“Are you sure?” Iopol said. “I can see the next level from here.”
“Yes, I am sure.”
“I don't believe you,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Is this some sort of trick?”
“What is through the mouth?” Tamael asked, coming to hover before her. The angel's eyes were wary and tired.
“I'm not sure,” Indigo said. “It's a trap, I think. Maybe even what the demons are afraid of. I'm not really sure. But I do know the way through the wound leads to another pond. We'll have to swim through it.”
“I don't know how to swim,” Frish said. “None of us do.”
“You're kidding,” Indigo said. She couldn't recall actually swimming herself any time, but she had the feeling she could swim well. “It's probably not very far.”
“I've heard of a few angels who tried to swim once,” an angel said, her voice full of fear. “The water makes it so you can't breathe. They went in and never came out.”
The others nodded. “I can't do it,” someone said. “Ashia could, but not any Principalities. Not even the Hashmallim know the ways of water.”
“I can't believe this,” Indigo said, incredulous. “You've all come this far, and you're going to stop because of a little water? What a bunch of friggin’ pansies you are.”
“There's no need for anger, human,” Tamael said. “Water presents to us the same obstacle the heights bring to those without wings. We're going to have to brave whatever trap there is for us through the main way.”
“No,” Indigo said. “Absolutely not.” No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find in her porous memory the danger above, but every instinct she had was screaming not to let them through. This wasn't automatic weapons. It was certain, inevitable death.
“We have no choice,” Tamael said.
“I'll go on alone,” Indigo said. “Push me up through the water and I'll try to find the danger from behind. Maybe I can disable it.”
Tamael frowned and Iopol laughed out loud.
“There are no steps to lead you from one place to the next,” Tamael said. “And if you can't disable the trap, you will have no way of returning to us.”
“I'll swim back down through the hole.”
“You'll get sucked through and plunge to your death,” Tamael said.
“I'll bring a communicator. You'll know when I'm coming and catch me.”
The angel shook her head. “No. It's too dangerous.”
“It's your only choice.”
To Indigo's surprise, Tamael waved her hand. “Do not die on me. We have invested and lost too much for you to perish in folly.” She gave her a communicator to clip onto her belt.
The other angels watched silently as Frish gently glided Indigo up to the edge of the gaping wound of the sea serpent. A mist of water sprayed upon them. It was warm. Apprehension and doubt filled Indigo. She was going to be alone for the first time since coming here. She had always considered herself an independent person, and she felt as if she could make it alone if she had to. But now she began to doubt that assumption. She never realized how she had come to trust and rely upon the others around, even these angels who still regarded her with suspicion.
Dave, Hitomi, Gramm, Rico. She wished all of them were with her right now.
“Be careful not to get sucked right back out,” Frish said. “Swim to the side.”
“I will,” Indigo said.
With a push that was surprisingly strong, Frish braved the water for just a moment to send her up through the wound of the mosaic beast. Immediately Indigo was pulled backwards and toward the hole, the tug impossibly strong. But her hands desperately grasped and found a length of thin piping that spanned across the pond. She pulled herself over as quickly as she could, her lungs starting to burn. After the tug of the undertow lessened, she let go and swam for the surface.
Swimming up and up, she broke free into the ivory world of the Seraphim. Quickly, she swam for the edge of the pond, which was about half a basketball court away. Breathing heavily, she pulled herself out of the water and onto the ivory floor. Her chest burned.
There, staring up into the never-ending heights of the Seraphim, she knew she was finally home.
Strangely though, the memories that suddenly flooded upon her, dropped onto her like bricks from the heavens, weren't immediately of this place and her first life, but of her second. Of her human existence.
Her own death on that cold night she confronted her father for the very first time.
* * * *
Rebecca Matthewson. Indigo couldn't get her name, her face out of her mind, even six months later. Their match had been touted for months. Kick Boxer magazine even had an issue with dual covers. Indigo on one side, and if you flipped it over, Rebecca was there, blonde hair and all. While the magazine usually focused on the professional circuit, they had caught wind of the story and decided to make a spectacle of it.
Their similarities made for a good tale. Both had Olympian fathers. Only three days apart in age. Both practiced the same style. The first time they met in a match was at the junior nationals at eight years old. Rebecca had won. The next year Indigo won. Over the next seven years they would meet four more times, both winning twice.
It was the last time they were going to be able to compete before the trials. Only one of them would take the championship, and their match up was anticipated and talked about so much, the magazine decided to do a story.
“You will win this,” Father said before the match as he helped Indigo with her gloves. They were alone in the locker room. “I did not raise a pansy as a daughter. You will bring honor to the school and to your family. That Barbie doll is your enemy.”
“Yes, sir,” Indigo said.
“I want you to hurt her. Not too bad, but bad enough to fuck up her chances at the trials next month.”
The Olympic trials loomed like a full moon rolling over the eastern mountains of Tucson. Indigo's sights were on gold. This was going to be her only chance. Last time she was too young, and if she couldn't make it now, there was no way she'd be able to do it in four years, past her prime.
“There's no honor in injuring an opponent in a friendly match, sir,” she said.
“Just keep it in mind,” he said after a moment. He started to leave. “I've worked very hard for this. Don't forget that.”
A few minutes later Indigo was alone in the hallway, sweat already pouring from her neck and temples. Rebecca emerged from her room. Side by side they stood, awaiting to be announced.
“Hi,” her enemy said.
Outside, the audience roared as the announcer riled them up. For the first time ever, the boy's final had gone first.
“Hi,” Indigo said, cracking a smile.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. You too.”
They stood side by side for an eternity.
“This is my last match ever,” Rebecca blurted suddenly.
It took several seconds for it to sink in. “What?” Indigo said, turning. “What about the Olympics?”
“I ... don't know. My heart isn't in it anymore.”
“Wow.” Indigo couldn't imagine quitting. The possibility had never even entered her mind. “What did your father say? Mine would kill me if I tried to quit.”
Rebecca shrugged. “He was a little weird about it at first, but then he said it was my life. If I didn't want to do it anymore I didn't have to. I didn't even want to do this tournament, but that stupid magazine article...”
“Wow,” Indigo said again. “I'm ... I'm going to miss you, I guess.” She laughed.
The announcer screamed out Rebecca's name, and she shot out of the hallway and into the arena.
As the announcer went on to tout her awards and accomplishments, as if this were a heavyweight boxing championship, Indigo began to stew. An anger burned within her, one she couldn't explain. Never once, ever, did she hold any ill feelings toward this girl. She always wanted to beat her, but always for the sake of winning. Never for the sake
of making her lose. Her father had forced the term “enemy” into her head so much that whenever Indigo saw the girl, she couldn't help but think that word. But it held no real meaning. Until now.
As Indigo's name was called and she marched out to face Rebecca in the round ring, she could think of nothing but making her lose. She was aware that this sudden overwhelming emotion wasn't natural, not normal. She didn't even feel this way of the boys in school who called her “the walking stick” and filled her locker with mud.
Rebecca, she realized, was exactly like her. It went beyond just the similarities that made a good story for Kick Boxer magazine. They were the same person.
With one, blaring difference that filled the gap between them like a fire that could devour the world.
Rebecca was happy. If not now, she was going to be because she told her father she didn't want to do it anymore. It was her choice. Her life. And she was strong enough to do it.
Indigo hated her for it. Rebecca was in a place Indigo would never be. She hated her more than she had ever hated anyone or anything.
The whistle blew, and Indigo was on her.
Somewhere in there, the screaming began. A woman, Rebecca's mother, flung herself on top of her daughter. With each one of Indigo's blows, her anger at the girl lessened. All the way until it was completely gone. The referee stared right at Indigo, after she finally realized to stop, after she realized what she had done, the confusion and pain almost unbearable in his eyes.
“I told you to stop.”
A whisper. But words that would haunt her every night of her remaining life.
There would be a lawsuit that was still pending on that night several months later when Indigo died. A criminal case that was disposed of easily with a plea and probation. There would be no Olympic trials, no wall of fame in father's Dojo.
While Mother shied away from her, as if she were afraid, Father blamed everything on Rebecca and her father. “She shouldn't have gotten in the circle with you if she wasn't ready,” he said. “Her dad should've fucking seen it, too. And he knows it.”
At school, she went from a tall, awkward girl that no one spoke with to a tall, awkward girl that everyone stared at. She never again found mud in her locker, but she began to wish she had after a while. Lunches were in exile, and walking the hallways was a gauntlet of whispers and hate. They began calling her “Killer.”
Graduation came.
“Good luck to you,” Mr. Slocomb said to her afterwards as Indigo met up with her parents in the parking lot. Everyone milled about. Laughing, having a good time, all still wearing their graduation gowns and caps. Mr. Slocomb was her art teacher, her favorite. He was the only one who had ever acted normal around Indigo, treated her like a normal person. Her father's hand was heavy on her shoulder. “So what're you doing after this? Going to college?”
“Yes,” her father said. “She's to major in Business. Gonna run the family dojo.”
“That's great,” Mr. Slocomb said.
“I'm thinking about art,” Indigo blurted. “Changing my major, I mean.” Did I just say that? She thought her father's hand was going to shatter her shoulder blade.
Mr. Slocomb smiled. “That's great, too. You'd do well. You have a lot of talent. Well, whatever you decide, good luck.” He turned away.
“What was that?” Father said a minute later. “What the hell, Indy?”
“I might want to major in something else.”
“Art? You implied we're forcing you to do something you don't want to. You've embarrassed me.”
Indigo sighed. May in Arizona. It was supposed to be warm, but it wasn't. The air made her arms shiver under her gown. “Dad, please. Just shut the hell up already. My life. Not yours. Mine.”
He slapped her. Hard, right across the face, and it stung like nothing she had ever felt before. She almost fell to her knees.
“You do not talk to me like that. I am your father. You may be a high school graduate, but you live under my roof.” He was right in her face, his finger jabbed into her chest. She could smell the garlic and oregano on his breath.
“Don't you touch me,” Indigo said. “Don't you touch me ever again.”
He jabbed again, this time harder. “I will have your respect.”
It was a simple maneuver. An upward swing of one hand, grabbing onto his wrist with the other. She had practiced it so many times it came as naturally as taking a breath.
The snap of his finger breaking was impossibly loud. Indigo practically ripped it clean off. It bent grotesquely, extended so far his nail met with the back of his hand. And, boy, did he scream. Mother did, too, and the crowd oo'd and ah'd and laughed like they were watching a television show.
“Get him, Killer!” someone yelled. Someone else threw an empty beer can, and it glanced off her shoulder.
He was on his knees, holding his wrist, looking at his finger as if it were a flower that had suddenly sprouted from his hand. Indigo pitied him then. She shouldn't have done it. She held out her hand to help him up.
“You fucking bitch. Don't you help me.”
“Come on, Dad. Father. I'm sorry. Let's get you to the hospital.”
Savagely, growling with an incredible fury in his eyes, like something from the darkest shadows of hate, he ripped up with his good hand, grabbed Indigo's gown, and pulled her to the gravel next to him. His python arm wrapped around her neck.
“Stop it!” her mother screamed. “The both of you! You're monsters, stop it!”
“Shut up,” Father said as he strangled her. She started to fight, ripping at him, seeking his exposed pressure points. But before she landed a blow that was sure to force him to free her, she stopped her struggle.
For an instant, it was peaceful. Maybe, she thought after a moment, just maybe it was her time to die. The notion didn't scare her. Not even a little.
She just lay there. She closed her eyes and waited for the black to descend.
“Jesus, Indigo,” he whispered in her ear, his grip loosening slightly. But not enough. “Don't stop. Don't stop fighting. Haven't I taught you anything? You can get out of this. Do it. I know you can. Do it.”
Suddenly, there was a loud smack, and his grip went away totally. Indigo flipped over, coughing. Her mother stood over the both of them wielding the aluminum baseball bat Father kept in the backseat of the car. It glimmered like a scythe in the night.
“Stop it!” Mother yelled again, even though neither of them moved now. The crowd was silent, too. Just the beeping of cell phones and whispers, all around her. In the distance, a siren.
“You hurt your father,” Mother said. “You shouldnt've done that.”
“I hurt him?”
Indigo coughed again. Above, bugs twirled around the gathering crowd, dancing in the floodlight. She felt dizzy, and it was a strange, uneasy feeling. “We need to get him up and to a hospital.” She reached over and grabbed his shirt.
“Don't touch him!” Her mom waved the bat.
“Have you gone crazy?”
“He's your father. The only one you'll ever have. You're hurting him.”
Father groaned, turning over on his side. The sirens whined, suddenly very close, and the crowd parted as the silver and green sheriff's car pulled in. The young officer stepped from his car as two more pulled up. He unsnapped his gun holster and pulled free his weapon.
“Ma'am, please drop the bat.”
Father stood. He was faced away from the sheriff, and he staggered. He lurched toward the open door of the car. The two other sheriffs got out of their vehicles, both women. Her mother stood there stupidly, the bat still above her head.
“You fucking bitch,” Father mumbled. But Indigo wasn't sure if he was talking to her or Mother.
“Please. Drop the bat.”
Father was in the passenger front seat of the car. The gun. He was getting the gun.
“No,” Indigo said, but it came out only as a whisper.
“Drop the bat. ”
“My husband is hu
rt. He needs help.”
“Drop the goddamn bat! ”
Indigo didn't have time to think. She rolled away, got up, and lunged for her father. Behind her, Mother screamed as she was pepper-sprayed from several directions at once. She began to wildly swing her bat.
“Don't do it,” Indigo said, grabbing onto Father's legs, pulling him back out.
“Let go of me,” he shouted, kicking at her.
She could no longer see what was going on behind her, but it sounded like her mother's bat connected with a sheriff. More screams rose as the police tackled Mother. More cops pulled up by the second.
A shot rang out. Louder than a thousand screams.
Father swung around, something in his hand. She pulled herself up him, turning.
Father cried out, dropping the water bottle. Her mother was on the ground, clutching her shoulder. It looked like the bullet had barely grazed her. “She didn't do nothing! She didn't do nothing.” He got up and starting pushing one of the cops, blood still seeping from his head.
“Get back right now! ” a cop yelled, gun still drawn.
I have to get out of here. I have to go right now.
Indigo had a vision of wings sprouting forth from her sides, pulling her into the air, higher and higher and higher until she couldn't hear the screaming anymore.
But she didn't have wings, she couldn't fly, and it was at that moment she realized the bullet that had grazed her mother's shoulder had plowed right into her own back. The fire in her chest was not anger or adrenaline. It was death, and as she fell, the sleep dragging her away like a wild animal into the night, she watched her father get thrown to the ground, handcuffs slapped on, and the horrified eyes of her entire class, watching. Always watching.
* * * *
“Are you sure this is the right way?” Dave asked. He had been riding upon Vila's back for some time now, and they had found nothing. The sights and smells and sounds of the northern forests were eerily familiar, but he still had no real recollection of this Zev. But sometimes he imagined he could feel him. A dark knot deep within his gut. A foreign body.
The creatures of the forest mostly bolted at the sight of the pair. The few that didn't flee either rolled over onto their backs or shoved their heads down, urinating all over themselves. Even the intimidating cats, ferocious-looking tigers bigger than the ones they'd seen in the other forest, avoided the mighty wolf.
The Shivered Sky Page 38
