…Oh, God, were they crying? The sound in the air was distinctly weeping, or moaning? Singing? Did they sing? It was weeping, begging, and mournful singing all at once. It was the most disturbing sound he had ever heard, and it gripped his body like lead.
As Victorio gawked at the scene he noticed where the apex of the chaos was. Inky cracks, like veins, all lead to a stage in the center of the deck. Large, expensive movie cameras mounted on tripods were long knocked over, and when upright would have focused on a man shouting above the scene. The white guy was gaunt, tall, covered from head to toe in black leather and piercings, and long, black (probably dyed) hair trailing down his back—currently a mess. He held the wrist of a girl about Victorio's age in one hand, a heavy, leather tome in the other. While the girl struggled in his grip, he shouted to all on the boat: “They’re mine! Stop panicking, I called them—they will listen! Everyone stop.”
That guy…summoned the Empty?
The moment of grounding himself ended as Victorio felt Brasil and Gatina leap past him. His jaw again went slack as he watched the cartoon cat and dog run straight at the Empty with not even the slightest hesitation. Gatina even cackled with glee and waved her wand in an arc that lit up with blue flame—okay, that was close to the show, even if a little intense.
Brasil gave a short kiss to both his knuckles before rushing forward, and runes lit up on the wraps around his arms and fists (had those been on there the whole time?). He darted at the nearest Empty, ducked a swipe, then in perfect boxing form, struck the creature. Okay, that wasn’t like Wandering Stars. Cartoon characters on shows for little kids couldn’t hit things: whenever Brasil fought he always shot some kind of energy blast. In this reality, however, a sound almost like glass breaking followed, a large chunk of the thing’s face crumbled off, and Brasil continued to pound mercilessly into the shadow.
Victorio swallowed hard. They hadn’t needed a signal, and they just jumped in ready to fight. So what was keeping him? He was supposed to be the chosen one. He clenched his jaw and blocked out the screaming of the people on the boat, and the gut-wrenching sound the Empty made. He jumped off the deck of the Runner onto the asphalt of the carrier.
Then he surged forward. But it wasn’t him. A feeling shuddered through his arms and moved him like a puppet on strings. It was the Spear. It spun and slashed, and Victorio struggled to regain control of his arms. He couldn’t stop it, even though he was terrified. He was blocking swipes of inky claws, he was dodging and rolling, but none of it was his own doing. And every time he met eyes with one of the Empty, he could swear it howled in terror before being torn asunder.
“You’re doing great!” Brasil called to him.
“I can’t stop it,” Victorio cried out. “I’m not doing this!”
“The Spear is teaching you,” Gatina’s voice answered. “Go with it, you probably have a lot to learn.”
Learn? Was this learning? What, was there going to be some kind of test? How was he supposed to replicate any of this later? What if it was always like this? How was he supposed to learn when all he wanted was to stop—
He stopped. Victorio blinked, glancing around him to see himself in the middle of the stage and the throbbing veins of the Empty’s power. He turned around and locked eyes with the guy gripping the book, who stared at him wide-eyed. It was difficult to tell what the expression conveyed; it was somewhere between fear and a hateful sneer. Much easier to gauge was the clear horror of the girl beside him, her face pale, and her blonde hair mussed out of a long braid.
“You called the Empty?” Victorio said, honestly not sure what else to say.
“What are you?” the man whispered between ragged breaths.
“Victorio!” Brasil called from the battle. “The Spear. Dispel them, what are you waiting for?”
“Wait!” the man blurted, holding out a hand. “This…I can fix this. I meant for this, I swear.”
Victorio curled a lip at him in confusion. This guy was stupid. Whatever. He gripped the Spear and felt something surge through him, something powerful. This he didn’t need to fight and required no explanation. A chorus of dismay sang from the Empty, and he felt his arms raise the Spear above his head. Distantly, he could hear more along the lines of how this was all meant to happen, but it was all far away.
Light all around him, and a violent swing downward. The spearhead slammed into a glowing sigil on the stage, and then every bit of power in him burst out. Wind knocked down the man and the girl and swept over the deck. The tipped cameras skidded further, and while the energy whipped through the other people on deck none of them were more than startled. The Empty, on the other hand, ripped apart, and their screams finally faded and left only the soft sounds of breeze and ocean around him.
Almost tentatively, Victorio straightened and lowered the Spear to his side. Dryly he swallowed and noted the shiver in his arms and legs as he had just finished running a few miles without nearly enough breakfast. He looked all around him and realized that every single eye on deck was on himself. The shaking and breathless crowd on the carrier regarded him, steadying themselves and numbly taking in the damage. Whispers followed.
As Brasil and Gatina strolled with confidence toward the stage, the dog stretched out his shoulder and smiled while the cat skipped—and was that purring he heard?
“Well done,” a smooth, deep voice cut the air, followed by a slow, steady clap.
Startled by the break in the silence, Victorio turned around to face the guy in leather, who was smiling at him. Suddenly thunderous applause broke out all around deck, causing him to jump slightly and spin back to the crowd. Even though everyone on that ship owed their lives to Victorio, it was weird seeing people act like it. He awkwardly waved to the grateful audience, then felt a hand on his shoulder. The guy in black’s smile wasn’t nearly as friendly as it looked for some reason Victorio couldn’t place, but he knew he didn’t like the guy touching him, and he cringed slightly.
“You did well,” he whispered to Victorio, so low that no one else would hear. “And I’ll reward you if you just let me handle the rest. I’ll speak to them, just don’t interrupt, okay? You got that?”
“Uh…okay?” he mumbled, unnerved by this strange adult in his space.
The man’s face shifted, and he theatrically turned to the crowd—in an instant, they all silenced. “Our faith has been rewarded. The summoning was interrupted,” he began, his booted heels clacking on the stage as he neared its edge, “then those shadows came. But as you can see…I called forces to protect us, and our shared energy answered with…these soldiers. Thank you, travelers.” He added a short bow to Victorio, and most of those on the deck dragged themselves to their knees, though some remained still and looked particularly shell-shocked.
“Don’t you dare!” Gatina howled at him.
“Allow us to show our gratitude,” the man called back, undaunted by her. “Anything that will make your battle—”
“No!” she snapped, stamping a foot on the ground.
Victorio would have expected Brasil to chide Gatina like normal, but instead, he only folded his arms over his chest and glowered at the speaker bitterly. “We’re not pulling your hind outta this fire. Simmer in it.”
Gatina stormed forward, and Victorio saw the guy take a step back. He was doing a good job hiding it, but he was shaken by Gatina and Brasil. “You,” she hissed at him. “The Empty would have never come through if you hadn’t been—what? Showing off? Let me guess, these are your followers?”
“We’re a collection— ”
“Shut up, you liar!” she shouted. “You’re a cult leader. You’re a greasy, money grubbing, oversexed, disease-ridden, disgusting cult leader and you’re all the same! Every last one of you. You think you’re special?”
He tried to speak over her, waving his hands, loudly proclaiming gratitude and starting to spout some kind of New Age crap. Now that Gatina had spelled it out, it suddenly made so much sense: all the people wearing the same clothes, the
cameras, the boat in the middle of probably international waters…this was totally some cult. As the leader tried to drown her out, Brasil shook his head and turned back to the audience, gesturing toward their leader like ‘Can you believe this guy?’
Gatina only shouted insults louder and held up her wand in front of her mouth. Suddenly her voice boomed out of it like a mic connected to giant concert speakers. “And you will not get me to shut up!” she howled. “You shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up—you nearly destroyed your entire world to show off—just shut up for once in your stupid life!”
Her voice shook the boat and Victorio had to cup his hands over his ears from the screeching. Gatina shook with rage, her heaving breaths moving her shoulders. “Just, just shut up,” she seethed, her voice cracking. “You nearly destroyed everything. You didn't save anyone, you nearly killed them all.”
“Whatdya say?” Brasil called out during the pause that followed. “Anyone want a ride to shore? The Twilight Runner will take anyone tired of being manipulated.”
During all this, Victorio had been paying attention to the cult leader’s shadow, the girl staring at her feet. He tilted his head to the side, trying to put something together. Something very important that was desperately trying to make sense, screaming at the back of his brain. The way the cult leader had been holding on to her wrist, that thousand-yard stare she had, the way she blinked and curled further in on herself when she saw Victorio staring.
As murmurs were going through the deck and Brasil started bringing down the Runner’s gangplank (much to the leader’s protests), Victorio decided to act on a hunch. “You want to get away from this douchebag?” he said calmly to her.
Her brown eyes snapped to him, and her mouth opened and shut several times. “L-Leave Demios?”
Like he had been struck from behind, Demios spun on Victorio and the girl. “She has nothing to do with you,” he snapped. “You want to take members of my community, fine. Fine. Get to it and leave the loyal ones here.”
A taste of bile rose up in Victorio, especially when the girl flinched at Demios raising his tone. Victorio wanted to be wrong, but he had seen so many cop drama shows, her presence there made too much sense. “You really are a douchebag. You know what? She’s leaving. Neither of you gets to argue, she’s getting away from you.”
Her eyes shifted between Victorio and Demios, then she darted toward Victorio. Demios let out sounds like a string of curses and a dog barking simultaneously, which Victorio answered with a firm thrust of the Spear. Demios immediately froze with the spear tip pointed at his face, shaking with fury.
“Polyhemnia…” he growled low. “Where can you go?”
“Shannon,” she whispered in the barest of breaths.
Victorio heard, though. “Her name is Shannon, you weird, creepy asshole,” Victorio said much louder. “Let’s go, Brasil.”
“Let’s go,” Brasil affirmed from the gangplank of the Twilight Runner as refugees began boarding.
“All of you!” Demios called. “Faithlessness will be punished, but f—” His head jerked back, his long hair swirled with the motion and then became a stringy curtain as he struggled with a large, garish sticker that covered his mouth and read ‘Do Not Open Until NEVER.’
Victorio nearly doubled over in surprised laughter as Gatina stomped toward the gangplank, every hair on her tail standing on end. She growled, “Let’s get off this stupid boat before I do worse.”
Still grinning, Victorio walked Shannon toward the Twilight Runner. Under her breath, Victorio heard her murmur, “I wish you all would.”
Uneasily Victorio shrugged and moved a hand toward her shoulder, but quickly stopped himself. “I dunno, Shannon,” he sighed. “Not today. Your world’s in one piece, something just wouldn’t be right about destroying something. Even…yeah. Just go home. You can. Home is cool.”
Her eyes looked to him for a moment, and the two of them boarded the Twilight Runner in silence.
Chapter Nine
The Cartesians' Burden
Time passed, days blending into weeks. Victorio wasn’t sure if Brasil and Gatina were trying to keep busy for their sake or his, but either way, they kept extremely busy. He found his control of the Spear growing, and its insistent control of him waning. It was simultaneously a relief and terrifying. Now it was up to him to fight the Empty, and he wasn’t nearly as good at it as the Spear had made him. He fell flat on his ass when he tried to duck and weave and blocking or parries didn’t come so easily.
Brasil was patient, helping Victorio make up for the Spear’s training with his own. The two of them spent a lot of time on the deck of the Twilight Runner, as Brasil drilled him on the best ways to keep his skin and bones intact.
For some reason, the idea of fighting the Empty no longer gnawed at him. It was little things that bugged him—like how several days in he suddenly realized it was strange that everywhere he went, no matter how unearthly that plane looked, everyone spoke some weird combination of English and Spanish. Like, somehow both, and for some reason, he couldn’t tell the difference? When he had brought this up, Gatina had actually laughed at him. He was the Spear Bearer, she reminded him, and piddling things like language weren’t a barrier anymore. That should have been the coolest thing ever, but instead, it was insulting. He had tried speaking Spanish to them and they said there wasn’t the slightest difference, even without the spell that Gatina used to translate languages for herself and Brasil. Another part of Victorio had just disappeared. Whatever it was he was speaking wasn’t really English, and certainly wasn’t his family’s language. Every last thing about his family was gone for good—and now all he had were Brasil and Gatina.
It was still strange to think of either of them as people. They were animals, after all, animals he knew first as cartoon characters. They didn’t exactly have deep conversations; for the most part, they gave him space. The three of them ate food together, and the other two would have boisterous, eager conversations about Cartesian stuff while Victorio felt a world’s distance separating them. They would tell stories and it honestly felt like listening to someone trying to describe more adult versions of episodes of Wandering Stars. Like, weird fanfiction you might find online written by creepy adults with too much time on their hands and who thought kids’ cartoons needed more violence and swearing.
Even though there should have been no time to be bored, he was a lot—largely because Victorio seemed to need sleep less and less. He used to love to sleep; his dad had been getting more and more irritable about him sleeping in on the weekends. But, like, now three hours were enough. He wasn’t tired, he didn’t have trouble concentrating; three hours seriously felt like enough. Even though all he wanted was sleep, he would just lay there in bed for hours at a time, and finally, he would get bored and sit on the deck of the ship and stare out over wherever they were at the time. What he wouldn’t do for some anime or video games. It wouldn’t even have to be a good game, just any game. One of those stupid gem games on a phone would be enough to save him from boredom. His cell phone had been in his pocket when he’d jumped the first time, but now he couldn’t get service anywhere, so none of his games would work. The one thing that could prevent boredom was useless.
After all, when he was bored the memories of home would come, and then the lethargic disinterest in the multiverse would return. According to Gatina, traveling through dimensions was also occasionally traveling through time, and time might pass differently in one plane as opposed to another. Which only made Victorio’s mind wander: how long had it been for his family and friends? Had it only been five minutes like some kind of Narnia stuff? Was Jimmy already in Oregon because Victorio hadn’t been able to help him? Had Victorio already missed his sister Angala’s quinceañera? The last one would lodge a lump in his throat, the knowledge that it didn’t even matter when it would happen because regardless, he would miss the smile on her fifteen-year-old face and the look of pride from crowds of extended family. He would never see that. Same
for her and Demario’s high school graduation, college graduation, their marriages, their first kids (maybe they wouldn’t have kids, who knew?), and every Christmas to come. He would miss his grandparents’ family dinners.
He would miss his parents’ funerals.
Then bitterness. How the hell was he supposed to care about the multiverse? Was all of it supposed to be home now? It didn’t feel like it.
Then, guilt, the look on Shannon’s face—that first real victim he knew he had saved. That mattered, right? Or did it? The Runner had taken all of the followers of the “Church of the Sunbright Arrow” to shore, but had that solved anything? Had Shannon really had a home to go back to or was she now in the foster system in that realm’s California?
Then, more guilt, but because he didn’t care either way. He just couldn’t care less.
✽✽✽
Another world purged of the Empty before its destruction, Victorio walked toward the Twilight Runner with the Spear resting against his shoulder.
“Feels good to just lay waste to these baddies,” Gatina began happily, rubbing her paws together. “It’s always tooth and nail if any of the Cartesian Guard have to defend themselves without a Spear Bearer.”
“Uh-huh,” Victorio mumbled idly.
Brasil heaved himself up the side of the boat, then offered a hand to Victorio. He pulled Victorio onto the deck, while Gatina simply waved her star-topped wand and joined them. Her buckled shoes lightly touched the wooden planks, and gravity eased onto her robes and skirt. Her tail swayed contentedly as she straightened her attire and readjusted her large, floppy hat. “Pretty good day’s work,” she chirped.
Victorio yawned heavily, spinning the Spear once and sending it away—this caused it to reappear on his wallet chain as the compass. He then lumbered toward the entrance to below decks. “Sure. Just like yesterday. And the day before that.”
Brasil’s hand went to Victorio’s arm before he walked off. “Hey, hey…Really, ye did great. It’s been nearly forty days, don’tcha think it’s time to stop talkin’ like that? I know we haven’t talked more than a bit about it, but you need to—”
Victorious Cross Page 6
