Incarnation

by Kevin Hardman

  “You can come out now,” I heard Rune say in a somber tone, his voice completely unexpected. “It’s over.”

  Feeling relief, I did as suggested and left the relative safety of the wall, with Ursula still unconscious in my arms. (It didn’t occur to me until later that it could have been a trap — someone pretending to be Rune in order to lure me out — but fortunately, such was not the case.) I then made the two of us substantial again, and brought my pain reception back to normal.

  In addition to Rune, Endow was also present. Upon seeing Ursula, she rushed toward me, maternal concern etched on her face. Considering what had happened the first two times she’d heard Reverb, I half-expected Ursula to be bleeding from her eyes. Thankfully, she looked no worse than she had when I had stepped into the wall with her, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. (I had tried using my healing power on her when we were in the wall, but — unsurprisingly — I couldn’t get it to work.)

  I was about to explain to Endow what had happened, but didn’t get a chance because the next second she and Ursula were both gone.

  “What the…?” I muttered, startled by their sudden disappearance. Was this how people felt when I unexpectedly teleported out of a room?

  “She’ll be fine,” Rune said, interrupting my thoughts. “Endow will take care of her. But right now we need to go.”

  “Go where?” I asked.

  “Reverb’s dead,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I need to show you where he died.”

  “No, wait,” I uttered anxiously. In response to the expectant look I then received from Rune, I gestured at my clothes — in particular the areas where Ursula’s blood stained them. “I need to change.”

  Rune’s eyes appeared to glow for a second, following which he announced, “You’re good.”

  Glancing down, I saw that the bloodstains were indeed gone. In fact, my clothes looked as though they’d just been dry-cleaned. Nevertheless, I couldn’t simply overlook the fact that I’d just had someone’s blood on me. Basically, despite the spiffy appearance of my attire, I just didn’t feel clean.

  “It’s not enough,” I declared. “I need a shower.”

  “Later,” Rune said, in a tone that would brook no naysaying. Then he snapped his fingers and we vanished.

  Chapter 35

  We popped up in what could have been the field where we’d first appeared in Permovren — if one could overlook the massive crater that hadn’t been there when we’d initially arrived. It was a concave depression, about fifty feet in diameter and maybe five feet deep at its lowest point. In essence, it looked as though someone had taken a giant spoon and scooped out a good portion of the ground.

  Pinion, Mariner, and Static were already present when Rune and I showed up, standing in a group near the edge of the crater. After we joined them, I stood there for a moment, waiting for them to fill me in.

  After a few moments, I finally said, “If anyone wants to tell me what happened, I’m all ears.”

  “The killer struck again,” Pinion replied.

  “So I gathered,” I stated with a nod. “I was hoping for a little more detail.”

  “It started in the castle,” Mariner noted, “then moved out here almost immediately.”

  “We assume that was Reverb’s doing,” Rune added.

  “What — moving the field of play?” I asked. “Is there some advantage to being out here?”

  “Only if you’re not an Incarnate,” Pinion chimed in.

  I frowned, unsure of how to interpret what I’d just heard.

  “There was a good chance that Reverb’s voice would have killed anyone in the castle,” Pinion explained. “Not wanting to harm any innocents, he seemingly brought the conflict here, where he could fight with less restraint.”

  “Not that it did him any good,” Mariner chimed in as he glanced up at the sky.

  Following is gaze, I glanced up but only saw normal sky — a sure sign that Rune’s glamour (or whatever he’d done) — was still in place as far as I was concerned.

  “His effigy’s gone?” I guessed.

  “Correct,” Rune said.

  “And once again, I suppose we don’t have a body,” I surmised. Rune confirmed this almost immediately with a nod.

  “Did any of you sense anything this time?” I inquired.

  “Of course,” said Static. “As with Gamma, we knew where in the castle Reverb was when the conflict occurred, as well as when he shifted it here.”

  “Well, if you sensed it, why didn’t any of you come to his aid?” I asked.

  There was silence for a moment, then Rune intoned, “It’s not as simple as that. Contrary to how it appears, we’re not all just sitting around waiting for you to solve this for us. We’ve got other duties to attend to, ongoing obligations to fulfill. We aren’t always in a position to just drop everything.”

  “In essence, the killer arranged for this attack to occur at a time when the rest of us would be preoccupied,” said a voice behind me.

  I turned to find Endow standing to my rear. It was unclear when she had shown up, but it had obviously been long enough for her to pick up on the conversation.

  “That said,” Endow continued, “it only took a minute or so for us to get here, but by that time…”

  She didn’t have to finish for me to understand: by the time everyone arrived, it was all over.

  “I’m going to guess that there’s no way to recreate what happened here,” I said, “the way you did with Gamma?”

  “No,” Mariner confirmed. “The killer took away that option when he left this giant crater.”

  “What about inside?” I asked hopefully. “The place where this particular incident first started?”

  “Same story,” Mariner remarked. “The murderer blasted it, the way he did the area where Gamma died.”

  “Not to be callous,” Static suddenly interjected, “but can we forget about what the murderer did and focus on what we need to do now?”

  “No,” Rune stated flatly. “I know what you’re asking, and the answer’s no.”

  “Come on, Rune!” Static argued. “Two of us have been murdered. We need the Kroten Yoso Va.”

  “That’s you taking a shortcut again,” Rune shot back. “We’re not there yet.”

  “Really?” Static muttered skeptically. “With two Incarnates dead?”

  “All of us will be dead if the wrong person gets the Kroten Yoso Va,” Rune argued. “So, bearing in mind that one of us is the murderer, which of us would you propose as the person to take possession of it?”

  Static didn’t have a ready answer for that. Instead, he looked away in impotent anger, broadcasting a frustrated vibe that you probably didn’t have to be empathic to pick up on.

  “Look,” Rune said after the silence had stretched out for a few moments. “If and when it becomes necessary, we’ll use the Kroten Yoso Va. But for now, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  His statement obviously didn’t sit very well with Static, who was about to comment but didn’t get a chance.

  “How about a compromise?” Pinion hastily suggested. “Rune, you could tell one of us — anyone you like, at your discretion — where the Kroten Yoso Va is. That way, if something happens to you, we’ll still have the ability to utilize it, if necessary.”

  “Sure,” Rune acquiesced. “I’ll tell all of you, right now.” He then looked around at the other Incarnates conspiratorially and said, “It’s in good hands. That’s where it is.”

  Chapter 36

  Rune’s statement about the Kroten Yoso Va essentially brought our investigation of Reverb’s murder site to a close. He then transported the two of us back to our suite, at which point I made a beeline for my apartment. Once there, I went straight to the bathroom (tossing my clothes onto the bed along the way) and then took a long, lingering shower.

  By the time I finished, I felt clean again. After turning off the shower, I phased; with my body now insubstantial, water fell from me to the shower floor, leaving m
e dry. I then hurried to the bed and got dressed.

  One of the articles I had removed before showering was the badge Rune had given me. I regarded it for a moment after putting my clothes on.

  Thus far, no one had questioned my comings and goings (although I was usually in the company of someone else when traipsing through the castle). That made the badge a bit of a superfluous item. In addition, I wasn’t accustomed to wearing necklaces or anything along those lines. In short, I was tempted to simply leave it off.

  However, Rune had given it to me to alleviate concerns that I had. That being the case, it seemed slightly disrespectful to simply discard it. (Moreover, I barely noticed the thing when I was wearing it, so it’s not like it was a burden in some way.) Mind made up, I somewhat reluctantly put the badge back on and again tucked it down my shirt.

  No sooner had I done that than I heard an odd rumbling noise. It seemed vaguely familiar, and a moment later, I realized where I had heard it before: the room with the frescoed walls.

  Cerek! I thought.

  The sound seemed to be coming from my bathroom. Eager to speak with the laamuffal, I hurried back in.

  In addition to the shower, the bathroom also contained a double vanity and a sizable mirror, which was still steamed up from my shower. That said, I thought I saw motion in the fogged-up glass that did not match anything I was doing. A moment later, Cerek came out of the mirror like Alice going through the looking glass.

  As before, he immediately and anxiously began trying to communicate with me. Similar to our previous encounter, I couldn’t hear him or reach him telepathically. His emotions, however, were much along the same lines as before, revealing trepidation and longing, among other things.

  “Cerek!” I blurted out. Hearing his name apparently got his attention, because he suddenly stopped trying to speak. “Where are you? What happened to Gamma?”

  He gestured wildly, and once again tried to communicate with me by speaking.

  “I still can’t hear you,” I declared, making him once again pause in his antics.

  Looking around apprehensively, he suddenly stared at the steamed-up mirror as if seeing it for the first time. Almost in conjunction with this, the rumbling sound (which had continued almost unabated up until this point) seemed to somehow alter, shifting in volume and tone. At that juncture, my eyebrows shot up in surprise, as — amazingly and unexpectedly — I recognized what the sound was.

  Cerek, who had listened in dread as the rumbling noise changed, abruptly seemed to be on the edge of panic. Still, raising both hands — with fingers outstretched and pointing toward the mirror — he appeared to focus as a look of steely concentration settled on his features.

  As I watched, words began to form in the steamed-up mirror. They appeared as one might expect — written one letter at a time in left-to-right fashion, as if by an invisible finger. It was slightly reminiscent of what you might see in a horror movie, and the overall effect was both fascinating and ominous at the same time.

  Moments later, in complete alarm and utter frenzy, Cerek hastily bolted back into the mirror. Within a few seconds of his disappearance, the rumbling came to a halt, and once again I found myself almost dumbfounded by what I now understood to be the source of the sound. However, I didn’t have time to dwell on it as I focused on what Cerek had written in the mirror.

  It was basically two words, one atop the other, with a horizontal line drawn between them:

  MOUSES and KLEOP.

  Chapter 37

  Given that he had seemed to be under time constraints, it was rather apparent that the two words Cerek had left were clues. Frowning, I wandered out of the bathroom and then sat on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out what they meant.

  “Kleop” I essentially gave up on immediately. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen it before, couldn’t recall ever hearing it spoken, and certainly didn’t know what it meant.

  “Mouses,” on the other hand, was familiar — to a certain extent. It appeared to be an incorrect pluralized form of the word “mouse.” I spent a moment debating on whether it was a reference to my mentor, Mouse, before deciding that it had to be a coincidence.

  Ruminating further on the issue, I had trouble simply identifying occasions when I’d actually heard the word spoken. I recalled having a computer science teacher who always used “mouses” when referring to more than one computer mouse, but that was about it. Considering that I hadn’t seen anything close to a computer in Permovren, I didn’t think that application of the term was practical. Cerek had to be referring to something else.

  Was he illiterate? I wondered. That would certainly explain why he’d used “mouses” instead of “mice.” Or was the misspelling intentional, and a clue in and of itself? Likewise, did the line drawn between the two words mean anything?

  Groaning in exasperation, I lay back on the bed. There were simply too many questions and not enough answers. Even worse, I didn’t even know where to look to get answers.

  I closed my eyes, hoping that a quick catnap would give my brain a much-needed rest and allow me to focus. Still thinking about Cerek (and his need for a grammar lesson on irregular plurals), I slowly drifted off…

  *****

  I awoke to the feeling that something was off. No, not just off — wrong. I sat up at once and looked around, and almost immediately identified what was out of joint: one of the walls of my bedroom was missing.

  Three of the walls were fine, but where the fourth should have been there was a thick, roiling mass of darkness. I was tempted to call it a cloud, but it was more solid than vaporous, more akin to tar than smoke.

  All of a sudden, the darkness parted and a figure stepped through. “Stepped,” however, is an inaccurate description; it was more like the darkness slid under the person’s feet and carried them forward, like a moving walkway. That said, it only took me a few seconds to note that the person coming toward me was a man — at least in a broad sense.

  He was emaciated beyond belief — so thin that he could almost be a model for stick figures; the tunic and trousers he wore hung loosely off his frame and looked as though they weighed more than he did. His facial features were positively skeletal, dominated by dark, hollow eyes and sunken cheeks that highlighted the bones underneath. (To call him cadaverous would have been generous.) His hair was dark and stringy, and appeared to be falling out in clumps, leaving him with random bald spots all over his head. Finally, his skin was blotchy — distinctly discolored in broad, random patches — as well as afflicted by rashes, warts, and a host of other medical conditions.

  As he approached, I felt the hairs on my neck rise. It wasn’t merely because of the way he looked; he broadcast a deadly and menacing vibe that had nothing to do with appearance. In short, if he wasn’t the killer, he was definitely first runner-up.

  My immediate reaction was to telepathically contact Rune — tell him to get his butt in here — but I found myself stymied in that regard. Simply put, I couldn’t reach him. I still had my telepathy, but for some reason it now had a very limited range and could extend no farther than a few feet.

  Of course, I thought. This guy — the killer — was an Incarnate. He was somehow blocking my telepathy.

  My next instinct was to teleport — to simply get away from him. To my shock and dismay, despite a valiant effort, I didn’t go anywhere. As with my telepathy, the killer was somehow stopping me from teleporting (or maybe just redirecting things so that my end destination was where I started).

  I shifted into super speed (thankfully, that ability still worked) and then scrambled to the side of the bed away from him — thereby putting it between us — while phasing at the same time. Recalling what had happened with the statues coming to life, it was a sure bet that neither becoming insubstantial nor dashing around at the speed of sound would be effective against this guy in the long run, but it was better than nothing.

  He stopped a few feet from the edge of the bed, staring at me critically with feverish, bloodshot e
yes.

  “You know who I am?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

  “I know what you’ve done,” I replied, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.

  He threw his head back and chuckled — a harsh, grating noise that put me in mind of a manhole cover being dragged off the entry to a sewer line.

  “Apparently my reputation precedes me,” he said.

  “Infamy is more like it,” I shot back, then briefly wondered if I should be needling this guy with my snide remarks. He was an Incarnate, after all.

  Nevertheless, if he was insulted by my comments, he didn’t show it.

  “You didn’t heed my warning,” he remarked.

  I shrugged. “I’m on a superhero team. We get threats and warnings with our morning coffee. They’re routine.”

  “Then how about something that’s not routine,” the killer proposed. “An offer.”

  I frowned. “What kind of offer?”

  “Simply do as I requested before: stay out of my way.”

  “And what do I win if I play the game by your rules?”

  Chuckling, the killer replied, “You mean besides your life? That’s not incentive enough?”

  “You’ve got the life of an Incarnate,” I stated, “but you’re running around killing folks. Obviously life, in and of itself, isn’t enough.”

  The killer merely stared at me for a few seconds, then remarked, “You understand more than I gave you credit for.”

  I didn’t say anything, merely stood there while he gave me an appraising stare. Basically, I had simply intended to keep him talking, hoping that he’d reveal something noteworthy, but apparently I had struck a nerve of some sort.

  “Very well,” he finally said. “Do as I ask, and we’ll share in the power of the Incarnates.”