by S. S. Segran
A dais rose in the middle of the centermost road and a silver hoop fifty feet in diameter materialized upright at the top of the platform. Inside the band, a large-scale version of Jag’s pendant rotated languorously. The colossal print of a wildcat’s paw carved from an amber crystal flashed every now and then, catching light that did not exist. The brushed metal around it was engraved with exquisite, hand-carved patterns. The craftsmanship was, in a word, stellar. And painfully familiar.
“There it is.” Mokun stepped onto the center path. “The keystone.”
Mariah kept pace with him. “It’s huge. If this is what we’re looking for, that means it’s important to him, right?”
“It’s more about what it represents, I think. Those pendants were gifts to you from the Elders. They symbolize your roles in the prophecy and the start of your new life. As for the crystals embedded within, they help focus your abilities. In this case”—Mokun waved at the gargantuan structure—“I am almost certain that this thing is an illustration of Jag’s reliance on his powers. Or should I say, his over-reliance. He believes this is what makes him who he is, which should never be the case. Hence why it’s here, so prominent, so precious.”
Aari peered around. “I thought you said it would be guarded by his fears.”
Mokun indicated the charcoal gray slits hovering around the dais, throbbing like heartbeats. “We mustn’t rush through here. And take care not to touch them. If you do, your own fear will join in. It is an unpleasant experience and it will be difficult to tell whose fear is whose.”
The teenagers all shrank back at that, and Kody muttered, “Good to know. Wouldn’t want mine tangling with those and making it worse for Jag.”
Aari and Mariah regarded him knowingly and with concern. Mokun watched them curiously, wanting to learn more. He resented the fact that there wasn’t enough time to get to know them the way he had with Jag. They were extraordinary individuals from the wider world, foretold in a prophecy long before his time. It was . . . historical.
A cold weight clamped onto his thoughts. But was the prophecy its own catalyst?
“That’s a frightening notion,” Aari said.
Mokun started. “What?”
“What you were talking about. It’s a good point, though. If the prophecy never existed, would Reyor still have held her beliefs about the outside world? Would Dema-Ki have even had the need to keep tabs on the rest of civilization? How different would the Islanders have lived if there was no prophecy?”
“I don’t think he meant to tell us that,” Kody noted. “Look at his face.”
Mokun grunted. “This is the first time I have entered someone’s mindscape with others. Partitioning personal musings from telepathic communication is a slippery skill to master in such a situation.”
“No, wait, this is important,” Mariah said. “What if the prophecy really is the reason behind everything? Doesn’t that mean—”
Tegan apparated beside the group, back in her original form. “He almost kicked me out of his defenses,” she panted. “I had to poof away or I would’ve been locked out. He could be here any second.”
Forgoing his earlier warning, Mokun picked up speed. “Single file behind me,” he commanded. They fell in line, treating the entire space like a combat zone littered with landmines. Each time they passed one of Jag’s fears, the dark slits swelled as though they could sense foreign presences, almost daring the outsiders to touch them. Mokun kept his gaze firmly fixed on the giant replica of Jag’s pendant. It was only fifty feet away now, but the field of fears grew denser the closer they got.
“So what exactly do we need to do to break Jag from his repurposing?” Tegan asked softly from the very back, in a breath, as though afraid that anything louder would rouse Jag’s fears.
“There will be nothing delicate about it.” Mokun motioned at the pendant with a jerk of his chin. “We’ll need to break that, shatter it completely until nothing is left.”
“Won’t that do more damage?” Mariah sounded horrified.
“It could, but it’s also the only chance we have to free him before Reyor returns. Let me clarify: My hunch is that Jag’s true keystone lies within this pendant, and what we’re seeing here is the crust—the scab, the manifestation of his ambitions and memories and drive as his repurposed self. Due to the nature of repurposing, Stewards retain every aspect of themselves and their past but are rewired, in layman terms, to not care about it. Their primary reason for life is the cause and only the cause. The core of their very being, they feel, is meant to propel our work forward.”
“You’re imposing your desires onto them,” Aari said. “There’s no autonomy here. Maybe they aren’t entirely drones, but they don’t belong to themselves either. You were really okay going forward with a new civilization based on that kind of . . . of . . . dupery?”
“Sometimes we have to make do.”
“It would have been built on sand,” Mariah insisted frostily. “It couldn’t have lasted.”
“We didn’t need it to last. Once the generation after the Stewards was born, they would have been organically raised into the cause.”
“But people are individualistic,” Tegan contended. “Eventually one of them will start to question and have their own thoughts. Then what? Were you gonna repurpose them, too?”
“In a cause meant to protect the planet and safeguard humanity from waywardness, would they really have questioned it?”
“I guess it’s a possibility either way, but you didn’t answer my question.”
They’d reached the bottom steps of the dais. Mokun’s eyes traveled up the height of the pendant. “That would have been our very last resort. The idea was not to hide anything from the generations to come. They would know what had been done, why it was done. With only our standard as their baseline, there wouldn’t be another point of reference for them to weigh our actions against.”
Kody struggled to keep his flabbergasted laughter down. “Methinks that’s just another form of indoctrination. But, you know, kudos or whatever for the honesty thing you were gonna try.”
“If we had more time,” Mokun said, “I would very much like to delve deeper into the philosophy behind my rationale. Perhaps then you’d properly understand. And before you say anything, there is a difference between understanding and accepting. I’d only ask you for the former.”
A scream raced through the trees, echoing and feral. “Get out!”
Mokun turned. The thoroughfare extending back the way they had come erupted in flames. Jag’s projection phased into being in front of it, ragged and furious. The fire coiled around him once more, leaving luminescent trails across his body and up his neck, filigree patterns identical to the ones on his pendant that glowed like brilliant embers.
It was a captivating sight.
It was a terrible sight.
Mokun faced the dais again but stopped himself from taking another step. The slits at the topmost platform coalesced, hewn into humanoid shapes. A boy in a wheelchair crystallized, his dark skin catching the sourceless light. A tall man followed, well-built with blond hair and soft eyes, along with a slew of people who bore similar features to Jag. Five figures adorned in garments bearing congruous styles to Islander attire formed on the outskirts. Lastly, Tegan, Aari, Mariah, and Kody appeared front and center.
Behind him, Mokun heard Kody gulp. “We didn’t touch any of his fears. Why are they doing this?”
“Could be that just being here while Jag’s aware of our location triggered something,” Tegan muttered. “On that note, why isn’t he attacking?”
“Maybe because we aren’t moving,” Aari said. “What should we do? Can we slingshot ourselves to the top since his fears have already taken shape?”
Mokun stole another glimpse back at Jag. The boy remained where he was, but the sound of crackling fire suddenly magnified, coming from everywhere at once and filling his own mind until it felt as if he were in the midst of infernal destruction.
“Yes,
” he said. “Let’s go.”
Together, the five of them dispelled their forms and reappeared at the base of the pendant. Mokun slapped his palms onto the monolithic replica. Instead of feeling it on his immaterial skin, he sensed a thrum against his consciousness.
“Place your hands on it!” he shouted. “Concentrate all your energy! Imagine it bursting into pieces!”
They pressed up against the keystone. Thin fissures raced outward from the points of contact, but it wasn’t enough. The friends were all too new, too inexperienced to the situation. Mokun himself had found others’ keystones but not once had he sought their destruction.
“And what, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”
They looked up. Sitting in a nook within the pendant some twenty feet above, one leg dangling and the other drawn up onto the ledge to rest an arm, was Jag. His eyelids were still sewn shut but he knew exactly where they were. His gave them a grin that was as amused as it was threatening.
“Jag,” Mariah pleaded. “We’re trying to help you. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
The orange striations weaving across his body glowed deeper. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“That’s why we have friends. They’ve got your back even when you don’t want them to.”
“You need to leave.”
“Why?”
“You . . . you being here upsets things. In my head. Everything feels out of focus. I don’t like it.”
Mariah stretched a hand toward him. “Maybe that’s a good thing.” Mokun watched her concentrate, and from the tips of her fingers a monarch butterfly fluttered into being. “You’re not you right now.”
Jag ran a thumb across his jaw, new patterns forming under his touch. “I’m not sure what to believe.”
“Believe us,” she begged. “After all the years we spent together, after everything we’ve been through, why wouldn’t you trust us?”
The butterfly winged up to him, landing on the arm resting on his knee. He turned his head toward it, the harsh lines of his face easing.
Then his patterns flared brighter. With a snap of his wrist he caught the butterfly and crushed it. Opening his hand, he let its remnants fall onto Mokun.
“You came here with the traitor,” he said, bringing his other leg up into a crouch. “You can’t be trusted.”
With arms outstretched, Jag dove off the keystone, straight at Mokun.
Jag slammed into Mokun, hands wrenched around the older man’s throat. Mokun’s legerity should not have come as a surprise but it did; he reformed his body as a blade and speared through Jag before vanishing from his grasp. The walls of Jag’s mind palpitated and he faltered, head throbbing as he caught himself against—
He stilled upon recognition of the consciousness. Immediately his hand shot out, seizing Mariah. She screamed, kicking and flailing as he lifted her up by her gossamer neck. Her frenzied panic rolled over him, tar-like as it eclipsed his acuity. He fought to remain in control but a shard of her fear sank through the embered breaks in his psyche. He cried out as the sutures on his right eyelid tore loose. One eye opened and he saw two perspectives: Mariah at his mercy, and himself . . . at his own mercy.
No, that wasn’t it.
Jag was seeing himself through Mariah. He was privy to her fears now, and her fear was . . . him.
He gasped, the revelation jolting his being. The girl he’d grown up with, shared most of his life with, whom he’d quietly looked after, was afraid of him.
His mind throbbed again and he flicked the thought away. What did it matter? She and the others had been given the chance to join him, to finally make things right and save the Earth as they were meant to, and all of them had chosen to forsake it. To forsake him.
Reyor had made it clear. If they resisted and repurposing could no longer continue, they were to be disposed of. But how was he supposed to carry out that directive when he was restrained against a post and being mentally assaulted?
From the dais, he saw the field of fears before him. He flung Mariah toward it. She crashed into one and the terror on her face magnified as the dark slit expanded and enfolded her. Something lanced through Jag's mind and he faltered again, dropping to one knee as a tide of foul, gut-curdling emotion crested upon him.
Mariah’s voice, subdued and demoralized, whispered through his psyche. Who are you without them? Nothing. What would you have to give if you didn't have your powers? Nothing. You have no worth. What happens if they suddenly leave you? Would you even be able to make it on your own?
It took Jag a moment to understand that she wasn't speaking to him, but herself. He lifted his head, watching her fall free from the clutches of the slit that had claimed her and, for just a second, he wanted to run to her and cradle her against his chest, murmuring every affirmation he could think of.
“Hey, butt face!” Kody howled.
A force sent Jag rolling toward the other side of the dais. He shook himself off, sneering, his one eye locating the blustering interloper. “Kode-man,” he called, “I still need to get you back to the CUBE, buddy.”
“Oh, shut up.” Kody apparated beside him and catapulted his knuckles at Jag’s face. Jag dodged, weaving around him before grabbing the projection of Kody’s consciousness and throwing it backward. Kody fell flat, holding himself in pain. As Jag advanced on him, the other boy wheezed. “Okay, I take it you didn’t like being called a butt face. Would it please you to know that you’ve actually got a really nice mug, then? Very aesthetic. Super handsome. Ever thought about modeling?”
Jag seized him by the head with both hands. “I am genuinely gonna miss you and your little jokes.”
A presence skulked close, triggering his alarms. He dropped Kody and spun around to catch two arms in mid-morph. Tegan looked up at him, hefty silver chains where her limbs should be. Jag’s mouth curled up. “Nice try. You're not getting away with that trick again.”
Flames fluoresced around him and he directed them toward her, slicing into her illusory form. Her head flew back and she writhed, fighting to not make a sound as searing pain pierced her mind.
Too late, he remembered he’d left his back vulnerable. In less than a blink Kody was on him, dragging him toward the steps. Jag's manifested fears watched blankly as they passed. His heart clenched as Kody threw him into the nearest ones—his parents. It wasn’t supposed to matter, so why was he afraid?
He tried to push away but his mother held his face. His father wrapped both arms around him and Jag went limp as images of people bearing similar features, dead and gazing lifelessly into nothing, filled the entire expanse of his inner vision. Bodies piled up everywhere he looked. He stood in the epicenter, unable to do anything as more of his family lay at his feet. In the distance, a figure in a gold hood picked its way through the corpses.
It didn’t make any sense. Why was the one person who wanted to make the world a better place among his fears? Why did he have these fears at all?
The incongruous sight was enough to pull him out of his stupor. Before he could get his bearings, Kody and Tegan had shoved him into the manifestations of the Elders. He tried to run but their mentors surrounded him, blocking his path.
They don’t matter! he wanted to scream. None of them do!
He spun around but everywhere he turned, he met an Elder’s gaze, disappointment clear as day in the tremble of their lips and the heartbreak in their eyes. He spat at them. What did he care what they thought? They were the reason he and the others had been put on the wrong path, fighting Reyor when they should have been working with her. How much pain could have been avoided had they not stuck stubbornly to their interpretation of the prophecy?
Infuriated, he wrenched past them, carving an escape out of the fear just in time for Aari and Tegan to drag him toward Roderick and Marshall. Jag dug in, bellowing. “That’s enough!”
He disapparated, reforming fifty feet above them in the air. The sutures that had broken loose wove back, sealing his eye shut once more.
Familiar darkness overtook his mindscape; protective, safe, shielding him from what shouldn’t be.
“Jag!” Even in her anger, Tegan sounded on the verge of tears. He’d never heard that tone from her before. “Jag, please! We can’t do any of this without you! I know Phoenix screwed up your mind, but you’re not theirs! You’re not gone! I know you’re not!”
“Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself,” Jag said. “And I’m not gone. I’m where I should be. You could’ve been, too, if the traitor hadn’t reversed the repurposing.”
“If any of this was good, if any of this was honest, why would repurposing be needed in the first place?”
“We’ve been conditioned by the world, by our families, by the Elders. Sometimes people are so entrenched in one way of thinking and living that they need help to see things differently, especially if they have as much potential as we do, as the SONEs do. Everyone in the Sanctuaries is so brilliant, Tegan. I’ve gotten to know some of them. These kids are the future. We’re the future. They’ll do so much good once we return to the surface. They’ll create harmony between the new civilization and Earth, and all the advancements they’ll make will put humanity back on the right track.”
“Do you love us?” Mariah shouted. She sounded winded, strained, but determined.
A rush of bemused pity stumbled out of Jag in a soft chuckle. She had always been so endearingly naive. His only adulation was for the future of the planet, to make it a better place for the generations to come. That was his most important responsibility.
“Do you love us, Jag?” she shouted again. “Because I do! I love you for how you've always watched out for us!”
“I love you for being a brother!” Kody yelled. A surge of warmth chased his words, reaching for Jag, but Jag flicked it away. “Blood doesn’t make family, and we’re proof of that!”
Aari joined in, desperation pulsing out from his presence. “I love you for being someone we can always count on!”
