Keystones: Altered Destinies

by Alexander McKinney

  “Tell anyone that I’m not a guy,” replied Slate curtly, “and you will regret it.”

  “Vinicius, can you keep a secret?” Deklan asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

  A wide-eyed Vinicius nodded.

  “Only you and I know that Slate is a lady. We’re going to keep it that way, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Deklan reached out with his hand, and they shared a solemn handshake. “Great. Now try not to be scared when she changes back. Then we’re going to go. Can I ask you a favor too?”

  Vinicius cocked his head at Deklan, waiting for what he was going to request.

  “Are there any shirts here that might fit me? I’ve been going through a lot of shirts, and this one is a little bit ruined now.”

  Vinicius sounded uncertain. “My dad had shirts.”

  “Do you want to show me where they are and help me pick one out?”

  The boy nodded again.

  Deklan allowed Vinicius to take him by the hand and lead him to the master bedroom’s closet. He called back to the living room, “Slate, are you going to help or just comment sardonically on whatever I choose to wear?”

  Slate followed Deklan and the boy into the walk-in closet.

  “What do you think, Vinicius? What should I wear?” he asked with forced cheer, trying to get the kid to talk.

  Slate interrupted before Vinicius could answer: “No wonder you dress so poorly. You don’t know what to wear.”

  Deklan frowned at her and wrinkled his nose. “Somehow it’s creepier when comments like that come from a pretty face. I like you better when you look like unholy spawn.”

  “Fine,” retorted Slate, initiating the process that would restore her eyeless mask. All traces of who she actually was vanished one by one. Her eyes disappeared; her nose receded; her hair and ears concealed themselves. All signs of age, gender, and facial expression smoothed out like creased linen being pulled taut. In her deep voice she asked, “Is this better?”

  Deklan watched as the mouth opened on the featureless face, revealing itself only long enough to emit her words before again becoming invisible. It was hard to believe that she was the woman with whom he’d just been conversing. “I like her better like this,” he confided to Vinicius in a stage whisper. “When she says mean things, which she always does, it just seems more appropriate. She’s too pretty the other way. Then her face doesn’t match her words.”

  Slate tilted her head and looked at him. It was amazing how even that blank face could show confusion.

  Problems immediately arose as the three left the apartment. Deklan discovered that Slate could teleport only one person with her at a time. “So are you just going to leave me?” he asked. Deklan expected that but had hoped it would be longer before she abandoned him.

  “No,” she replied. “I’m just going to have to go back and forth a lot. It would help if you ran over areas where you can and save me the energy.”

  That was better news than he’d expected. “Like where?”

  “Like here.” Slate touched Vinicius’s shoulder and teleported down the hallway. “Do keep up.” Deklan was surprised by the comment, which seemed very British for a young woman from Boa Vista.

  Deklan spent a good deal more time running than he had before. Slate chose to teleport back for him only when crossing the chasms between buildings or balconies.

  Vinicius meanwhile adapted to Slate’s horrifying appearance, secure in the knowledge that under her monstrous disguise was a normal person.

  Traveling with another Keystone was exhausting but liberating. With his parents and Susan, Deklan had felt compelled to scout back and forth, investigating every possible route. He also had been forced to pace himself so as not to leave them behind. With Slate, however, he found that he was the one lagging behind and that he was crossing the city faster than he would have believed possible.

  Deklan was also tiring at a phenomenal rate. Coming to a halt at the edge of another rooftop, his heart ready to burst and his tongue feeling tight in his mouth, he called out to Slate, “Stop! I need a break. How much farther?”

  Slate dismissed his need for rest. “You’re doing fine, and we’re at the perimeter now.”

  “I can barely breathe,” he replied between gasps, his chest heaving and lungs burning.

  “Then you should focus on recovering quickly. We’re approaching the undeveloped land surrounding the terminal.”

  Deklan nodded and kept his speech to a minimum. “How far?”

  “Three blocks.” Slate took pity on Deklan and teleported him the rest of the way across to a rooftop. There was an odd crater on the roof that Deklan ignored because he was too tired to care.

  “What now?” he asked, lying on the ground and waiting for his breath to return to its normal rate.

  “Well, now it’s worse. I can’t come back for you.” Slate sounded apologetic.

  “Meaning what?” asked Deklan, though he was pretty sure that he already knew.

  She sounded annoyed to have to spell things out for him. “Meaning that if you weren’t on the ground struggling for oxygen, you’d see that there is a wide open space that we have to cross. I’m going to teleport myself and Vinicius across it. You’re going to have to make a run for it.”

  “I’ve been running for the last hour.”

  Slate’s tone made it clear that there was no possibility of negotiation. “I can’t go back and forth as I did before. It’s too far. I’d be leaving the child at risk.”

  Deklan understood and even agreed with the logic, while disliking its negative implications for him. “Fine. The perimeter looks quiet at the moment. I’ll run it and hope for the best. Will you teleport me to the ground?”

  “Yes.”

  Not one to linger, Slate took Deklan’s arm, and a moment later they stood on the turf at the base of the building. Slate nodded farewell before she turned.

  Deklan expected her to vanish at any second. Instead, Slate hesitated. As she swiveled back toward Deklan, her outstretched hands held a sheathed knife and a holstered gun. “Here,” she said. “These will make your life a little easier.” Her voice was low and rough, as though she begrudged the action.

  Deklan thanked her and accepted the weapons. He didn’t dare say much else lest she change her mind about the gifts.

  Slate nodded, seemingly embarrassed by the moment of compassion. “That’s the last help you’re getting from me,” she said before teleporting back to the rooftop.

  Deklan turned his attention to the knife. Fifteen centimeters long and matte silver, the blade flowed into the handle, its smooth curvature interrupted only by a pressure switch on the pommel. It was a Zephyr, so named because when activated it sliced through almost anything. Having one was illegal.

  Deklan activated the Zephyr and felt it come to life in his hand. Nervous at first, he slashed the side of the building and watched a small piece of masonry fall to the ground. The cut was a clean line. The Zephyr itself showed no abrasions or signs of use. Deklan carefully strapped the knife to his leg.

  The gun surprised Deklan less. It was a large-caliber weapon, nickel-plated with a black rubber grip. It too he strapped to his body. He had little experience with either firearms or knives, but at the very least he could use them for their intimidation value.

  He watched as Slate and Vinicius vanished across the torn but quiet green space, leaving him abandoned for the second time that day.

  Steeling himself, he prepared for the next phase of his journey to the Elevator. There didn’t seem to be much activity, and he didn’t know what to wait for, so he trekked across the perimeter, keeping within a safe distance from the blocked road to the terminal but just inside the tree line so as not to feel exposed.

  Mutuari

  Deklan sat under a tree, his head leaning against its gnarled bark, his eyes closed, and his teeth gritted. His fingers grasped his leg just under the left knee. Scant centimeters below his fingers was the object of his frustration—a quill embedded
in his calf.

  The donor of the quill lay on the ground next to him, the Zephyr driven through its head. Two meters long and covered in more quills, the creature had three quadruple-jointed, leg-like appendages that all met at the animal’s middle. Both ends of the beast had mouths lined with vicious teeth. At one end were eyes. That was where Deklan had impaled its skull.

  His fingers brushed against the quill, each little tap sending a jolt through him. His hands drew back. This was his third attempt to extract the quill. Each time he’d shied away from the pain that he knew would come.

  “Hello, Chain,” said a drawling but menacing voice somewhere behind Deklan’s tree. Deklan had encountered others in the parkland between the perimeter and the Elevator, but no one had announced his presence unless preparing to fight someone. For the most part people tried to move about unseen and unheard.

  “Come back for a rematch, Mutuari?” The other voice was familiar.

  “Mutuari,” thought Deklan. That was Latin for “to borrow.” Who would have that as a name? He didn’t have time to get distracted by silly questions, and had to focus on his leg.

  Deklan’s right and left hands wrapped themselves around the portion of the quill that protruded from his calf and pulled. Fireworks of pain were followed by relief. He held the quill up with one hand and rotated it. Long and thin but unbroken, it was coated in a sheen of his blood. His leg, though tender, could move again without stabs of agony.

  The slow drawl drew his attention again. “Is that what you think this is? I see it a little differently.”

  Careful to stay hidden, Deklan peered around the tree to see who was speaking. Two men stood in a clearing not more than five meters apart. The shade from tall trees obscured the features of the more distant of the pair.

  The same voice continued, “I’m here to put you in your place.” The speaker was dressed in immaculate white attire that matched his closely cropped hair.

  The other man stepped toward his opponent, bringing his face out of the shadows. His voice was pure venom. “Put me in my place? You may forget that I sent you running like a dog.” This speaker Deklan knew, having stared into his eyes while he bled out on the ground. This Keystone had stolen his Uplink and left him to die. Deklan watched, unable to tear his eyes from the confrontation.

  “Like a dog?” Mutuari’s voice conveyed amusement. “Think you can do it twice?”

  “With pleasure,” Chain sneered, unleashing a glowing chain of purple energy that bit into Mutuari’s pristine suit. There it stopped, however, connecting the two men link by link.

  “Oh dear, that wasn’t the best you can do, was it?” Mutuari sounded entertained. He stepped closer to his adversary.

  Chain’s hand launched another bolt, which this time hit Mutuari’s face. The man in white collapsed forward at the knees and lay motionless. Chain gloated: “No, it was not like sending a dog running. This time it was more like simply slaughtering an animal.”

  Just then Mutuari’s hand lashed out and wrapped around Chain’s ankle. Where the chain had hit him, his face was stripped of skin, exposing a subsurface of shiny metal instead of bone. What remained untouched wasn’t much better as it was covered in old burn scars.

  Chain’s hands jerked spasmodically back and forth. “You took it,” he gasped in disbelief.

  Mutuari stood, raised a hand, and with a careless gesture sent glowing links toward a nearby tree. A thick branch sheared off. “I didn’t take it,” he declared. “I borrowed it. One day I may give it back if I find something better.”

  This Keystone, realized Deklan with considerable trepidation, could steal the abilities of others.

  Mutuari patted Chain’s cheek and spoke with the oily condescension of one who knows he holds the advantage. “You’ve lived a lifetime without this. You’ll be fine.” He placed a hand on Chain’s left wrist. Chain screamed and jerked his arm away, toppling over in the process. On the ground he made no move to run but clutched his arm to his chest. Deklan blanched when he saw that the arm ended in a stump.

  Mutuari bent over to pick up the still bloody hand. “Do you mind if I keep this?” he asked. His voice grew colder. “Now, before I change my mind and kill you with your own power, run.”

  Deklan decided to follow suit and run before Mutuari discovered him and appropriated his Keystone power. Deklan’s legs found new life and devoured the ground beneath him. Trees and bushes flashed by, but urgency faded with distance. Deklan paused to take stock of his situation and reorient himself relative to the Elevator.

  A clipped British voice spoke in his ear, “You’re a long way from home, lad.”

  Deklan whirled to find no one there, but these were the same words that Chain had spoken before tearing Deklan apart,, just as Mutuari now could with his stolen powers.

  Shame burned cold on his face. Cowardice had been his most consistent trait since The Sweep, he realized. He had run from his problems in New York. He hadn’t warned other people aside from his parents and Susan. Now he was running from a homicidal Keystone who was only going to get more powerful.

  Deklan’s fingers found the pistol that Slate had given him. A gunshot to the eyes, he thought, should be lethal. Maybe Mutuari wasn’t invulnerable after all.

  Retracing the way he’d come, Deklan arrived at the tree behind which he’d originally cowered as a bastion of safety. Deklan’s heart stopped when he saw an empty space where the Zephyr should have been resting.

  Scant minutes had passed since he’d left the blade behind. For someone to have taken it, a person would almost have to have been following him. Deklan looked around. The missing knife made him that much less confident. He’d been relying on having it to attack Mutuari. The idea of someone nearby with a Zephyr was not a pleasant one. He had to find Mutuari and rely on his gun.

  The clearing behind was empty, but Deklan hoped that Mutuari hadn’t gone far. Confident that he would have seen him had Mutuari gone in the direction that Deklan had fled, he was left with only one option: head away from the terminal to pursue his quarry.

  As Deklan jogged, he heard sobs and whimpers in the distance. He picked up his pace to a run as he homed in on the sounds.

  As he burst into another clearing, his half-formed plans for taking Mutuari unawares evaporated. There stood Mutuari looming over a crying woman. For a moment Deklan thought it was Susan. For that moment he didn’t think.

  His gun came up automatically, Mutuari’s head centered in his sights.

  His finger pulled the trigger once, then again and again and again.

  Each round found its mark and crashed against the back of Mutuari’s head.

  Deklan watched, hopeful that it would be that easy, but was unsurprised when Mutuari turned to face him, his female victim abandoned. Small silver marks on the back of his head were the only indications of the bullets’ impact.

  The scar on his face jumped out at Deklan. It was a melted imprint of a human hand inset into his cheek. “Seems we’re having a misunderstanding here,” said Mutuari. His friendly drawl accentuated the oddity of his metallic face. He raised a hand and fired links of chain at Deklan.

  The glowing chains passed through the place where Deklan, having anticipated the attack, had stood before diving to the side. Another purple chain shot past, missing Deklan by only centimeters.

  Throwing back his head and letting out a chilling laugh, Mutuari continued in his drawl, “You’ve come at just the right time. I really haven’t had a chance to try this out properly.”

  A hailstorm of glowing chains surrounded Deklan, all missing him by just a little. Deklan knew that he couldn’t count on Mutuari’s inexperience to keep him safe. He had to get inside the tree line and hope that Mutuari would follow him.

  Thought became action as Deklan again dove, this time out of the clearing and toward the refuge offered behind a tree. As he landed, his feet slipped on twisted and moss-covered roots. He tried to regain his balance by reaching for the tree’s trunk. As his left hand made conta
ct with bark, a chain tore through the tree from the far side and sheared off two of Deklan’s fingers.

  A scream tore through his throat as his eyes darted between his smashed hand and his severed fingers on the ground.

  Just then a voice above him said, “Excuse me.” Turning his gaze upward, Deklan saw Mutuari’s ruined face set in a smile that sent cold daggers of terror down Deklan’s spine.

  Drawing his gun from its holster, Deklan fired at the assassin’s right eye. Mutuari closed both eyes and turned his head, but not fast enough to prevent the bullet from pinging off to reveal a polished orb underneath the flesh.

  Mutuari roared, but it sounded more like outrage than pain. His uninjured left eye burned with fury. “It’s time for this game to end,” he declared, raising both of his hands.

  Deklan fired again at Mutuari’s face and dove between his legs. As Mutuari’s head jerked from the round’s impact, Deklan was able to pivot on the ground and spring toward Mutuari’s back. He pushed him forward and off balance, face down into the dirt.

  Now atop his assailant, Deklan concentrated his weight on Mutuari’s shoulders and head. Mutuari’s hands flailed against the ground while he emitted muffled yells. Soon, however, he turned his hands palm-side up, firing purple energy that drew closer to Deklan with every blast.

  Mutuari turned his head to the side and took a loud breath. Deklan shoved his gun’s muzzle between Mutuari’s gasping lips and emptied the clip in an attempt to choke the man with bullets.

  Mutuari gagged for only a moment before grabbing the gun with both hands and pulling it from his mouth. The failed attempt left Deklan off balance. Mutuari dislodged him and rolled onto his side, where he spat out the slugs like wads of gum. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the firearm aside with his left hand and seized Deklan with his right. Knowing that he was back in control, he said slowly, “You have a power, don’t you?”