Star Angel: Prophecy

by David G. McDaniel

  It was the only way.

  She noticed a particular magnet on the freezer door. Her favorite, of all the clips and coupons and quotes and odds-and-ends littering every square inch, and she recalled thinking of it back on that other world, with Galfar. It was a black-and-white profile of a man in a badly fitted, open-face motorcycle helmet, an expression of happy determination on his face. He was seated in a tiny wooden boxcar at the peak of a high arc, having just launched off an steep wooden ramp. And the caption, a quote from Helen Keller:

  Life is a daring adventure, or nothing.

  If that was true, if life was all about adventure, then she was living a hundred lifetimes in one.

  She looked around the darkening kitchen, everything gray in the evening fade. Her kitchen. Memories of carefree times. Who would’ve thought when she leapt away with Bianca, a moment that seemed so long ago, who would’ve thought then that she would ever be back? In her own home?

  It was the harsher truths, however, that nagged. Fretting at the edges; that vast scale of self, knowing without a doubt she’d been aware, alive, in some form or another for, impossibly, a thousand years. Likely even longer. Maybe much longer. Aesha and Jessica were probably just isolated stops on a trail strewn with identities. Those two had her full focus right now but there were more. And more and more and more. Everything about her situation was crazy, sure, but how to rectify that?

  It dominated her thoughts.

  Strangest thing was, scale of time didn’t matter. When she really thought of it. It was all the same. One year or a thousand. Existing in the Now, both great and short spans of time behind her flowing equally the same. What was behind her was behind her, no matter how far in the past.

  History.

  A human life was short, of course, but true life had no measure. No matter how long you’d been around—and she’d already realized this was not isolated to her; this was not a unique phenomenon; everyone, every single person was walking around in a body just like Galfar described—no matter how long you’d been around the Now was always the Now. Everything else was in the past. A dumb way to put it, maybe, but it described an unshakable truth. A memory was a memory no matter how old. From a moment seconds ago to one a thousand years ago. From just now, as she put away the jelly, an event in the past that could never be relived, now only a memory like all the rest, right on back as far as she cared to look. An hour ago, up in her room with Zac … Even then she was, technically, someone else. A version of “self” in a different time and space.

  She took a deep, centering breath.

  These concepts were not getting easier.

  She’d stood in that very kitchen as other versions of her current form. Other Jessica’s. Stood in other kitchens too, as a child, as a toddler. Always “her” in those past moments, moving ever forward to the next. Each an instant in a former life.

  Knowing what she knew now, about her past, was like knowing you’d been a five-year-old. Or a six-year-old. Or a seven or eight or ... The continuum of awareness was real. You might not remember all the details but you knew it was real. Rationally, you knew. Each moment of your life was always you. Five-year-old Jess was not the same physical form as the current, teenage version, yet it was still “her”. Aesha was not the same physical form as Jessica yet …

  Still her.

  She could no more recall with any degree of precision each moment as a five-year-old—though she knew logically she’d existed then, with thirty-six-hundred seconds in every hour, twenty-four hours in every day, seven days in every week of the twelve months she was alive as a five-year-old and was doing something each and every one of those seconds … she was alive each of those seconds, there was no doubt, but could barely recall ten distinct things she did at that age. Just as she could no more recall the details of her time as a priestess a thousand years before. Both existences were in the past. Both selves, both “lives” no more than memories.

  Both no less real.

  And so, though she could barely dredge up what she was doing ten years ago as Jessica, let alone what she was doing a millennium before that as someone else, she had the idea that with enough concentration she could. Given enough time and focus maybe she could remember what she was doing on the morning of March 18th when she was five. Maybe she could see the light in the room that day, the color of the things around her. Remember what was said. Standing there right now she could not. She had no idea. But it happened. She did something on the morning of March 18th when she was five. With some concentration …

  Maybe she could go further. Perhaps, given enough time, she could recall things from further back, from her time as Aesha. What she was doing on the morning of March 18th, in the year 1,018 AD. Or any other day.

  Something would come to her. Of this she was becoming increasingly certain. In fact memories had already begun to hedge in, ideas, but when or how they would fully resolve … All she could do, all she could hold to was the reality that she was here, in this place, in this time she occupied—the Now—and that anything she’d been and anything she’d done prior were behind her and the future was hers to make. Based on what she now knew she had every reason to believe she would continue far into the future. Possibly forever. Not as Jessica, of course. Eventually not. What came after this … she had no idea. And so there was fear. Fear that she had to make this life count. Fear that if she moved on before she could—if she died as before, as Aesha—she might once more lose it all, lose everyone and everything, and though she might again stand around a kitchen one day in the far future, in some other form, as someone else—even with memories of this day, of this very moment—the thought of that did not give her comfort. She had to live now. She had to save that future for everyone.

  I’ve got to tell Zac.

  She took another deep breath, straightened and shrugged off these unwieldy thoughts, unstuck herself and wiped away a lone tear that had formed and was trickling down her cheek. She blinked her eyes a few times, grabbed the tray with both hands, looked over its mundane contents—sandwich halves, Cheetos, two glasses of milk—once such pleasurable items—and went upstairs.

  **

  Explosions rocked the ground but Zac couldn’t see. All was black. He could feel the blasts, hear them, even smell the acrid tang of electric arcs in the wake of each, but he couldn’t see. The very air was alive, blowing off waves of force and for once, in as long as he could remember, he was scared. Not for others, not for someone else, but for himself. He was alone and there was no one to save him.

  Here is where I die.

  Then a voice. Amid the chaos.

  Zac.

  Familiar. It was a soothing voice, yet it held worry in its tone.

  Again it called.

  Zac.

  He clung to it.

  Zac. This time he recognized it.

  Jessica!

  And she was reaching for him, across the blackness, and all at once he realized ...

  With a start he awoke; saw her standing near him at the side of the bed and froze. She had a hand on his shoulder and was looking down at him, concern in her eyes. He bit back the urge to leap up; made himself be still and not lunge to his feet, as that disorienting instant of waking nearly made him do. That would only scare her. Carefully he lay rigid, holding steady, eyes wide and staring back.

  “Zac?” She looked genuinely afraid.

  A dozen responses shot through his mind.

  “Hi.” He settled on that. Then, thinking to do more, gave her a weak smile. Hoping it would reassure her.

  It kind of worked.

  “Were you …” she took her hand from his shoulder and straightened. “Sleeping?”

  Was he?

  She looked skeptical. “I didn’t think Kazerai slept.”

  “They don’t,” he sat up to his elbows. “Usually.”

  That only seemed to rattle her. “What’s going on?” There was now an edge of fear in her voice.

  He had no answer. He didn’t know what was goin
g on. Nor did he know what had been going on, or what might be around the corner. Whatever it was he wasn’t sure how to talk about it right then and, on top of that, was still a little rattled himself. Since his time fading on the mountain, when he thought he’d lost her for good, he’d had these episodes of nodding, loosing consciousness, like sleeping, brief snatches of the same nightmare, frightening, but always short and he always snapped back. This time it felt like he’d really been trapped. If she hadn’t been there …

  These infrequent lapses were starting to, to use an Earth slang, freak him out.

  “I’m fine,” he tried to brush it aside. Frustratingly he could think of nothing else to say, nowhere to turn the conversation, knowing Jess—lovely, wonderful Jess—would dive in with more questions if he didn’t at least say something. It wasn’t like her to let such things go. He spotted a tray of food on the dresser and for a welcome moment his focus shifted.

  “That our snack?” He caught the smell of it. Something sweet.

  Jess was hesitant, reluctant to move away from the topic of why he was asleep but, after studying him with that same concern a minute longer, left his side and went to the dresser. Even as she did Zac found his focus shifting, to the sight of her, her image in motion washing away the difficult moment, the nightmare and everything else, and in an instant the pendulum had swung wildly in the other direction. His eyes locked fully to the wonderful curve of her legs, filling him with a flood of sudden desire. The beautiful brown of her skin, disappearing up into the baggy black volume of his shirt; perfect calves, joined at the knee to perfect thighs, at the bottom to a pair of perfect ankles, perfectly rounded heels; perfect feet ... the tangle of her hair falling to a point between and just below her shoulder blades. The way she moved, that high-arched step, almost walking on the balls of her feet, so natural yet managing to be so sensual, the way she always moved, not meaning to but always with such effortless poise. Even the simple act of walking across the room was nearly too much.

  Forcibly, as when waking a moment ago, he held himself still. Wanting her in that instant more than ever, and it was only a good dose of common sense that kept him from rising up and taking her. She was so amazing, the way she made him feel, so incredible. In the heat of that desire he struggled to pull his mind to neutral ground, desperate to do so before she turned. Desperate that she not see his passion. Lying there naked as he was, blood coursing through every inch of him with fresh lust—rising like a flag for his intent, there would be absolutely no concealing his sudden and overwhelming “interest”.

  He sat all the way up, pulled his legs to him and crossed them, grabbed a pillow into his lap, laid his arms across it and leaned forward. “Smells good,” he said. “I can’t wait.” Now was not the time. They’d already spent too many hours in each other’s arms. There was no more of it to waste. Soon it would be night and there were so many things yet to figure out, so many things yet to be done.

  As she turned with the tray he glanced out the window, forcing his thoughts to these more practical concerns, easing back his desire—alarmed suddenly to see that it was night.

  It’s night already!

  How did he miss that? When Jess went downstairs to make the snacks the sky outside had been heading toward evening. Now it was already dark.

  Again the fear hedged in.

  How long was I asleep? He almost asked, needing to know, but wanted to remain far from that topic.

  Not wanting to tell her what he really feared.

  “What did you make?” he forced a casual smile and looked over the sandwiches on the tray, intrigued by the little orange bags. If he didn’t keep the conversation moving …

  “Peanut butter and jelly,” she placed it on the bed between them and sat. He pivoted to face her, kept the pillow in his lap and looked at the sandwiches. They were cut into triangle halves.

  “May I?”

  “Please,” she picked up one of the halves and took a bite. He did too. The flavor washed through him. So good!

  “I love it,” he said as he chewed. Eating was such a pleasure. With two more bites he was done and picking up another. She chewed more slowly, swallowed, took a second bite and lifted a glass of what he guessed to be milk. As she drank he counted the sandwich halves. Ten, including the one he’d finished and the one she was eating; a total of five whole sandwiches. Probably four were meant for him.

  “What are these?” he picked up one of the little bags. Like so many things on Earth the product was an orgy of advertising, absolutely crammed with writing and graphics. The primary image was a spotted cartoon animal with sunglasses. The contents of the bag were called “Cheetos”.

  “Cheetos,” she said. Then, rolling her eyes in mild rapture: “They go so good with P B and J. Cold milk, Cheetos, P B and J … Mmm. The best combo.” As she said this it seemed a bit of her worry finally turned and she was back to her usual self.

  Inwardly Zac breathed a sigh of relief.

  He looked for a zipper or a way to open the bag; looked to her. “Just pull it open?”

  She nodded as she took another drink of milk, then picked up her own bag. He pulled his open and inside were bunches of gnarled orange sticks, just like the pictures on the front and back. He took one out. The fresh smell that wafted up was … interesting. He popped one of the little chips in his mouth.

  It was good.

  “I brought napkins,” she pointed to the tray. As he ate a handful of the crunchy little sticks he saw why. Cheetos were messy. By the time he was done the fingers on that hand were painted with their sticky orange flavor. Rather than use a napkin he licked each finger clean, smacking his lips, then wiped his hands. She smiled her approval; apparently that’s how you were supposed to eat Cheetos. He picked up another bag.

  “These are addictive,” he said. She smiled at his enthusiasm and finished her sandwich half, munching right along with him. He reached and took a drink of the nice cool milk, careful to keep the tips of his orange fingers off the glass as he held it so they didn’t smudge.

  It was good to see her smiling. He loved that smile, so much. Loved her so much, and to be sitting there with her, when just hours ago he hadn’t known whether he would ever see her again, now being with her and engaged in such a simple, fun thing as eating sandwiches, was pure bliss.

  Then she became somber. He felt his own smile drop. After failing to hold his gaze she looked down, then back up, fresh resolve in her eyes.

  “There are things I need to tell you,” she said. The resolve faltered and again she glanced away, saying quietly to herself: “God, this is so weird.”

  Zac began to wonder just what she was about to say, thinking of so many things she could say, that by the time she finally spoke his mind had filled that short stretch of silence with a hundred scary possibilities. From the idea that she had terrible news about something she had to do, to the idea that maybe she decided she didn’t really love him after all, or that she was sick, or she’d learned something that meant the end of everything they knew …

  “I think we’ve been looking for each other,” she said. “Since before now.”

  As her odd statement settled, rattling uncomfortably around his head, she added:

  “I don’t think we found each other by chance.”

  He realized he’d stopped chewing.

  “As part of that,” and she thought hard on her next words, “I don’t think it was an accident that you used the Icon and came here. I think all those things, your arrival, my being here … all of it was part of a destiny we’d already conceived. You and I.”

  She pressed on. “I was out in the backyard that day looking up for a reason. At the time I had no idea what I was waiting for, or even really that I was waiting, only that I knew I should be there. It felt right to be there. I used to go out a lot and look up into the sky. Like I was waiting for a specific event. When you popped into existence that day and fell, after the initial shock … I ran straight for you.”

  He searched h
er face. These were telling revelations, and it was almost as if she was piecing some of it together for herself as she spoke.

  “It was like,” she shook her head, “Like right before that I was sensing things were about to change.” She looked deeply into his eyes, her own so amazingly golden, such power in them. “Like I’d been waiting to get started and that was the gun. As we know I reacted completely wrong. I should’ve been way more scared. Should’ve done anything but what I did. I never should’ve run out there when you fell. Never should’ve put you up for the night and tried to figure out what came next. What came next? I mean, really? A man pops into existence in a clear sky, falls to the ground on fire and lives?

  “Even the most adventurous kid should’ve run from that. Called somebody. Something. Not bought him clothes, put him up for the night and brought him donuts in the morning.”

  “Those were good,” Zac recalled, thought maybe it wasn’t the best time to say so. He started chewing again, glanced longingly at the remaining sandwiches on the tray and decided not to pick up another just yet.

  Her face dropped as she continued to struggle internally. Whatever she was building toward was taxing her. “Remember when I told you how it was when I saw you for the first time? It was like, There you are!” He did. Absently she glanced over her shoulder, out the night-blackened window in the direction of the woods where he’d fallen all that time ago. When she looked back her yellow eyes were glinting, vision a million miles away. “Now I know why.” Or a million years. Like those events were so long ago yet held infinite significance, and as he looked into those beautiful, exotic eyes he got the sudden, creeping feeling that there was a lot she had to tell him.