by Tony LaRocca
Asher’s gaunt cheeks spread into a patronizing smile. “There’s no need,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with them that can’t easily be cured.” He leaned in, and placed his ear on Helen’s forehead. He nodded in satisfaction, and did the same to Roger. “They’ll be fine in the morning. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Shavoy’s stomach dropped. She took a step backward as she wrapped her arms tight around her chest. She swallowed. “I see.”
“Don’t worry,” he said as he turned his smile towards her. “You’ll feel better in the morning too, I promise.”
Her throat suddenly felt dry. “Thank you,” she said. “Since you’re here, I have to go. My girlfriend —”
“No.” He hummed in the back of his throat. She could hear a buzzing in her head now, a drone that resonated within the base of her skull. “You need to sit down. You’re too upset, you should just relax.”
She walked to an empty chair, and sat. “I should just relax.”
He looked her up and down. “Shavoy, right?”
“Right.” She pursed her lips. “Doctor.”
“Doctor.” He squinted at her for a moment. “Muscular dystrophy?”
“I… I suffered from that, yes.”
The buzzing noise filled her head. She felt calm now. Everything was going to be fine. The will of the Ophanim worked through Her wise servant, and everything would be fine. Her arms relaxed, and fell to her side.
Asher ran his bony fingers through Helen’s blond curls. “They’ll be all right,” he said. “And you feel better, don’t you?”
Shavoy smiled, and blinked. “I feel amazing,” she said.
“That’s wonderful,” he said. “I’m so happy to hear it. Why don’t you take the night off, go home to…”
“Lisa.”
“Lisa, that’s it. Go home to Lisa. I’ll stay here with them, they’ll be much better in the morning.”
She felt relieved. “Oh, good,” she said. She stood. A look of confusion crossed her face. She was forgetting something, or someone. Was someone missing? She shrugged. Everything was beautiful. She approached Asher, picked up his hand, and kissed it. “I just want to thank you,” she said. “I can walk, I can practice medicine again, I can do everything without pain. It feels so amazing.”
He smiled. “How old are you?” he asked.
“Sixty–seven.”
He winked. “It’s a shame. You’re too young for me.”
She laughed. “Don’t let Lisa hear you talk like that.” He laughed with her. She felt light. Life was good.
Asher waved, and watched her leave. He waited until he could no longer hear the sound of her shoes on the pavement. Then he locked the door.
He slumped against the wall. What had gone wrong? He tilted his head back, and sang.
The children he had left inside of Helen and Roger responded. He opened the rents on the side of his neck, and sent a few more to assist them. The tops of his charges’ skulls pulled back like thick orange peels. He peeked inside.
Their brains were swirling whirlpools of Life Sands. The spiraling grains had turned a deep shade of pink streaked with mauve.
They’ll be okay, he told himself as his children rewove their minds. They’re fine.
Their work done, the minute swarm returned to their cells within his flesh, suckling what little fat and muscle remained. I don’t know how much longer I can do this, he thought. I’m going to have to stop and sleep, soon.
He looked down at his first couple, his Adam and Eve. He instructed the wasps within his own mind to release more stimulants, and increased the intake of his receptors. He could not fall asleep, not until they and everyone else in his city no longer needed him.
For their sakes, he dared not.
Matthew’s boots hammered up and down upon the cobblestones. He could not remember why he ran, he only knew that it was essential that he run. And just as it was essential that he run, it was also essential that the woman follow. He was not even afraid of her and her thorns anymore, or rather, the pounding of his heart and the tightening in his throat had become routine. It was all just part of the cycle, and the cycle was just a part of him.
He looked at his left shoulder and wished, as always, that he could rip it off. He dug his fingers into the cleft, and yanked. It would only come off part way. He was growing older now. He did not care anymore. Growing old when his shoulder separated was part of who he was. The cycle was never ending. Time was never ending.
He passed through the tunnel again. The bas–relief came to life again. Its roots and vines told their story, again. As always, NorMec soldiers dragged the woman off into darkness, the fire bloomed, she attacked him with her thorns, he held her off, slicing once more into the vegetation of her body with his sword. He ran through darkness and fire, watched the floral animation, and saw them drag the woman off yet again. Then fire consumed the tunnel, and left him in darkness once more…
Was she Sigma?
The name meant something to him, but he did not know why. The thought brought love and pain, a feeling of yearning entwined with shame and anger. There was someone called Alyanna, a little sister, though he could not think of her name, and a dog, Bananas.
The name brought another wave of guilt. He could not remember his past, but it still flooded him with emotions. He had no doubt that he was guilty of something, but of what, he could not say.
He reached the final wall. His life seemed like a dream. As if he were just an observer, he felt his mind go through all the fears it had always felt, all the choices it had previously made. He felt himself tear his arm down, felt himself create the water that dripped into the rocks and softened the brick. He felt his leg shoot out, felt his never–ending terror of the woman in the blackness, felt his boot kick through the wall for what seemed like the millionth time, and, as always, he crawled through.
Now I’ll turn and see her, he thought, and then I’ll run. And once more she’ll be ahead of me, and I’ll be waiting with my sword. And then I’ll set fire to the catacombs before I mutilate her, disfigure her, stab her, try to kill her, anything to keep her thorns at bay. Again. He turned, and looked through the hole.
No one was there.
The fog, which had saturated his mind for as long as he could remember, began to clear. Something was different. He had not always been here, had not always been a part of this caucus race. Something had broken the cycle.
The Cathedral, he thought. What happened to the Cathedral?
He examined the pixelated cleft in his shoulder. It was still separated. He peered into the blackness on the other side of the wall, but could see nothing. He took a deep breath, and closed the rift in his flesh.
He collapsed to the ground, wheezing. The loop had made him old and young again, over and over. Well, not young, just as old as he had been when he had found this city. Maybe at the onset of middle age, with his hair gray, and his joints sore. He rubbed his face. He could not tell how wrinkled it was. He rolled onto his back, and stared up into the hole.
A face stared back at him.
Like her predecessor’s, its flesh was waxen, and reminded him of cellulose. However, its features were different from before. Its owner was not his pursuer, the monk–like woman with the squiggly seven etched into her forehead.
She was a little girl.
Her small eyes peered out from above doughy cheeks like two raisins. A pair of glasses with lenses of thick, transparent onion peel protruded from her flesh to rest on her broad nose. Her skin, though still plant–like, was dark. Her black hair, the stuff of wild grass, was curled in tight knots against her head.
“Hi,” he said. His voice did not sound like that of a geriatric, that was a plus. “Who are you?”
The girl’s eyes widened, and she scuttled back into the darkness.
“Hey,” he shouted. He rolled onto his stomach, and crawled to the hole. This is stupid, he thought. She could just be Psycho Número Seven in disguise, or she could even have atta
ck thorns of her own. But the fact that he could think clearly again and even remember some events from before he had arrived in this Sage bolstered his conviction that this frightened kid meant him no harm. She was just a victim too. He peered into the blackness.
“Okay,” he said. “I don’t know if you can understand me, but I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to come after you, but I know how scary it is over there. I’ll move away from the wall, and you can come back over. It has to be better in the light, right?”
He looked around. Why was there light here, anyway? He was not certain that this tunnel was the same as the one he had broken into so many times. The light seemed to come from above. He looked up, but could not see anything past a roiling mist. He turned back to the wall.
The face peered out again. Tears of sap lined her cheeks.
“Hey,” he said, raising his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you, kid, I promise. Can you understand me?”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and nodded.
“Can you talk?”
She moved her lips, but no sound came out. A look of dejection crossed her face. She clamped her throat with her hand, and tried again with the same result. Dejection turned to fear, and she swung her head back and forth, her lips parted in silent cries.
“Hey, it’s okay.” He placed his hand on her wrist. She jerked back, but he held on. Her arm felt like a thick stick of celery. He pulled her hand away from her throat. “It’s okay, kid, it’s going to be okay.”
She shook her head, and a memory of a similar exchange he had once had with his mother — Alyanna, that was who Alyanna was — crossed his mind. He smiled.
“All right, it’s not okay,” he said, “but that’s not going to help.” He let go, and backed away. “Just come on over, please?”
She squeezed in through the hole, just making it inside. She stood. She looked down at her body. Unlike her predecessor, she wore jeans and a t–shirt. But like her bottle–bottom glasses, they were a part of her. The sleeves and neckline melted into her arms, the pants and sneakers one with her legs and feet. Her hands went to her ample love handles, and squeezed. Her jaw trembled. She opened her mouth, and silently wailed.
“It’s okay, I mean, calm down.”
She punched herself in the belly. She pulled her fist back, and did it again.
Matthew leapt to his feet, wincing as his knees popped. He ran to her, and grabbed her arms. “Stop that,” he said. “Seriously, you’re hurting yourself. Look.” He nodded at her stomach. Her t–shirt–vegetable–flesh had a hairline fracture. A thin sap oozed forth.
She stopped struggling. Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the ground, her waxen face dark with shame. Matthew moved his hands down her arms, and took her fingers in his. She looked up into his eyes.
“All right now?” he asked. His mind spun. Could this be one of Asher’s charges gone wrong, somehow mixed in with the plant life of the city? Were there others like her? He had to find a way to ask without interrogating. She continued to stare at him, as if she wanted to pull her hands away and run. Her eyes kept darting to his shoulder.
“What?” he asked. He glanced at the blurry join in his skin. How did she know what it meant, and why did it frighten her? Unless… “Did Asher tell you about me, maybe something bad?”
Her jaw trembled for a few seconds, then she nodded.
Bingo, he thought. But how bad was it? Every savior needed a devil, he supposed, though in Asher’s case, it was more likely to be a succubus. “How about a woman?” he asked. A thought struck him. “Did a woman do this to you?”
The girl nodded. She pulled her right hand out of his left, and traced a sloppy number seven on her forehead.
“Yep, that’s her,” Matthew said. “I’m guessing that she found a way to swap places with you. Maybe that’s what she was trying to do to me as well.” He let go of her other hand. “My name is Matthew. I wish you could tell me yours.”
She put her hand to her throat again. He nodded. “I understand,” he said. He looked around them. Bricks, interwoven with roots, lined the passageway. The hazy light that shone from above cast everything in gray and blue. “Your Brother Asher trapped me down here. I’ve been…” His voice trailed off. How could he possibly explain?
A small smile crossed her lips. She traced a circle in the air with her finger, following the path repeatedly.
“Yep,” said Matthew, “that pretty much sums it up. I can’t wait until you can tell me how you figured that one out. You’re very smart.”
She blushed, as much as a plant could. He rubbed his chin. “I’m so sorry that this has happened to you. But I think that this woman, Sister Theresa — her switching places with you broke the loop. Maybe this tunnel doesn’t lead back into the catacombs anymore. Maybe it leads somewhere else.” A thought occurred to him. “Maybe it was her trap as much as mine. It was not just in space, but also in time. But since you know my story, I think it was just our time that looped, not yours. It was just a goto–return subroutine in this Sage’s program.” The girl scowled at him. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m just babbling out loud.”
She nodded.
“Look,” he said. “You have to understand something. All of this, this tunnel, this world, what’s happened to you, it’s just another trap. A bigger trap, a bigger circle. I have to break out of it, and find what I’m looking for. A lot of lives are depending on me, back home. But I promise you, when I do break out of it, I’ll find you and help you.”
She scowled at him again, this time putting her hands on her hips. He wondered if she had learned that expression from her mother. It was a mother’s scowl. She tapped herself on her chest, and pointed to her feet.
“Yeah, I know you think that you’re standing in this tunnel, but really, you’re not. I’m not either. You’re lying in an immersion tank somewhere, with a link coupled to your neural implant. Me, I’m pretty sure that I’m just hanging on someone’s wall. That’s the problem. You can always get out of the tank. I can’t get off of the wall, and I don’t even know how I got from my old wall to the one I’m on now. Who knows, maybe you’re the one who’s going to have to rescue me.” He shrugged. “And then there’s the Cathedral. I don’t suppose that means anything to you?”
She shook her head. “Nah, I guessed not. But it’s here, somewhere. It’s like Brother Asher kept saying, we have to pull back the curtain. That’s another buried clue, apparently: something from my Great Uncle Leo, the one that I never knew I had. Never mind, you have no idea what I’m going on about.”
Her head bobbed up and down, her eyes wide.
“Wait,” he said. “You know what that means?”
She grinned. It was a pretty smile, and it made him smile in return.
“Well,” he said, “I don’t think General Jaeger — that’s my boss — I don’t think he thought this through. Maybe he thought that there would be some way of getting to the real world from within this Sage. Maybe… maybe there’s access to a drone, somewhere. I did that once. I controlled a robot, outside of the NorMec Sage. Outside the circle, behind the curtain.”
He looked down the twisting hallway, its walls illuminated by its mist–covered ceiling. “One circle at a time, though. I have to go on, to see what’s around that bend. I’m guessing that it will be different this time. What do you say? Will you come with me, and show me Uncle Leo’s curtain? It might show us the way out.”
The girl bit her lip, seeming to mull it over. Then she reached out, and took his hand.
Asher limped through the municipal building’s main entrance to face the morning. He had sent the Coles home to rest, and had spent the rest of the night trying to regain his strength. It seemed as if his work would never be done.
The rising sun reflected off of the glistening buildings across the street, and into his eyes. He raised his arm to cover them, squinting against the glare. He would never admit it, but the excess of all he had built filled him with disgust. What good was any
of it if he could not protect his people?
Up then, and undismayed, sheathe not the battle blade, ‘Till the last Abomination is laid low in the grave!
He clutched at his head. The voices had become constant. They wanted to live, they wanted to be free.
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean —”
Did it work? Where is He? Why isn’t He here —
“Stop it!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty streets.
He clenched his fists, aware of the spectacle he was making. Had anyone seen or heard? He looked left and right. He was alone. With any luck, everyone was still asleep.
He trotted through the city with a lurching gait. He was beyond exhausted, and starving. His legs felt as if they were made of wood. Every step was an effort, and sent jolts of pain shooting through his spine.
We’re here because they want to take away our freedom to worship.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. His lustrous city swam around him. He would never make it to the edge in time, never make it to the untouched sands. He had to feed now.
He dragged himself to the plaza. It would have to be the fountain, he decided. It did not matter too much, he could always reconstruct it later. He staggered to the giant marble bowl, and fell to his knees.
He set his children free.
They crawled from his open sacs, and feasted upon the stone, rubber, water, and steel. Where they previously would have gobbled, they now nibbled. What would normally have taken seconds before took a torturous ten minutes. When they were done, the flowing sculpture had been converted to a mound of MRE–grade nutritional paste.
Asher buried his face within the slop, and sucked it down. It was an effort at first, but his body, aided by his children, managed to metabolize every bite within minutes. When his belly hurt, he simply lay on the pavement until the sensation subsided, and then ate more. Warmth and energy crept back into his muscles. Within fifteen minutes, the vitamin–enriched slurry was gone.
