by Nathan Wall
“No.” Lian smiled, pressing her forehead to Austin's as she rubbed his cheek. She held her other hand up and made Charon freeze in place. “This ends now.”
She stood with Charon unable to move and walked over to the Ferryman. She put both hands to his head and entered his mind. Even though it was a struggle, she took control of his powers and opened a massive rift, sending his remaining forces away.
“Where do you want to go?” she asked Austin, her eyes glowing white.
“Home,” Austin sighed, laying his head on the floor.
A pink rift opened up and absorbed them all, spitting them out in the middle of a dark highway. Rain poured heavily on top of them, soaking the entire area. She let Charon go and he fell to the ground.
“You will pay for this,” he screamed in agony. He tried to stand, but his legs gave out and he collapsed back to the asphalt. He lifted his sword, but Austin kicked it out of his grasp. “I shall bring an army twice as large down on your heads.”
“Try transporting an army when you’re dead,” Jarrod said. He put his palm to the back of Charon’s head. A blue light emanated from Jarrod’s eyes and Charon evaporated into dust. A blue glow slithered through Jarrod’s veins. “Nothing like a good Texas rain.”
“I'll second that.” Austin smiled ear to ear and wrapped his arms around his friend’s body. They held each other tightly for a few minutes. Austin pulled back and laughed, looking at the armor Jarrod wore and recognizing him from the beach in the other realm. “That was you. You came for us when we were swallowed up on our mission.”
“No.” Jarrod smiled, shaking his head. “I went for you.”
“I have to say I've never been to Texas, but I'm sure glad to be in the middle of this rain rather than where I was.” Jackson put his hands on Lian’s shoulders.
Headlights quickly approached from the distance, piercing through the thick globs of water that relentlessly fell from the sky. The truck swerved to a stop, sliding sideways. Jarrod held his arms up to stop the vehicle and the aurascales rushed over his face. He leaned into the truck, stopping its momentum. The driver got out of the large pickup, adjusting his cowboy hat, examining the scene. He saw the ghoulish glow of Jarrod’s mask and scurried back to his truck.
“Lian...” Sanderson rolled his eyes.
“I'm on it,” she replied, raising her hand. The driver stopped in his tracks and turned around, smiling.
“Can I offer you folks a ride?” he asked.
“Yes, you can,” Austin said, limping toward the truck. “Is this Northbound 281?”
“Sure is, Partner.” The driver smiled and sat down in his seat, shutting his door. Austin and the others got inside the cab while Jarrod and Sanderson stood in the middle of the street, looking at each other.
“You said something earlier.” Jarrod spoke up so his voice could make it above the splashing rain on the road. The aurascales rescinded from his face and the water mixed with the cuts along his forehead and cheeks, forming a waterfall of red. His longish hair hung in his eyes. “No more lies. I've always wanted to know who I am. Where I've come from. My aunt has told me stories, but I've had this feeling that there was much more.”
“Who you are has nothing to do with where you're from,” Sanderson replied. He tapped Jarrod’s chest right above the heart.
“Do you know her?” Jarrod asked, grabbing Sanderson by the arm before climbing into the truck. “Do you know my parents?”
“Yes.” Sanderson nodded, looking at Jarrod.
* * *
“This will not stand,” Maya screamed, throwing her throne clear across the chamber. It smashed into dozens of pieces on the cobblestone floor. The vision portal before her showing the scene in Moscow closed as she saw her plans thwarted. She stormed down the steps, yanking her gold sword from its propped position and stabbed it through the ribcage of a nearby guard. The other men flinched, wanting to flee, but she yelled at them. “You will not move from your post.”
They all stood straight as she continued to storm around swiping her sword through other items. The throne room filled with people looking down at her as she crouched over, throwing a tantrum. She looked up, the color of her eyes changing as she ground her teeth together. A stream of saliva ran down her chin.
“I will destroy the remake and that backstabbing strumpet,” she screamed, pulling her hair. She stood, straightened her dress, and brushed some dust off her arms. “How she was able to break through my spell, I do not know. But she shall find what I have planned for her far more painful than death.”
She walked out of the throne room and into her private quarters. The door slammed behind her. She walked over to a hidden passage in the wall and opened it. The stones shifted into an archway. It closed behind her as she entered a secret room and knelt down next to a chest. She removed the key from the necklace hanging between her breasts, and unlocked it. She pushed the top open and inside sat a small starstone; complete and whole.
“My grandmother, Aphrodite, will be proud,” she said.
She grabbed the stone and held it tightly. A white beam of light erupted and then quickly vanished. She stood clothed in light purple aurascales. Her hands radiated with light. Metallic feathers of a faded shade of lilac took form as wings. The full power of Aphrodite’s starstone recognized Maya’s bloodline and succumbed to her will. The aura within the starstone shook her to the core, making her already neurotic mind even more unstable, but eventually fused to her life force. Pink vapor trails manifested throughout the air. She left the secret room and walked back toward her throne chamber. The masses bowed before her as her wings stretched twelve feet from end to end. Her sword shimmered. It too emitted its own beam of light.
“These remakes will be dealt with,” she said, looking at her own reflection in the blade. The aurascales stretched across her face. She gripped the starstone firmly in her left hand. She held it in the air and her subjects let out an apprehensive cheer. “They will meet their end by the slow piercing of my blade.”
A rift opened up from the center of the stone, swallowing up the entire fortress. Just as quickly as the wave of light spread out in a circle, it was sucked back into the source, transporting Maya, but leaving the rest of them behind.
* * *
Though it was just one in the morning, Aunt Liv was wide awake, dropping angel hair pasta into a vat of boiling water. She lifted the lid off the sauce to quickly scoop up a sample. She gently blew on the hot red liquid before putting the spoon to her lips for a quick taste. Despite a satisfactory nod voicing her approval, she happily reached for the oregano in the spice cabinet. Adding more along with an extra pinch of salt, she mixed it to someone else’s version of perfection.
Headlights flooded into the kitchen through the window, shining from behind a large wooden fence, as had happened so many times in another life. The gate creaked open and the quiet stirring of three sets of footsteps slowly made their way to the back patio. She stood silently in the dark, waiting for the door to open. Finally, it did.
Jarrod flicked the light switch to his right and then turned to his Aunt who stood over the stove. Their eyes connected and she cried with joy. She jumped into his arms and his body shook, hugging her tightly.
He closed his eyes and took in the familiar scent of her hair. The same smell her once curly blonde locks—turned a striking silver since he'd gone—always had. It was a smell that soothed him, letting him know everything was going to be alright.
“You made my favorite,” Jarrod said, moving past her and to the pasta. He tasted it. “Extra oregano. My favorite. How'd you know?”
“I love you, Jarrod.” She smiled.
“It was always my favorite too,” Sanderson said, walking in behind her and gently shutting the door. Jackson stood behind him. “I haven’t eaten it in a long time.”
“Hello William,” she said, turning around. She briefly looked at Jackson who seemed to be splitting into two people and then back to her one-time husband. “Jarrod loves the seasoned pasta sau
ce nearly as much as you did.”
“I've missed you, Sarah,” Sanderson said, his face welling up. His nose started running and his eyes watered. His right hand trembled as he lifted it to his face, wiping his mouth. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but didn't have the strength. She did, embracing him. He sobbed, contently. To him, it seemed like a lifetime since he’d felt such joy. “You read my mind.”
“I'm sorry. I know you hate that,” she cried into his shoulder.
“No,” he shook his head, whispering. His eyes shifted up and looked at Jarrod who stood there confused. He kissed her on the cheek and closed his eyes. “I don't mind anymore. You can do it as much as you want. I have nothing to hide.”
“I know,” she laughed.
“I'd ask what this is all about, but I'm really hungry.” Jarrod's jaw hit his toes. He placed a massive helping of pasta on a plate and drenched it in sauce. He created another plate and handed it to Jackson. Before going to sit in front of the TV, he looked at Sanderson and Aunt Liv. “Answers in the morning.”
“All of them,” Sanderson said, nodding.
“All of them?” she asked before relenting with a drawn out smile. “All of them.”
Jarrod and Jackson sat down. All the stations were buzzing about the day's events elsewhere in the world. The conspiracy theorists were out in droves as images of Jarrod in his full armor spread like wild fire on social networks.
“I was there,” Jackson said with a mouth full of pasta. “Can we watch something else?”
“Yeah.” Jarrod nodded, putting cartoons on. He looked down at his plate and placed the fork on it. He slid the two armored wrist pads off, forced the remaining armor into them, and sat them in front of Jackson. “I want out. I'm not afraid of what I can't be. I'm afraid of what I can be. Wearing the suit, doing those things… it all became too easy of a choice for me and it shouldn't have been. I spent my whole life trying to run from what I was that I didn't take the time to realize I liked myself better that way. I don't want to end up with no way out in the end.”
“I understand.” Jackson nodded and took the wrist pads, placing them next to his feet. “It can all end here.”
The two finished their meal, sitting quietly as the television played mindless programs, waiting for the new day to rise, and bring with it, a new hope. A new chance. A new life.
Episode 9
Jackson stood on the bank of a rushing white river rapid. The clashing of waves on rock created a soothing tone which married in perfect symmetry with the crackling sound of burning oak to his back. In his hand was a long, wooden spear that he'd fashioned just the other day. Tied around the blunt end was a piece of rope. It wound out to be a good twenty feet long, and was tied to his belt. Etched into the skyline through the thick brush strokes of evergreens and pine trees were the tall snowcapped Rockies, and above them, a dark, bulbous mesh of blistering cold grays and off-whites.
Jackson squeezed the spear with both hands. The fine leather grains of his glove spread across the slender streaks inside the oak, creating a slick stretching noise, firming his grasp on the spear. His now brown eyes—completely back to their original color—gazed steadily through the waves, waiting for the school of rainbow trout to cluster close enough together so that a thrust of the spear would be worthwhile.
He held his breath, slowly arched his arm back, and sliced the air through with the spear, driving it into the middle of the river. He grabbed hold of the rope and slowly pulled the spear back. When the piece of oak emerged from the water, two large rainbow trout were impaled on the sharp edge.
He pulled the hood of his heavy green winter coat over his head and walked back toward the fire. He untied the rope from around his belt, wound it up into a circle around his hand and elbow, and placed it next to his cot. He pulled the two trout off the spear and laid them on a large rock. He pulled the sleeve up from over his right arm and exposed one of the wrist pads Jarrod gave him. The long blade shot out from over his wrist and he quickly deboned the fish, slicing them down the center.
He laid the two fish open-face over the warm coals just next to the flames. He slowly sat back down, discretely sliding his right hand back over the spear. When he felt the wooden rod firmly in the grasp of his palm, he spun around, locking his arm straight and stuck the point of the spear at the precipice of a man's neck, who silently exited from the thick shrubs.
“Calm down, my friend,” the man said through a thick, bushy black beard. He held his hands in the air and motioned his head to the right. Two more men slowly emerged from the bushes also with their hands in the air. “We've been out here for days. We smelled the fire and were hoping to cozy up and warm ourselves.”
Jackson quickly looked at the other two fellows and then back at the man at the tip of the spear. He squinted, slowly standing to his feet, keeping the tip of the spear firmly in place.
“My name is Roland,” the man said, slowly removing his skull-cap and exposing his completely shaven head. He held his hand out and pointed at the other two men. “That's my little brother, John, and the red-headed ginger fellow is my friend, Alex.”
“Please, sir,” John said, his eyes sad and his face long. He took off his worn out mittens and placed them in the side pockets of his tattered coat. His face was soft, but filthy. “We haven’t been able to warm ourselves for quite some time.”
“Can't make a fire?” Jackson shrugged his face, still not moving the point away from Roland's neck. “Seems strange to come hiking out here and not know how to care for yourselves.”
“I believe that's my fault,” Roland replied, slowly stepping back from the spear. Jackson stepped forward and kept the sharp point to Roland's Adam’s apple. “We were hiking on one of the trails and I veered off the snow-covered path. A tiny avalanche swept us away. We lost most of our supplies and materials, but luckily escaped with our lives.”
Jackson looked them over, analyzing their clothes for signs of wear that matched their story. He lowered the spear and motioned with his head for them to sit down. He walked back to the fire and turned the fish over, inspecting them.
“That's quite a knife you've got there,” John spoke again, pointing at the blade hanging out over Jackson's wrist. “Can I see it?”
“No,” Jackson said, clicking his wrist back and retracting the blade back inside the wrist pad. He pulled his sleeve down to his hand. “Which path were you guys following?”
“Flattop,” Roland replied, sitting next to Alex. “We were hoping to follow this river for signs of civilization, but had to get off course to lose a pack of wolves. Luckily, we found you.”
“Yeah. I'm sure that blade would make some trouble for any hound that crossed you.” John smiled.
Jackson jetted up and looked around for any remaining stragglers from the wolf pack.
“Don't worry.” Roland shook his head. “That was well over a day ago. We've lost them since.”
“I expect, once you've warmed yourselves, you'll be looking to follow the river back to civilization?” Jackson pulled the fish from the coals and slid them onto large, thick stacks of pine branches. He handed them both to Roland, who promptly shared them with the other two men. “If you rest for about an hour, you'll have enough daylight left to get to the calmer part of the water. Would be a good place to set up camp.”
“When are you being picked up?” Alex asked, stuffing three fingers worth of trout into his mouth. “Are you one of them survivalists who write for magazines and whatnot?”
“No.”
“Seems mighty strange then for you to be out here all by your lonesome,” Alex prodded.
“Mind yourself,” Roland interjected, forcefully looking at Alex. “This man is being generous enough to share his meal and fire with us.”
“I bet you think you're better than us, don't you?” Alex's nostrils flared up as he stabbed daggers through Jackson with his eyes. “Able to handle yourself in the middle of nowhere with winter dead on your tracks while the three of us scurry a
bout with our tails between our legs.”
“I didn't say anything like that.” Jackson shook his head, staring at the fire.
“You didn't have to,” Alex said through his teeth. “It's written all over your splotchy face.”
“Alex, that's enough,” John said, pulling at his friend’s arm. “Just shut up.”
“I don't know what's gotten into him.” Roland hesitantly laughed and shrugged. “He's not himself when he's hungry.”
“I don't know what she wants with you,” Alex mumbled to himself. “You ugly freak.”
“What was that?” Jackson looked at the redhead, snapping his face around and peering through the flames.
“I called you an ugly freak.” Alex laughed.
“No, before that.”
“It was nothing.” Roland smiled. “Just hungry gibberish.”
“Who wants me?” Jackson slowly stood, tightening his fists.
“Well, you've gone and done it now, you idiot.” Roland slapped Alex in the back of the head. “We weren’t supposed to warn him.”
Roland drew a six shooter out from under his coat and pointed it at Jackson. Jackson kicked his spear into the air, spun it around quickly, and swiped the blunt end into Roland's hand, causing the gun to fly into the river. He drove the spear through Roland's hand and pinned him to the ground.
The other two men jumped up and tackled Jackson. Alex sat on his arms while John pinned down his legs. Jackson struggled to sit up. His abs and biceps felt like they were going to tear apart as he managed to toss Alex off of him, sit up, and jab John's face. Jackson sprung to his feet just as Roland pulled the spear out of his hand. The group’s leader returned the favor by swiping the blunt end across Jackson's chin.
Jackson spun around and face planted into the mud. He rolled to his left and avoided the thrust of the spear. The tip lodged into the ground and Roland stumbled forward, holding onto the spear as it snapped it in half.
Jackson drove his palm inside of Alex's jab, punching him in the bicep to block the strike. He stuck a cross into Alex's pelvis, shattering it. The redhead assailant toppled like a house of cards.
