“Telepath, remember?” Alistair said, tapping his head. “You’ll never touch me.”
Michael gritted his teeth and unleashed a bolt of pure telekinetic force that tore a huge breach in the structure of the roof, exposing rebar and piping. Alistair side-stepped the attack casually, and then kicked Michael’s right knee out from under him, dropping the Auditor into a crouch.
“Mitzi,” Alistair said, glancing up. “Do your thing.”
Michael looked up to see Mitsuru leaning over the edge of the air conditioning unit, one arm extended, a knife held to her wrist.
“Mitzi,” Michael said urgently. “Don’t…!”
Mitsuru cut deep into her the underside of her heavily scarred forearms. The blood that poured out of the wound was black and thick, and it dripped down on Michael before he could get to his feet. He screamed as the black blood splattered on his skin, hissing and consuming tissue and bone. Michael rolled and howled, frantically trying to brush the caustic blood from his skin, and succeeding only in smearing it further.
Alistair watched his agony with a smug grin. Mitsuru bled down on him without comment.
The Anathema lingered until Michael stopped writhing, and the holes in his head were deep enough to bury a finger, and then they went hunting for Karim.
They found the remaining Auditor back at the western nest, struggling to attach a scope to his rifle. Karim spun around upon hearing them, the rifle held in one hand, the muzzle of steady and aimed for Alistair’s head.
Alistair smiled, and then the Anathema disappeared.
Karim cursed and took a pointless shot, and then another, turning about helplessly.
The rifle was knocked from his hands, and a knife was jammed into his belly. Karim groaned as the blade slid in, and stumbled away, striking out blindly at his assailant and failing to make contact.
Alistair appeared next to him, while Mitsuru watched from atop a vent, Karim’s sniper rifle sitting in her lap.
“Mitzi was mine; you understand?” Alistair tugged the knife from his belly, and Karim reflexively grabbed at the wound. “You took her from me. No one is allowed to take anything of mine.”
Karim saw the blade coming, but had time only to fall backwards, the knife scraping down the length of his face and cutting his forehead and cheek.
“Mitzi belongs to me, alive or dead, but I gotta admit, she was a lot more fun when she was alive. If anyone was gonna kill her, it should have been me,” Alistair dodged Karim’s counterstrike easily, stepping behind him and sinking the knife into his back. “Who the hell are you, anyway? Mercenary piece of shit.”
Karim dropped to his knees and wheezed for air, his lung punctured.
“You aren’t much of a telepath, are you, Karim?” Alistair stomped on the back of Karim’s ankle, snapping it in two. “You were the best the Auditors had left, though. Can you imagine what it will be like for the rest of them, now that you’re gone?”
I’m better than you think, Karim thought. Or did you fail to notice that Chike came back for Michael just a moment ago?
“Check it, Song,” Alistair ordered, twisting the hilt of the knife in Karim’s back.
The dead woman nodded and hurried away, returning a moment later with a crestfallen look.
“Yes,” she said, watching impassively as Alistair kicked Karim. “The injured Auditor is gone.”
Congratulations, then, Karim. You sacrificed yourself to rescue a dying man, Alistair thought. We had better deal with you, then, before your friend attempts another rescue. Okay, Mr. Telepath – impress me. Why don’t you jump off the building?
Karim glared at him. Their staring contest was brief.
Karim stood on his good leg, pulling his broken ankle behind him. His teeth were gritted, and sweat poured from his forehead and soaked his shirt. It took almost a minute for him to limp to the edge of the building, the bones in his ankle grinding with each step, making him groan and whimper.
He reached the edge, and took one long look down.
“On three?” Alistair suggested. Just kidding. Jump!
Karim dove over the side.
Alistair strolled over to the edge, just to make sure. He glanced at the body on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, a crowd already gathering around it, and hunted through the Auditor’s final thoughts.
“That’s two, hopefully three, and we’ve only just started,” Alistair said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Maybe we’ll have time to visit the Strip after all?”
***
The World Tree was planted in a mound of crystal ground down to multicolored sand, illuminated roots working into cracks in the center of a massive impact crater, the largest anomaly in the Outer Dark. Technicians scrambled about with tablets and inspected machinery and banks of monitors. Above the crater, a layer of black mist hung overhead, blotting out any view of the monotone black sky.
In the valley about the World Tree, framed canvas buildings had been erected, protected from the environmental hazards by a flickering magenta barrier. Anathema soldiers lounged in temporary barracks, or ate in a large square tent that was used as a mess hall. At the base of the canyon wall that surrounded the crater, the foul warrens of the Weir were nestled in the rock, yellow eyes shining from the darkness of their dens. Weir wandered the crater in small packs, running about endlessly in canine form.
Marcus seemed to turn a corner, and then they were standing there, the World Tree looming over them, Weir and Anathema shooting curious glances in their direction, and then looking away again when they saw Emily and Marcus. Alex flinched away as soon as they arrived, tearing his hand out from Marcus’s. The old man laughed, while Emily made a face and Vivik stammered apologies on his behalf.
“Are they supposed to be this big?” Alex looked up at the World Tree, his face lit by what appeared to be the world’s largest Christmas tree. “Because this thing…”
“I saw the last one,” Emily said, taking Alex’s arm and strolling toward the World Tree. “This is bigger. Maybe something in the soil?”
“That’s not soil,” Marcus said. “This World Tree has simply been allowed to mature longer. Using it as a transport mechanism is draining.”
“I don’t like it,” Alex decided, blinking at the radiance. “Not at all.”
“That works out well,” Emily said cheerfully, tucking his arm in beside the rise of her chest. “Like I explained, we just need you to…”
Emily trailed off, and Alex followed the direction of her gaze. The valley was huge, so even the gathering of Anathema appeared sparse, but one figure was notably heading right for them, making hurried progress across the slick valley floor.
“Oh, drat,” Emily said. “That’s bad timing.”
“You could call it that,” Marcus said, slowing his pace considerably. “I’ll let you do the talking, Emily.”
“Why do I have to…?”
“I’m not complaining. Not at all!” John Parson approached them with a polite smile, the suit beneath his overcoat immaculate and pressed. “I don’t understand what would possess you to remain in the Outer Dark, however, particularly after you went to such trouble to extract young Alexander in the first place.”
“Why would we run?” Emily addressed him with what seemed to Alex to be excessive deference. “You have the wrong idea. We aren’t working at cross purposes. I’m doing exactly what you told me to do.”
“Is that really so?” John Parson shook his head. “I truly fail to see how.”
“Let me explain, then,” Alex said, striding forward only to have Emily put an arm up to stop him.
“Yes? Go right ahead!” John Parson smiled indulgently. “I have time, after all. The World Tree is not completely rooted, and I have no personal stake in Alistair’s dreams of invading Central. Please, do enlighten me!”
“First, I’ve got a question,” Alex said. “Who are you, exactly?”
“Weren’t you listening, Alex? I’m John Parson.”
“That doesn’t clear up an
ything,” Alex said. “I didn’t ask your name. I asked who you were.”
John Parson threw his head back and laughed, while Alex balled his fists.
“Oh, very well! If it helps move things along, you can consider me the first of the Anathema.”
“Marcus mentioned you,” Alex said, his eyes narrowing. “You turned Emily into an Anathema, right?”
“Alex!” Emily looked stunned. “What are you…?”
“You give her too little credit,” John Parson offered mildly. “But you could say that, I suppose.”
“She told me about it,” Alex said, nails digging into the palms of his hands. “What you did.”
“What I did? Now, listen here, young man…”
“She told me you put her in a hole in the ground,” Alex hissed. “You drowned her.”
“Miss Muir is a Drown,” John explained. “That’s generally how it’s done…”
“You killed her,” Alex concluded darkly. “You murdered Emily.”
“Oh, come on! She’s standing next to you now, alive and well, for all intents and purposes. Regardless, she climbed into that hole herself. I won’t lie – I have forced others to become Anathema against their will. I have held down that stone lid while others drowned…”
“That’s fucking sick!”
“That was not the case with Miss Muir,” John said. “She took the initiative. Miss Muir is not a victim.”
“That so?” Alex shook his head. “Did you say something about Alistair working for you?”
“In a sense.” John Parson sighed, and looked quite put upon. “I am not an advocate for centralized authority. Accordingly, I have devolved my responsibilities to my lieutenants – a group of which Alistair and Miss Muir are both members, I might add.”
“Good for you,” Alex said sourly. “What did you say about invading Central?”
“Oh, that’s Alistair’s private ambition,” John said, with a roll of his eyes. “He is obsessed with returning to his former abode as some sort of conqueror, and I don’t have the heart to begrudge him the experience. I have very little interest in any sort of invasion.”
“Then I guess this won’t bother you much.”
Alex closed his eyes and reached for the World Tree.
Emily cried out, perhaps in warning. Vivik yelled something incoherent. Alex registered none of it.
Black mist swirled overhead into a massive cyclone. The Outer Dark shuddered, and a chill entered the arid atmosphere. Alex reached for the Ether, and found it close and waiting, his repaired fingers and eye throbbing with limitless cold, the diaphanous membrane separating Alex from the monotonous grey shredded with a thought. The Absolute Protocol pulsed in the back of his mind, flush with potential energy.
Alex Warner emptied his mind, and all that remained was the operation of the Absolute Protocol.
The World Tree was a concentrated constellation of Etheric light, reverse silhouetted by the cloven sky and the rushing tide of black mist, a pulsing cacophony of frequency and discharge that awed Alex with ineffable beauty.
The machinery of the Absolute Protocol was inexorable, the boundary with the Ether was rice-paper thin, and the cold behind it was bitter and total.
The World Tree emitted a sinuous groan, as a breach opened to the Ether deep within the World Tree’s formidable base, the light bent and dimmed by the localized gravity of the Absolute Protocol. The pellucid terrain of the Outer Dark buckled and shattered as the roots of the World Tree froze. Vivik seized Alex’s wrist and shouted at him, but Alex shoved him to the ground.
John Parson shook his head ruefully.
There was a discordant chorus of sounds, as crystalized water molecules distorted the regular structure of the World Tree. Ice clung to the canopy like granulated sugar, and the branches bent and twisted as the interior mass of the World Tree was expelled into the Ether.
Someone struck Alex, or perhaps ran into him, and he was carried to the ground, wet to his skin and stupefied, but there was only the frigidity of the light, and the light was all he could see, even with his eyes closed.
A tremor rattled Alex’s brain, and the trunk of the World Tree constricted, bending at an impossible angle as it turned in and collapsed upon itself, folding like an origami construct.
Twenty-Five
“Not another step,” Mr. Windsor warned, arms spread to shield the class behind him. “One step more, and…”
“No need for the bluster, sir,” Jacob Riley said, with a polite tip of his hat. “We aren’t here for but one of them.”
“I think not,” Mr. Windsor said. “The Thule Cartel and the Black Sun are still party to the Agreement, whatever has happened…”
“That is not my understanding,” Xuan Wang said, eyeing the handful of primary students packed into Mr. Windsor’s tiny office. “I believe we are at war.”
“We are not at war. The Academy is a neutral party,” Gerald Windsor reminded them. “And these are children. Children are never at war, gentlemen.”
Jacob Riley adjusted his jacket to display the butt of the pistol stored beneath.
“That’s a fine sentiment,” Jacob agreed. “In better times, we would all agree. However, these are not better times, and I’m afraid that Claire Yung has the sort of luck we all hope to avoid.”
The men stared at each other.
“She is a child,” Gerald Windsor repeated. “Eight years old.”
“She’s a blood relative of the Martynova family,” Xuan Wang said. “If she was important to them at all, then they should have done something about it.”
“I’m certain they felt she was safe at the Academy,” Gerald Windsor said. “As she is.”
“You should let them take me, Mr. Windsor,” a small voice advised, emanating from a grave, black-haired child currently attached to the tail of his coat. “They’ll kill everyone, otherwise.”
“See? Wisdom from the mouth of babes,” Jacob Riley cried out, with a warm grin. “Listen to little Miss Claire, Mr. Windsor. This could still get a whole lot worse, you realize.”
Jacob Riley took a step forward, and found himself standing nearly nose to nose with Gerald Windsor.
“I can feel you attempting to influence the children, Mr. Riley, and I will not allow it.”
Jacob Riley’s smile broadened.
“I appreciate your position, sir, but how do you intend to stop me? It’s common knowledge that you used up your protocol back in the day. That’s why you started teaching! You’re not an Auditor anymore, you’re a teacher, and who…”
Jacob Riley leveled Gerald Windsor with a backhand slap, the grin never leaving his face.
“…is going to be scared of you, sir?”
Jacob and Xuan pushed by and started to separate Claire Yung from the remainder of her shocked classmates, while Mr. Windsor rubbed his jaw from the floor with a rueful look.
“About that,” Gerald Windsor said, standing up slowly and brushing the dust from his lapel. “I don’t normally like to bother people about this, but the funny thing?” The faintest traces of a singular color played about Mr. Windsor, ephemeral as sparks. “I have no earthly notion how that rumor about my protocol got started.”
Jacob Riley and Xuan Wang froze in place, Claire Yung squirming in their grasp.
“I retired from the Auditors because I grew weary of doing horrible things to people like you, and wanted a quiet life of teaching instead,” Mr. Windsor explained, looking a bit shamefaced. “Isn’t it funny how stories take on a life of their own? Gentlemen, one final time – leave Miss Yung and depart in peace, and we will say no more of this.”
Jacob Riley and Xuan Wang exchanged a look. Xuan nodded, and Jacob released Claire. Then they both lunged at Gerald Windsor.
There was a blinding flash, and for a few seconds, no one could see anything. The room was filled with the smoke and nervous cries from the students.
“That’s quite enough!” Mr. Windsor shouted. “Is everyone okay? Who is hurt?”
Anot
her moment of clamor eventually conveyed that no one was, particularly. As the smoke cleared, the students were distracted by the piles of smoking ash where Jacob Riley and Xuan Wang had stood, a perfect circle of scorched carpet ringing both piles. Gerald Windsor examined them with a sigh that sounded, to the experienced ear, not entirely disappointed.
“Skylar, I told you that wouldn’t be necessary,” he said, glancing at a bashful red-haired boy a full head taller than anyone else in the group. “I had the situation under control. There was no need…”
“Your protocol is all used up, though, Mr. Windsor,” Skylar said, his voice high and squeaky. “My dad told me so.”
“That rumor is very persistent,” Mr. Windsor sighed. “Lack of confidence in your teacher, however, does not justify such reckless use of the Radiant Sanction Protocol, Skylar.”
“He likes Claire,” Ghema observed, covering her face to hide her giggle. “Skylar likes Claire! He didn’t like it when the big man put his hands on her! That’s why…”
“…why he was so brave!” Madison enthused, putting her hands to her chest. “Not bad, Skylar.”
Skylar blushed furiously, while Claire studied him with an air of bemusement.
“No empathy without permission!” Gerald Windsor scolded, wagging his finger at Ghema and Madison. “You know better. You too, Skylar. I find it very dismaying that after all our work together on concealing and using your protocols judiciously, that several of you are apparently so eager to employ them on the unsuspecting.”
The children shifted guiltily and exchanged whispers.
“You should take your example from Claire,” Mr. Windsor suggested. “Claire, when those men grabbed you, what could you have done?”
Claire considered it for a moment, while Skylar slunk to the back of the class in obvious relief.
“I could have made them grab each other,” Claire decided. “Or hit each other. Or make them forget how they are supposed to breathe, or…”
The Outer Dark (Central Series Book 4) Page 59
