Rise of the Discordant: The Complete Five Book Series

by Christina McMullen

  “Are you really leaving?” asked Betty. The hurt tone of her voice was my cue to step away and find Seth.

  Outside, night had fallen and the fog had finally dissipated. Seth stood against the retaining wall, looking out over the whole of Blackbird, lit up as it was in the dark.

  “Is it done?”

  “It is.” I nodded, adding cautiously, “How are you feeling?”

  “Free, if you can believe it,” Seth answered with a small sniffling laugh. “It’s as if a weight that I never knew I was carrying has been lifted.” His eyes drifted up from the city and over to me. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  “What was?” I asked cautiously. Seth deserved the truth, but I wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it. For that matter, I wasn’t sure I was ready to tell him.

  “The missing pieces. You were…” he turned, but not before I noticed the flush on his cheeks. “It doesn’t matter,” he added hastily. “It’s over. Our lives can go back to normal.”

  “Our lives were normal?” I asked, lightening the mood considerably.

  “Good point,” he said with a chuckle. “Where are the others?”

  I told him about the bargain Bogie had struck with the angel and he went back into the church to say goodbye. I stayed in the parking lot, mulling over everything that had happened in such a short span of time. It was hard to believe that I had only been assigned to Blackbird four days earlier. In four days, my life and everything I thought I lived for had been turned on its side.

  The soul of the woman I would love eternally was still there, unchanged and finally whole, but Seth’s life was his own. He would remember nothing of his previous cycles and that was the way it was meant to be. It was going to be tough to remember that, but for the time being, that was my burden to bear.

  “I had a feeling, you know.”

  “About?” I hadn’t noticed that Louise had come outside until she was standing next to me.

  “Your connection,” she answered, surprising me. For someone who normally wore her heart on her sleeve, she had a good poker face. “I’ve met soul familiars before. What you and Seth share is a lot stronger.”

  “You could have said something, you know.”

  “Yeah,” she said sheepishly. “I thought about it, but I didn’t know if you would think I was just being jealous. I mean, okay, I am jealous,” she stammered, but then smiled.

  “Seth knows nothing,” I informed her. “But you know his choices are still his to make.”

  “I know,” she said, acknowledging the fact with a slight wince. “I know I come on a little strong, but I’m not completely oblivious. I mean, a girl can dream, right?” she added with a somewhat awkward shrug. “I don’t think anyone else has any idea what happened. I won’t say anything, but if you need someone to talk to. I’m uh… I’m here, for what it’s worth.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said and meant it. “I suppose we should repair the damages we made,” I added, noting that some of the brick façade had crumbled when I used the neutralizing bomb.

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of the damage.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” she said with another smile. “You just make sure Seth gets some rest after all of this.”

  “Thanks, Louise.” I made a decision on the judgment I had reserved earlier. Louise was pretty okay.

  * * *

  Downtown was eerily quiet as Seth and I made our way back to the Five Penny. The storm had done quite a bit of damage and I suspected people were home dealing with their own messes. The water that still stood, warping the floorboards, was a reminder that the Five Penny would need a bit of an overhaul before we could reopen. It was just as well. I’d have to put out an ad for a bartender with Bogie gone.

  “You know, I’m going to miss him,” Seth sighed as he took a last look around the empty bar before climbing the stairs. “And I’m sure going to miss his cooking.”

  “Yeah well, if I know Bogie, that’s not the last we’ll see of him,” I said as I followed him up to the apartment.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Seth said with a surprised whistle. “That was quick.”

  “Huh?” As I turned onto the landing, I saw why Seth was laughing. Bogie leaned against the wall in the hallway, sharing the punchline to a particularly bawdy joke with Pete, the Admin assigned to our sector of the Cycle. Seeing both of them gave me pause, each for different reasons.

  “I thought they were giving you a trial?”

  “Uh, yeah. They did. Took all of five seconds for the council to throw me right back out again,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “Somethin’ about bein’ too cozy with the Order. But this guy,” he jabbed his thumb toward Pete, who was lighting his next cigarette from the one he had just finished. “He said he’d put in a good word for me with the Creator. Maybe one day I’ll be a real boy. What d’ya think about that?”

  “Welcome back then,” Seth said, holding his hand out to shake Bogie’s while I just shook my head.

  “Go outside or put that out,” I said to Pete, waving the stink of smoke away from my face. “Didn’t you die of lung cancer?”

  “The way I see it, they can’t kill me twice,” Pete countered, but at least he snubbed out the noxious fumes on the sole of his shoe. “I like this guy,” he said, jabbing his thumb in Bogie’s direction. “He’s got great taste in headwear.”

  It would figure they would get along. Pete had been a pulp detective novelist in life and as an agent of Order, dressed and acted like a character straight out of film noir.

  “So, what exactly are you doing here, Pete?” Seth asked. “I didn’t think they ever let you out of your cubicle.”

  “Very rarely, but for occasions like this, it’s required. I’m here to deliver your Guardians.”

  “What do you mean by deliver?” I asked, while at the same time, Seth asked, “Guardians? With an S?”

  There was only one reason why Pete would be required to escort a new Agent of Order back to the Cycle.

  “They’re in the apartment. There’s a muting spell on the door. To be honest, they were giving me a bit of a headache. Oh and by the way, you’re moving. That little hole in the wall isn’t going to be big enough for the four of you.”

  “But I’ll be happy to rent the space,” Bogie added. “Seein’ as you’re still gonna need a bartender. For a couple of years, at least.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Pete removed the spell and two muffled, but definitely raised voices rang out from inside the apartment. Seth opened the door and the yelling stopped. My suspicions were confirmed as two teenagers turned in unison, each still had their mouths open as if they stopped mid-screaming match. Being too new to hide their auras, it was apparent that despite the fact that they looked almost identical, they were as different as night and day. There was no balance to their souls. Instead, it seemed that the only balance was that they were in direct opposition to each other, which likely explained the shouting match.

  We stood for a few moments, everyone simply staring at each other, until Seth made the smartest move I had seen yet and closed the door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked as he turned and headed for the stairs.

  “I believe there is a bottle of reserve label single malt whiskey under the bar for emergencies,” he said with a tired smile. “I believe this qualifies. Care to join me?”

  I looked at the door, which hid not one, but two new headaches, and then back at Seth. “Pour me a double.”

  Rise of the Discordant

  Book #2

  Splitsville

  Chapter 1

  A Splitting Headache

  Without the clever imaginations of its creations, the Creator would be nothing more than a formless concept, floating aimlessly through the void. Humanity had given it many names and many shapes, defining it as everything from vengeful to benevolent and both at once. Throughout the history of humankind, battles have been waged based solely on these differing
concepts of exactly who or what the Creator is. Often, the Creator could accurately predict what form it would take based only on the geographic location where the cycled soul had lived. Though personal bias always changed minor details, most areas with widely held religious views produced similar projections.

  Every so often, the Creator would come across a soul who would manage to surprise it with an unexpected projection. Some souls, especially those who had just spent a cycle as a larger-than-life celebrity, saw the Creator as a mirror image of themselves. Some saw the Creator as a beloved friend, family member, or even a cherished animal companion who had passed before them. Increasingly, as its creations began to advance technologically, the Creator would find itself appearing as a popular cultural depiction of a deity.

  Of course, the Creator loved all of its creations unconditionally, but even a perfect being is entitled to its opinions and would voice them frequently. It bemused the Creator greatly that many Christian souls believed the Creator to be God, yet for much of the later twentieth century, gave it the form of Charlton Heston’s portrayal of Moses.

  Agents of Order were the exception. Outside of the Cycle, agents were gifted with the paradoxical knowledge that the Creator was both everything and nothing at once. Because of this, their thoughts and emotional states were typically what gave the Creator form during their meetings and varied wildly. There were, of course, some exceptions, like Pete, the hiring and processing administrator for North American operations.

  “Have you updated your video library, Pete?” the Creator asked in a rich, velvety voice.

  For a man who had spent his last living Cycle as a writer of plot-twisting pulp, Pete was unerringly predictable. From the moment he was hired, the Creator could count on appearing as George Burns’ crabby and bespectacled portrayal of God whenever it met with Pete. Expecting the usual, the Creator was taken aback to see that its cinematic embodiment had a twenty-first century update.

  “It’s the kids,” Pete explained. “It was this or that spaghetti monstrosity. I figured you’d prefer a respected actor.”

  “To be frank, Pete, I do not believe I will ever tire of speaking with such a voice as this,” the Creator admitted. “I was merely surprised that you were swayed. I take it our newest Guardians are a commanding force?”

  “That’s a nice way of saying it,” Pete muttered. “Look, it’s not my place to question your authority, but I have to tell you that I’ve got some serious reservations about these two.”

  “Yet you question it anyway,” the Creator noted. “Pete, I have heard your concerns and your reservations are valid, however, the situation in the town of Blackbird is becoming dire. As we speak, there is an eighty percent chance that we will lose the Observer’s soul to oblivion. Without a Guardian, we may lose the entire territory to Chaos.”

  “And right now, I’ve got chaos sitting in my office,” Pete countered. “Unleashing a force as unstable as a split soul into a place that’s already overrun by the Discordant could prove to be very dangerous. What is to stop one or both of them from switching sides once they get there?”

  “Have faith, Pete,” the Creator said in a calm, smooth voice. “I understand that you have not previously encountered a split soul. They are rare, but they are usually the best candidates for the role of Guardian.”

  “They’re just kids though!”

  “They will grow. I have every confidence that both Seth and Desmond will guide them in the right direction.” The Creator paused, its eyes unfocused as it saw beyond the void and into the time stream. “It may be too late to save him,” it said with sadness. “Pete, I must bring Seth in for judgment. Please, get them processed, the sooner the better, and pray that fate is in our favor this night.”

  Without so much as a goodbye, the Creator disappeared. Pete did not like the implications of the abrupt departure and returned swiftly to his office, where two teenagers, a boy and a girl, still shouted at each other.

  * * *

  With only thirty-five years of service to the Order, I knew I was still pretty green. Hattie, the afterlife placement tech who shared a cubicle wall with me, had been at this for more than three hundred years. Still, after thirty-five years, one expects that they’ve mostly seen it all and surprises aren’t pleasant. Especially surprises that come in the form of argumentative teenagers who won’t stop their bickering.

  Their names told me everything I needed to know.

  “Jem,” I said, looking over the young man with sandy hair, blue eyes, and a face that was too trusting, “and Nai.” I moved my glance to the young lady who was in every way the mirror image of her brother, but while he grinned like an idiot, she scowled, eyeing me with distrust. “Jem and Nai,” I said again. “Really?” I bet their parents thought they were quite clever. Last names are never logged as a security measure, but for their sakes, I hoped it wasn’t anything as puntastically awful as their first names.

  “Yeah, because we’re twins, get it?” Jem needlessly explained, smiling as if the knowledge was part of a great secret joke. Meanwhile his sister rolled her eyes and glared daggers at her brother.

  “Our father is a brilliant historian with a rubbish sense of humor,” she explained in an affected voice usually reserved for snooty caricatures in movies, adding under her breath, “Apparently, he isn’t the only one.”

  I’d heard about split souls, but I’d never seen one before. As far as I knew, they were extremely rare and only happened when we started losing too many souls to the Discordant. According to the database, there was a spike in splits right after World War II due to the high number of souls we lost at that time. See, the number of souls is finite. When we start losing too many, Order becomes unbalanced and that’s when the splits happen.

  When a soul is split, it’s divided in half, right down the moral center. The first Cycle is always the worst. The light half of the soul becomes the nicest person you’ll ever meet, meaning that they are also the most gullible and most annoying person you’ll ever meet. The dark half has no moral compass and tends to spend their first Cycle being the worst type of nonproductive member of society. The more times the split souls return through the Cycle, the more balanced they become, until they are no longer distinguishable from the rest.

  But therein lies my problem. The two in front of me were a brand new split. Had they been called into Hattie’s office, they would have been assigned an afterlife where they would grow and get a sense of balance. Instead, they were sent to me, meaning, these two were being sent to fill the shoes of the recently departed Guardian of Blackbird. The Creator claimed that split souls made great Guardians, but as I sat and listened to these two verbally abuse each other, I could not imagine either of them successfully navigating a lost soul back to a clear path.

  “Nai, dude, I really don’t think that guy was lying to us.” That guy Jem was referring to was Sven, the soul sorter who also has the unenviable job of telling people they are dead. Denial is typical, but usually by the time a soul gets to me, they’ve had enough time to process what happened. “Check out his nameplate.” Jem nudged his sister and pointed at the brass placard on the edge of my desk.

  “Pete,” she read, giving me an unnecessary nasty glare. “Just because your parents didn’t saddle you with something ridiculous, I’m supposed to believe I’m dead?”

  “To be honest, I’m not following Jem’s logic either,” I admitted.

  “Oh whatever, Pete. Like that’s totally not short for… hmm.” He struck a sarcastically thoughtful pose before finishing with, “Saint Peter, perhaps?”

  “Now that one I’ve never heard before,” I said, genuinely meaning it. Sven’s technically the gatekeeper around here, so he’s usually the one Christians mistake for St. Peter. It probably doesn’t help that he’s a ginormous Swede with long blonde hair that he likes to flaunt in front of those of us who are follically challenged. “But I assure you, I am no saint. However, you two are very much dead and have been hand selected for a very important ro
le. None of this is up for debate, so if you’d both please listen for a moment, I’ll explain why you’ve been sent to me.”

  “Prove it,” Nai spat.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Prove we are dead.”

  “Trust me, you do not want me to do that,” I said, more for Jem’s sake than hers.

  “Why, because you can’t?” Nai taunted.

  “Personally? No, I can’t, but my colleague can and it won’t be pleasant.”

  “Excuses aren’t going to win my trust.”

  “Listen, kid…” I started, but she just steamrollered over me with a singsong:

  “Proooo-ve it!”

  “If you insist, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I conceded with a shrug. I had to remind myself that she was a teenager and the dark half of a split soul. No amount of reasoning was going to do any good, so I might as well go for the full sideshow. “Hey Hattie, you busy?” I shouted over the divider wall. I heard her chair roll back and the clickity clack of Hattie’s heels on the floorboard as she made her way around the divider.

  “Not at all. What’s shakin’ bacon?” Hattie had an obsession with twentieth century American slang and style, which might have been unusual for a woman who had once been a prim British governess, but I wasn’t about to complain. Especially not when she dressed like a dame straight out of the pulp novels I used to write in my last life.

  “My latest candidates are having trouble accepting that they have shuffled off their mortal coils,” I explained. “Would you kindly show this young lady what fate would have awaited had she not been hand selected by the Creator to fill the position of Guardian?”

  “Gladly,” Hattie said with a wicked wink, knowing as I did what was in store for the pompous little teen. After three hundred years, Hattie had seen it all when it came to afterlife punishments and no longer felt any regret when it came to where the naughty souls went. I felt the air shimmer slightly and I watched as the kids’ eyes went momentarily blank.