“Then just fuckin’ tell me.”
“I’m not ready yet,” he admitted. “Maybe you’re not, either. But I know I’m not.”
Flynn left the room, and she and Mack were alone. Somehow, Jean had a feeling that whatever Flynn had told them was just the opposite of what he meant.
*
The journey back out of the Dying Lands was no less tedious for the assurance of knowing how long it would take. When they were rested and modestly resupplied, Scytha escorted them around the whirlpool and pointed them in the right direction. When asked why she, a greater Mystik who needed neither food nor rest, had the means in her home for both, Scytha simply smiled and posed the question, “What sense is there in still having flesh if you can’t enjoy the pleasures of it?”
Flynn surmised that Cybel shared a very similar viewpoint, albeit expressed in a decadent and indulgent manner. Though he spared no long goodbyes for the Reaper, she promised they would likely meet again, and Flynn found he didn’t care for her implications.
Laughing, she told him, “It’s probably not anytime soon, if it makes you feel better.” She paused, then reiterated, “Probably.”
Still, his spirits lightened just knowing that saner places of the World Between were ahead. As before, they rested at the dragon’s bones and made the rest of the walk some uncertain hours later. As the distant gate came into view at last, Poe fondled the seashell he’d been given, battling the urge to open it. Even after unlocking the gates, he restrained himself, but once they’d gained a short distance on the other side, all agreed they’d gone far enough. Exposing a gloved hand, he dug his pale thumb into the mouth of the shell, loosing the hardened sands. He turned it over and tapped gently so the remaining sand would fall loose, taking care not to damage it.
Flynn heard the faintest of whispers.
Poe looked at the shell cradled in his hand. Absurd that such a small object could be the key to his emancipation, the end of a family legacy—once honored, now reviled. Pressing the shell to his ear, he listened. At first he was stoic, but his eyebrows sometimes furrowed with interest. The others could only watch and wait, shuffling their feet but largely keeping quiet, lest they drown out some key proclamation or clause. Poe’s breathing became paused. His expression darkened. The shell dropped from his hand, hitting the rooted terrain with a sound like a small stone.
“Poe?” Zaja asked.
“I will kill her …”
Poe looked at his right hand, then reached back and caught the Dark Sword’s hilt in his grasp.
“Who—?” Chari began to ask, but she didn’t get another word out.
“CYBEL!” Poe declared, raging. “I will murder Cybel!” With that, he took off suddenly, leaving five mystified companions behind. Zaja called out to him, to no effect.
“The fuck was that about?” Jean asked, scratching her head.
Flynn’s attention fell readily to the culprit. Crouching down, he picked up the seashell and pressed it to his ear. Unamia’s voice spoke to a crowd, long since departed as she was.
“… that Heaven be open to all worthy souls, forever. May the light and love of this realm enrich them, and guide them to grand eternity complete and fulfilled, even as their flesh diminishes.”
“Flynn-o?” Mack asked, trying to see what the fuss was about. Flynn held up a hand and shushed his friend, lest he miss some crucial detail.
“It is to this end that I have chosen a unique Celestial, Cybel, as Guardian of the gates of Heaven. Her everlasting power will ensure that no ill-prepared souls force their way into Heaven and pass to the Beyond as less perfect beings.”
Flynn lowered the shell from his ear, slipping it in his vest pocket. “We have to hurry. He’s going to kill her. And he has every reason to.”
*
Flynn had explained as much as he could between breaths as they ran up the hill. Even in their haste, they were no match for the speed that Poe’s fury had brought. By the time they reached the gates of Heaven, they were wide open. The interim Guardian Gretz, who had been shoved against the wall, was only just recovering, rubbing the fresh lump on the back of her head.
“He came at me so suddenly, made demands,” she stammered as Chari soothed the pain she suffered. “I asked him to calm and he wouldn’t.”
The sword Poe had lent her, the Searing Truth, was gone. A body lay nearby, its skin vaguely charred; what wasn’t destroyed glowed red.
“An Infernal,” she explained. “It came a few hours before. I wasn’t certain what to do with the body when the Guardian came.”
“We’re going to have to hurry,” Chari said, massaging the back of her own now-aching head. “He’s going to kill her.”
“Are there fucks we currently give?” Jean asked. “Cybel was kinda a bitch.”
“The Archangel guards the way to something much more powerful,” Flynn reminded her. “I’m more worried about what will happen to Poe if he has his revenge.”
That rationale was enough. Gretz closed the gates of Heaven behind them. Exhausted as they were from the long walk out of the Dying Lands, the hurried stride up the ivory path and the need for sleep was taking its toll on them. Zaja fell behind first, Chari second. Flynn’s legs burned as he scrambled over the hills of Heaven, nearing Cybel’s cloistered sanctuary.
When he burst in, Flynn found the spiraled curtains in shreds and Cybel’s attendants either wounded or dead. Cybel herself was at least a foot off the ground … held up by her throat. The Dark Sword was plunged in the back of one of her attendants.
“Idiot boy!” she gasped, enraged. “You have no idea what I can do!”
“Foremost, Archangel,” Poe viciously replied, “I will see if you can die.”
Flynn moved in, trying to get around the Guardian. “Poe, think for a moment!”
“I am settled in this!” He twisted uncomfortably, sliding Cybel’s uplifted form against the wall to point the Searing Truth at Flynn. “Generations lost for the pleasure of this woman’s carnal indulgences!”
It was a difficult accusation to contest.
Jean and Mack caught up just then, the latter helping the former along. Little doubt Chari and Zaja weren’t far behind.
“What a mess …” Mack noted.
Quickly sheathing his lesser sword, Poe let Cybel drop for a moment, choking and coughing. Taking up the Dark Sword, he pressed it against her throat before she could recover. Yet she found enough strength to catch his arm, barely holding the blade at bay.
“Struggle,” Poe encouraged her darkly. “I want to watch as your strength fades under the weight of the very power you granted my ancestress.”
Cybel’s eyes danced, then settled on Flynn. “This is all your fault … petty tanij senus.”
Flynn blinked. Whatever scorn Cybel spat at him, the meaning had fallen short. She struggled to raise her hand, and white light coalesced in it. Flynn felt her anger and knew that what she was about to let loose was aimed directly at him. Yet before she could release it, Poe caught her hand in his, crushing her digits. Whatever power she had hoped to unleash faded into him as he bent her arm down; Cybel let out a shrill cry of pain.
“You have lived too long on the backs of my kin!” Poe yelled. “And I hold you in contempt for what I have become! Now die!”
Poe drew back and brought the Dark Sword down upon Cybel, who had slumped low. The strike was perfect—her head should have cleaved in half, spilling brain and bone to the pristine floor. Yet the blade halted only inches away, just short of Cybel’s arm, which she’d raised up defensively. Poe’s blade arm quivered, its contents trembling equally.
“No … no!” he cried out, fury now matched by fear. “What is this? What cruelty is this?! I will not be denied now! Not after all that I have suffered, all that I have been molded into!”
Chari and Zaja had arrived just in time to see the final act. Both panted heavily, unsure of what to make of the scene before them. Cybel, expecting to have seen her arm chopped off, looked at it with a sense
of wonder, as though a god had just personally intervened on her behalf.
“Why … can’t I?” Poe was desperate. “I want to—”
You do not. The voice was in Flynn’s mind. So often did he hear them, sometimes without meaning, that he nearly mistook it for someone he’d known before, save that he couldn’t place it. What was more, his companions were as confused as he, having clearly heard what he heard. Poe heard too, and redoubled his efforts, though at such proximity, the strike would be brutal and messy.
Lower your blade, Guardian. Lower your twisted blade—the blade that reflects your twisted heart.
“No,” Poe gasped heavily, nearly ready to faint. “No … I hate … hate …”
“Roxanne?” Cybel named the voice. The Mystik of Love.
There is no room for hate in Heaven, Guardian. There is only room for love.
Poe could no longer endure his assault on Cybel, and she immediately tried to scramble away. He brought his other fist out, stopping her before she could slip far.
You have tormented yourself enough, Guardian. Let your hatred go.
Cybel ducked through and ran out the door. Flynn looked back, expecting Jean to stop her, or possibly Chari. None did, either from the Mystik’s influence, or perhaps from an unwillingness to get caught up in Poe’s vendetta. The Guardian fell to his knees.
Your hate fades with her absence, if only a little.
Whether this was true or not, Poe looked up as though he had a new subject to focus his animosity upon. “Why did you stop me?” he raged. “She used me and those who came before me!”
I know that now. I felt Unamia’s will resonate as it entered Heaven. But Cybel is not without hope or use.
Poe’s anger turned on his allies, and he scanned each, doubtless wondering whom to blame for this violation. Flynn said nothing, but suspected that the seashell in his pocket was incidental at best. This Roxanne had better use for an excuse than a reason.
You, Guardian, lack value to me. But there are others who may yet have purpose for you. And I would have your animosity leave this holy place.
“So … that’s it?” Zaja asked the ceiling. “You’re kicking us out?”
On the far side of the chamber, a door opened. A luminescent path and a spiral staircase climbing the ivory tower awaited.
I invite you up, blue child. I can provide a conduit.
Flynn was tense in approaching Poe. But he did, walking up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Solidarity was all the comfort he could share.
“We’ll take her invitation and our leave of this place,” Poe conceded, “before my hatred consumes me.” He shook his head, disappointed. “I will never have Cybel. All for the capricious mercy of a goddess.”
The walls ahead glowed more brightly than the way into Heaven itself had. Poe was the first to begin the circular climb to the tower’s peak, and for his own purposes, Flynn knew he had gotten what he wanted. All it took was the disillusionment of one damaged soul.
Chapter Seventeen: Certain Sacrifices
Roxanne’s ivory tower was blinding from within and even with his spectacles, Flynn could see only the barest of edges, for there were no shadows cast. At the eventual peak of the ivory spire, a passageway opened into a bedchamber. There was no sign of anyone inside, but for the satin bed, surrounded by a thicket of fragile curtains. A hand reached out from between the folds, setting a teacup on the bed stand before retracting quickly. Flynn could see a woman’s body sitting upright. She was alone and, near as he could tell, clothed.
Not so brazen as Cybel, it seems, he observed.
“Please come, sit,” Roxanne implored. “Forgive me if I do not show my face. I have been Mystik of Love for several lifetimes—my power radiates too brightly to be looked upon by mortal eyes.”
Most of the others sat upon the plush pillows scattered on the floor, save for Poe, who remained standing.
As Mack moved to settle in, he asked, “What’s this ‘mortal eye’ business? We just met the Mystik of Death a couple days ago and—y’know, actually? Pretty easy on the eye.” Mack tapped his stitched eye indicatively.
“Ji Ketga became a god long after I did,” Roxanne explained. “When he has held his power as long as I have, you may not find Death’s visage so pleasing.”
“The self-styled goddess of death is a woman,” Chari piped in, skeptical of the person behind the curtain. “Scytha? She is one of your own.”
Roxanne just laughed softly, warmly.
“How embarrassing. It seems much has transpired during my long slumber. I awoke only recently to find my house in such disarray. But you six—you are Airia’s chosen, are you not?”
It was a name Flynn hadn’t expected to hear— though he knew he should have. Scytha had known of Airia back when they’d spoken on Oma; why then shouldn’t this Mystik of Love know as well?
“You know her?”
“I have been in communion with her for some time. I knew a pure-hearted boy,” Roxanne’s voice softened to earnest warmth here, “with strange, pointy ears would be coming to see me.”
Jean snorted. “Pure?!” Flynn didn’t say anything, and didn’t appreciate her tone … but he shared her shock. “Ya wouldn’t think that for some of the shit I’ve hit him for.”
“I—I’m not pure—” he sputtered, at a loss.
“You are.” Roxanne’s gentle tone silenced him. “It is that purity that has connected you to the gates between worlds. It has allowed you to open them.”
This knowledge sat ill with Flynn. It seemed disingenuous for all he knew about himself—even that which he’d not yet shared—that his unique talent should have such origins.
“That … doesn’t make any sense.”
“You simply do not understand yourself.” There was a kindness in the Mystik’s tone.
“Then he is not alone,” Poe stepped up, approaching Roxanne’s bed. “Why did you stop me, Mystik? After all the cruelty of Cybel’s exploitation, her death was the least pittance you could grant.”
“It was necessary, to preserve the sliver inside you.” She reached out, her hand pressing through the curtains to touch Poe. He recoiled, distrustful of the woman who had taken his revenge from him. “You have it in you: Slender potential to become a god.”
The truth was revealed. All of Flynn’s clever words had been undone with a few earnest and direct ones. Poe looked to him for some confirmation, and Flynn nodded. Better to keep Poe’s confidence now with the absurd truth than abate it with an easy lie. For his part, Poe was having trouble taking in this new information. It was as though something had crawled inside his mind and refused to settle.
“You are very close now,” Roxanne continued. “You need only find the power Airia left for you and claim it for yourself. Then you can confront the errant god Taryl Renivar, as a dozen have before. And with her power, you can strike him down.”
“What … what lunacy is this?” Poe demanded. “I’m of rare stock, yes, but I know well that was I born of this world because of the weight of my sins! How am I a better man for this task than any other?”
“There are few qualified,” Roxanne replied, “and you are uniquely chosen. You are a warrior, Guardian Poe.”
He’s an assassin, Flynn corrected to himself. Warriors have fought Taryl Renivar before. Airia Rousow only ever wanted someone to undo the damage left by her trinity, and she wanted someone with the certain skill to realize it. Could a murderer like Poe be a better god than a priest who lost his way? Flynn said nothing, but wondered privately, What have we become party to?
“So, what about the rest of us?” Zaja asked. “I mean, I’m mostly along for the ride, but if Poe’s here and you’re gonna send him there—wherever there is—what do the rest of us do?”
“The rest of you are no longer needed, Omati girl,” the goddess replied. “Poe can continue alone. You are free of obligation and duty.”
Jean, Mack, and Chari looked to Flynn—they had followed him this far. There were other w
ays from the World Between Heaven and Hell; he had sensed them, and any one might lead someplace better for all of them. But there was Poe—Flynn had pulled him free of his bloody delusion, knowing what he was to become. Though Guardian Poe might find the power of the Mystik of Eternity, what would he do with it once his purpose was complete? Flynn’s gift, his bread and butter, lay in befriending people, in manipulating them. Was it possible to manipulate a lesser man into being a better one? Did he have the right to claim mentorship to a god-to-be?
“We’re going with him.”
Poe turned to look at Flynn, nodding once. “If you wish it.”
“Well, that answers my question,” Zaja said, kicking back.
The goddess was still for a moment, “Are you certain? If you go with him now, whatever his fate, you will share it.”
Flynn nodded confidently. If Roxanne had any further misgivings, she kept them private. Gesturing elaborately with her arm, the goddess raised it up and then drew it down. As she did so, a rift opened, flickering unstably. All the portals Flynn had seen before were old, worn in, but this gateway was new and raw and would probably not remain after they passed through.
“Take your leave of me then, all of you,” she said. “But if you are brave, then believe this: Brighter days are coming.”
Poe was the first to leave and Flynn waited, as always, until the others had all passed him by. Standing by the way to Poe’s destiny, he wavered.
“What keeps you, child?” the Mystik of Love asked.
“I’m always the last through,” he told her plainly, “to keep the way open.” Looking at the rift, he realized, “It’s the first time I haven’t been needed.” Faced with an aspect of the power that Poe sought, Flynn knew then his use might eventually expire. Pure-hearted indeed. But it wasn’t about him; Flynn understood that: It was never about him. There was no turning back. He followed the others through.
*
The transit was routine: an enveloping blue light, the connection between two worlds crossed in moments. Flynn came out as suddenly as ever, and by chance landed on his feet. He dropped from the impact and the flat of his hands met soil, dry and barren but for scattered patches of grass. It was dark, but there were fires about, lighting the way. A spear pressed against his back.
Outcasts of the Worlds Page 38
