Zeke stood stunned, blinking as he surveyed the scene, his voice slow and disconnected as he spoke.
“Only a few hours old, if that. The flies have not yet arrived for the bodies. And the wood, the wood still burns.”
He walked mechanically to the huts, checking each, wandering like a lost ghost among the dead. But each time he cast a door open, the room beyond was empty of life— nothing but prayer rugs and supplies, shattered glass, and overturned chairs. He shook his head, wide-eyed as he stood in front of the largest hut, the woven door slashed in half. Dust and ash blew across a scorched welcome mat, and he spat on it, the liquid sizzling as it met fire.
Apart from us, the clearing was dead silent, the only noise the occasional popping of wood. But then, from the fountain, there was another sound. Barely audible, but enough that all our heads rose in unison.
A low groan, as a shaking hand the rose out of the water to grip the side of the stone, the knuckles white from loss of blood, and a face so pale that the grey hair shrouding it looked black.
“They tried to kill us all,” she whispered as Zeke ran to her, and closed her eyes before speaking a single word. “Tried.”
Chapter 63
The woman coughed, wet blood trickling down her cheek to mingle with the dry skin, and her eyes wandered in and out of focus on Zeke’s face, looking past the rest of us as if we were part of the scenery.
“Heh, it’s dark you know, just like you said it would be,” she croaked, blinking. “Fits in just right, as promised.” She smiled, dazed, while Zeke placed a hand on her shoulder, cradling her head in the other hand.
“Shh, Freja, shh,” Zeke whispered, preparing to lift her from the water. “It’s not yet your time. We have a boat; we can take you back.”
Freja drew in a sharp breath as he started to lift her, clutching her stomach as soon as it cleared the water, hiding a long gash that cut directly through her brown-covered robe. A robe that had hidden the leaking blood among the already red-stained water, concealing the depth of the wound.
“You’re a terrible liar, Zeke, and you always have been. My work here is done, I’m happy, content. By the time you would bring me back, I’d be colder than a mountain spring. Besides,” she said and seemed to notice us for the first time, lowering her voice so we could barely hear her, “our work here is done; we found it. And they can never take that away from us again. It’s true, Zeke. We’re pure. We’ve confirmed it now for two years.”
“I can get her to a hospital quickly,” interrupted Arial, stepping forwards. “I just have to—”
“Arial, now is not the time. You can drive the boat just as quickly as I can,” Zeke interrupted, raising his voice to reprimand her. “And what did you find, Freja? Where?”
“And to have a Healer patch me up? I would rather be burned alive, though I suppose I already have been. Zeke, we learned to dance.” She laughed, the smile wiping the pain off her face. “To think, all this time we just had to listen to the music. Finally translated the old records; it was worth the years, the hope. And it was true.”
“And? Where are they?” A sense of urgency entered Zeke’s voice, and he clutched her shoulder stronger than he should have. She gestured, her face peaceful, at the remains of a burnt hut.
“The only fire in the village I started. Now they exist in two places only. The past and the mind of my son. As I said, they didn’t kill us all. Now they never will. Never.” Triumph flashed across her face, and she sank back into the fountain with the other corpses. “And now, it’s my turn to dance. Find my son, Zeke. We owe you our thanks— for you showed us the way. You unlocked the cage. Your suffering, your suffering was not wasted.”
Then her eyes started to glaze over, and one closed as she faded, and ripples no longer spread from her chest with her inhalations. Zeke released her as she fell beneath the surface of the water, her face obscured by crimson swirls. With a grimace, he dipped his thumb into the water, then pressed it over his bare chest.
“May my heart follow yours, and may you find your way,” he said. “For though all of us walk the path, not all of us arrive. May danger never pursue you on your new journey.” He dipped his head in respect, then walked to the hut that she had indicated, and Arial trailed after him, her voice shrill.
“What if I could have saved her?” she shouted as he picked up a stick in stirred through the embers, searching beneath them. “It wouldn’t even have jeopardized the journey. I could zip there and back in hours! You were just going to let her die!”
“It was her wish,” said Zeke simply, picking up a shred of paper then casting it down after seeing no writing was on the page. “It was not for you to decide.”
“Neither was it for you!” Ariel shouted and pulled the stick from his hands, throwing it away and rising to the level of his face. “I could have done it. I could have mended it.” Tears brimmed in her eyes, and her fingers were balled into fists as her sides.
“You’re right, you could have. But it was her decision. And if you did fix her, she would have thought herself a monster. Would you come back from the brink of death if it meant you were forever tainted? No, Freja died as she lived— pure. She had many years and she lived them well.”
“And she could have had many more!”
“Maybe,” said Zeke, and his own voice hardened with anger. “But perhaps the answer to that would not be healing her, but stopping those who killed her in the first place. Maybe the answer isn’t to patch things up, but to stop them from being ripped. But when people are born with knives, there will always be those whose throats are slit.”
“Don’t you try to blame us for this,” stammered Arial, unprepared for the attack. “There are people who use their powers for good too. That’s what we’re trying to do. And you’re a Special too!”
“Like you said, to mend. Mend all you want, but there are things that will always be broken. Now if you’ll leave me,” he growled and picked up the stick to continue digging, “I just lost a dear friend, one I have not seen in years. The fact that you insinuate I did not care for her life is an insult greater than you can imagine. If you still want a guide when we leave, I need some time not spent in some fruitless ideological debate with no bearing upon current reality.”
Arial opened her mouth again, but I took her arm, pulling her away.
“Look,” I said when Zeke was out of earshot and the tears had broken through to flow down her cheeks. “I know you want to help. We all do. And though it was too late for her, there might be other survivors. We should spend our time trying to find them.”
I embraced her, and she wiped her tears on my shoulder, and I clasped my hands behind her back.
“I just wanted to fix it,” she muttered, blinking the rest of the tears away.
“Zeke’s right,” I said. “Not everything can be stitched back together. But that shouldn’t stop us from trying from keeping the world from falling apart.”
Then I took her hand, and we started to walk the perimeter of the camp, searching for additional survivors, though I knew none would exist.
Chapter 64
“Disgusting. I can't comprehend why anyone would do this,” said Lola when I split from Arial and she started walking beside me, weaving in and out of the destroyed huts. “I’ve already checked and there are no survivors. There’s no power concealing them that I can tell or I probably would have seen its shadow on the other side.”
Each area we passed through looked like it had been hit by a separate natural disaster— one building was ripped apart by wind, the bricks scattered in a splattered blast behind it. Another had deep cracks and was still cold to the touch, along with chips that had been dug deep into the clay by icicles. And then there were the perfectly neat ones, ones undone by Lacit’s hand, that looked ready to spring back into huts at a moment’s notice. But among them, nothing stirred. Not even bugs in a jungle thick with life.
“I thought so as well,” I answered, looking to Arial as she leapt into the air and tu
rned a slow loop around the perimeter, her eyes scanning the ground. “But finding survivors wasn’t the point. It's to give us something to do. And what do you mean by that, a shadow?”
“Powers are just like anything else,” she said with a flip of her hair. “They leave their mark on our world and are reflected in the other. Your power, for instance, looks like white ripples. Not all of them, of course— some of the more subtle ones like Lucio’s are hard to see. But the physical ones, those definitely have an afterimage. Like the spot on your eye after a camera flash. Honestly, you’re usually best off looking for powers in the real world; they’re easier to spot there.”
“Then why did you have to check?” I asked, continuing to walk. “If I could have just seen it myself?”
“Illusionary powers and the like,” she said. “I might not be able to tell what they are, but I would perceive the scintillation. And— oh, that’s bad.” She stopped, looking towards a shed near the edge of the clearing. Where there had been a thatched roof, now only a few strands of brown grass remained, and the door lay flat in the mud, cracked in half from the impact. But Lola was staring at the inside of the shed, where barren shelves lined the walls, accompanied by just a few packages split open on the ground, one of them a gasoline can still surrounded by a wet patch of earth.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, stepping closer to the shed.
“I think I understand what happened here,” she said, and looked back to where we had come from the woods, then the fountain, her eyes tracing a path through the village. “Lacit would have noticed the docks, just like us. Then he would have ventured inland, searching for the village. Like us, he probably wanted to restock on supplies. Unlike us, he probably did not conceal his powers— rather, he flaunted them. Maybe even threatened them.” She pointed towards the entrance of the woods, where I now saw several darts sticking out from tree trunks. “And in retaliation, they attacked. Probably killed his one entourage before they could react. Notice the radial spread of powers out from that point— they acted with full force, not just for the supplies but now for revenge. And once that was accomplished, they emptied the stockpile, taking gasoline, food, water, and all other supplies deemed necessary.”
“Except that doesn’t quite make sense,” I interrupted, looking back to the lone empty gasoline can. “Lacit used a Special-powered boat, remember? He had no use for gas.”
“The Litious may have lived simply, but they still had access to technology,” interrupted Zeke from behind us, making me jump. “They simply chose not to use it. They considered it a distraction to their studies— you see, they thought that history held the greatest knowledge, and the best way to venture into history was to live like it. But they kept some items in case of emergency.”
He led us around to the back of the shed, and my chest fell as I saw several thick tire tracks dug the mud, dirt slung against the shed wall from acceleration.
“The original plan was to load these onto our boat as well,” said Zeke. “Then bring them upriver for when we departed into the jungle. With all terrain vehicles, we would be able to not only carry much more but to move far quicker than on foot. With the amount of terrain we have to cover, what would have take hours will now take days.”
“And since Lacit has them,” I added, still looking to the tracks. “He’ll only be that much faster.”
“Right,” said Zeke. “The Litious owed me a favor, and for that we would have been able to borrow these. I did not plan to be without them.”
“Bet you’re wishing you had a plan B right about now,” said Lucio from his place beside Zeke, and the older man scowled.
“As a matter of fact, we do,” replied Zeke, looking back towards the boat. “Though it’s far less reliable. And we need to move if we want to catch up to their progress.”
“First, what favor did you do for the Litious?” I asked. “Did this have something to do with what Freja said to you?”
“The Litious spent their lives searching for the secrets of the past in history,” said Zeke, already walking back into the woods. “I helped them realize that the past always bleeds into the present. Always.”
Chapter 65
We spent that night moored at the docks, the boat alternating from pulling the ropes taut against the cleats and bumping into the soft rotting wood. Seconds after stepping back on the boat, Zeke locked the supply cabinets, tucking the key into his pocket.
“Hey, what’re you doing?” asked Lucio, following Zeke to the table where he dropped a protein bar for each of us. “I’m hungry from all that walking, and it’s dinner time. Wait, our water’s in there too!”
“We expected more supplies and found none. That means we ration,” answered Zeke. “If you want water, use the pump purifier.”
“Borderline child abuse,” complained Lucio, ripping into the wrapper with his teeth and finishing his bar in two bites. “Even Regulars don’t have to work for water.”
“No such thing as a free lunch,” answered Zeke, and Lucio’s eyes narrowed before responding.
“But there might just be such thing as a free dinner.”
Zeke paused then looked down at his hand where he still held a remaining power bar before handing it over to Lucio. Lola nudged Darian as Lucio reached for it, and Darian slapped his hand away.
“He’s already had one,” he said, exasperated. “You’re going to have to keep a close eye on this one when the food is short.”
“Maybe you should be watching her instead!” snapped Lucio, pointing at Lola. “Locks on cabinets won’t do anything to stop her from pinching!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lola, a hint of a smile playing across her face. “You never caught me doing anything. If I remember, you were the one splattered with blue paint.”
Lucio glared, and Lola slid him a quarter of her bar as a peace offering halfway through dinner, which significantly softened the lines on his face. As the sun set, Zeke pulled out a chair from a storage closet, unfolded it, and set it on the top deck along with a small closed wicker basket.
“Tonight’s watch is on me,” he said, his eyes darting down the docks back towards the village. “I need some time to think.”
“But—” I started, and he cut me down.
“Nonnegotiable. Enjoy it while it lasts, kid.” He settled into the chair, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day, and I don’t want to deal with you all half asleep. Take advantage of the rest.”
I left him, and the top deck remained deserted after Zeke barked at Lucio to wrap up filming for the night. Soon we were huddled in the cabin, left with nothing but darkness and whispers.
“Think he’s cracked?” asked Lucio, the first to break the silence.
“I think when an entire village you knew is burned to the ground, you might want some alone time, eh?” commented Slugger, rolling over in his sleeping bag. “Give the man some peace. He has friends to mourn.”
“Do you think he actually has a plan, then?” asked Arial. “What do we do if he doesn’t? Starve out here?”
“We take the river back,” said Lola. “Even without gas, we’ll drift back to the city eventually. With the rate the water is going, maybe five days’ time, assuming no major storms.”
“Right,” I said. “But our biggest concern is if we can still cut Lacit off. Seems like we’re only slowing down as he’s speeding up. Tomorrow, we need to figure out Zeke’s plan B.”
“But tonight,” Slugger interjected, wrapping up our conversation to repeat. “Let the man be.”
One by one, we drifted off, familiar enough by now with the motions of the boat that it rocked us to bed, and soon light snores filled the cabin. And after the moon had risen high in the sky, and midnight had come and gone, my consciousness slowly drifted back. Summoned by a sound I couldn’t identify, a clicking, almost like the spark plug of the engine firing.
I sat up slowly, cocking my head to one side, listening. Had it just been the c
rickets? But in a world of natural sounds, of chirps and hoots and howls, I heard it again. Metallic. Man made.
Creeping out of bed, I walked along the boards of the ship, careful to avoid any that creaked by casting a small force point ahead of me to depress the wood slowly. The sound grew louder as I exited the cabin then followed the noise, sneaking up the stairs of the main deck, holding my breath as I caught sight of Zeke.
He held something in his hands, something that darted in and out between his fingers, and as I strained my eyes, I could just barely make out the shapes of two long needles. A shadow of a thread wove between them, gradually adding to a small patch of fabric that had started to extend into his lap. And despite his bulging muscles, and missing finger, and numerous scars, Zeke continued to knit, glancing up occasionally in the direction of the village, the moonlight just bright enough I thought I could see the reflection of a trail of moisture on his cheek.
Let the man be, Slugger’s voice echoed in my mind as I stared, and I backed away, averting my eyes as if I had seen him naked. I tip-toed back down the stairs, heading back to my sleeping bag, when I froze, a chill racing over my body.
There, at the back end of the boat, just over the railing, two figures stood in the darkness. My breath caught in my throat before I could shout for help, my heart thudding in my chest. And just before I raised the alarm, one shifted, and I saw that they were looking out over the jungle. One had his arm around the other, and with another moment, I recognized them, their shapes familiar even through the shroud of night.
And even quieter than before, I returned to the cabin, then climbed into bed to be claimed by sleep, pretending not to notice the empty sleeping bags of Darian and Lola beside me.
Chapter 66
Negative Film (Star Child: Places of Power Book 2) Page 21
