up and on to his feet, crouched like a cobra preparing to strike. Gwynn pushed his senses to every corner of the clearing.

  “Annunaki,” the voice cackled from the left, about eight feet from the ground.

  Gwynn launched himself in its direction fist first.

  Too slow.

  His fist passed through empty air and he landed three feet beyond where the voice originated.

  “Anunnaki,” it said again. Hunger dripped thick and wet from the word.

  Gwynn couldn’t contain the tremor running from the back of his head, down his spine, and pooling in a swirling mess in his stomach.

  Anunnaki. He identified with the word now—it was who he had become. But eight years ago, he’d heard it said with similar hunger and anger—ending his old life in an exploding abandoned attic.

  “So what if I am?” Gwynn said.

  The disembodied voice tut-tutted its tongue against its teeth.

  Gwynn made a slow three-sixty, trying to find his assailant. A forearm slammed against his throat, pushing him back against a tree. Before he could react, his good arm was caught in a powerful hand and pinned.

  His eyes met his own staring back at him.

  “Cain,” he coughed through his constricted throat.

  “You,” Cain contemptuously vomited the word.

  Cain released Gwynn’s throat only long enough to grab it with his free hand. He tossed Gwynn like he was a piece of garbage.

  “Stop wasting my time,” Cain said. “Just get out of here.”

  Gwynn got to his knees, coughing, and rubbing at his throat.

  “What do you mean?” Gwynn asked. “We’re in the Veil. We’re not anywhere.”

  Cain shook his head, a rueful laugh rumbling in his throat.

  “You’re in me,” he said. “I thought you were some other Anunnaki, who’d wandered in here. But it’s just you. Poor, pathetic, useless, you.”

  “I don’t understand. How can I be inside…Oh? You’re not really Cain, are you?”

  Cain sighed.

  “At least you don’t take too long to catch on.”

  Gwynn rose to his feet and straightened his back.

  “I came here for you. I need to have power equal to Cain’s.”

  The image of Cain laughed—laughed so hard he had to brace himself against a tree. After a few minutes, he gave some dying guffaws and wiped tears from his eyes.

  “You? Equal to Cain? You can’t even be as interesting as Cain, let alone equal his strength.”

  Gwynn took a step toward the manifestation of his soul.

  “So you do favor Cain,” he said.

  “Hmph. How could I not favor Cain? Do you know why we even bother with you meat suits?”

  Gwynn didn’t answer, sensing the question’s rhetorical nature.

  “For experience. We are beings of energy, stuck in a static existence, never changing, never evolving. But you, creatures of flesh and the world of time, you do change. You learn new experiences, you grow from eating, shitting, sleeping sacks of meat into functioning, hormonal, creatures who waver between extreme poles of behavior. Through you, we are able to learn, change, and be transformed. Cain has lived hundreds of lifetimes, fucking and murdering his way across continents and worlds. He’s absorbed the powers of hundreds of his descendants. He’s delivered the sweet experience of terror and hopelessness to millions of my brethren. We all have much to thank Cain for.”

  Gwynn’s fist clenched so hard his arm shook.

  “How can that be?” he asked. “How could you want those experiences? What about joy or happiness?”

  The image of Cain, the image of himself with the addition of his right arm, shrugged.

  “Happiness, joy, it’s all so soft. Fear, anger, those sharp emotions carve the greatest of experiences. Why does anything evolve? Because it must overcome adversity. Happiness equals complacency. I told you, didn’t I, that we use you to experience change? Complacency is anathema to us. Which is why I have little use for you,” it sneered. “At the point where your powers awakened, what did you do? You stuck your tail so far up your ass you lost those powers for years. And then? You lived those years as a no one, hiding yourself from the world, afraid to even talk to the girl of your dreams. You’ve wasted your potential. To sum it up perfectly—you’re boring. What have you given me that can compare in any way to Cain’s contribution?”

  Gwynn’s stomach clenched and his eyes burned. He consciously tried to loosen his fist, refusing to allow this thing—it couldn’t be his soul—the satisfaction of seeing him upset. He drew a slow breath to steady his voice before he spoke.

  “You’re a liar,” he said.

  “Oh?
So you don’t have an answer for me, so instead you attack my sincerity?”

  “No,” Gwynn said, “I know you’re lying because if you craved change, you’d be far more interested in me than Cain.”

  “How do you figure?”

  The tightness in Gwynn’s chest loosened. Audible doubt had crept into the other’s voice.

  “Sure, anger, fear, maybe those things initially cause change, but how many years of abandonment issues can you stomach before it makes you nauseous? Does Cain even think about the people he kills anymore? Maybe the first kill, maybe even the first twenty, might have changed him. But now he’s moved on to destroying entire worlds from the shadows. I bet he doesn’t even look his victims in the eye anymore. You ask what I can give you?” Gwynn stood a little taller, let his chest lift higher. “In the past eight years I’ve awakened as an Anunnaki, had my heart broken, killed, destroyed billions of worlds, fell in love again, and had a child. And unlike Cain, I’ve managed to have a child who doesn’t hate me. In eight years, I bet I’ve gone through more changes than Cain has in eight centuries. If I was so boring and useless to my soul, why else would it lend me its strength? Why would Xanthe have answered my call when I needed it? And why did it help me save Pridament those years ago? Admit it, you’re not only lying about having no use for me, you’re not even truly my soul, are you?”

  The vision of himself leaned its head back, looking at the canopy of stars above them. He lifted his hand and covered his face. A long, exasperated, sigh escaped from his lips.

  “Now you’ve gone and done it,” he said.

  He blinked out of existence, reappearing crouched before Gwynn. He launched upward, slamming his fists into Gwynn’s chest, who lifted into the air, slammed into a massive tree, and became caught in its limbs.

  A familiar dark blade pierced his chest, passed through his back, and pinned him to the tree’s trunk.

  “You’re right,” the image of him said, the blade attached to its open palm, “I’m not your soul. You know me better as Xanthe.”

  17

  Silver Assailant

  The high pitched clanging of alarms woke Marie.