Resonance 4th Edits - Bleeding Worlds Bk 3

by Justus R. Stone

  “It’s been nine days,” she said, her eyes still shut and her body just as erect and motionless as it had been for the past four days.

  “I do not think you should be concerned. By your own account, you lived seven years within the Veil. And I see no ill effects.”

  She slapped her hand on the ground, sending a small tornado of loose papers into the air. Her eyes opened and focused on him with a ferocity that made him wish they’d remained shut.

  “I’ve also spent thousands of years practicing. You did what, spend a few hours talking then shoved him out the door?”

  Marduk shrugged.

  “A bird will only fly when it is shoved from the nest.”

  He regretted the words as soon as they’d left his mouth. She was in no mood for poetry, true or not. He expected his shop, and perhaps his own body, to suffer her rage.

  Instead, she slumped, her eyes falling from his and turning inward.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I forced my problem on you. I do not blame you for what you’ve done—universe knows we did worse in training you. I seem to have a habit of making you shoulder the burdens I can’t myself.”

  Marduk couldn’t suppress the smallest of smiles curling his lips. He gave a grandiose bow.

  “And yet here I stand, alive, powerful, and near enough content.”

  She nodded slightly.

  “I think that says more about you than it does us. Or maybe it says something about your father. Enkil was a good man. He deserved a better life than we gave him.”

  Marduk steadied his hand to keep the tea cup from dropping, managing to guide it to the desk with only a drop or two spilling. He came around the counter and slid two stacks of books so he could sit in front of her.

  “Are you, the mighty Tiamat, scourge of Sumeria, consort of the demon dragon Kingu, actually apologizing?”

  He laughed—a small chuckle at first, that quickly fell into his belly.

  “Have I died already, or are you trying to end my life from shock?”

  Adrastia drew a deep breath and let it out in a rush.

  “I doubt anything shocks you,” she said.

  “Perhaps not to death. But I still find things that surprise me. It is probably why I have chosen to keep living.”

  “But yes, I suppose I am apologizing. Seven years in the Veil, which we both know seemed far longer than that, gave me time to gain perspective. I started this journey with a single goal. Over time, it’s become muddied. Some days, I don’t even know who I am anymore. But I do know I’m someone who should apologize, who needs to say the sorries I’ve left unsaid until now.”

  Marduk rested his hand on her shoulder.

  “I accept your apology,” he said. “Though I also know you weren’t the true evil in that house.”

  “No, I was worse. I thought I could control him. I believed with enough council he would see his errors and cruelty. And when he didn’t, I did nothing to stop him. I just tried to council him some more, or to lessen the evils he wrought. But I could’ve stopped all of it if I had acted. I had the power advantage at one point. All I had to do was end him.” She drew a ragged breath. “But every time I looked at him, I saw my fa…” She shook her head. “I just couldn’t kill a child. By the time the boy was gone, so was my power advantage.”

  “And now you have found another you hope can finish the job you could not.”

  Adrastia buried her face in her hands.

  “What if I’ve killed him? I keep telling myself it was for his own good—so he could save himself when Cain came searching for him. But what if he’s gone? Cain will still come, and who will protect his wife and child? Who will explain to them why their beloved husband and father never returned?”

  “You will,” Marduk said. “Because if you have become the sort to seek penitence, and Gwynn is dead, that will be your only choice.”

  She unfolded her legs and stood, stretching her body toward the ceiling with a groan.

  “I should go check on them,” she said. “If Gwynn comes back, you’ll keep him here and tell him I’ll return in a few hours?”

  Marduk nodded.

  A shrill, staccato ringing, broke the silence.

  Marduk moved behind the counter, digging through piles of paper that exhaled plumes of dust into the air.

  After a moment, he pulled a black lump of plastic with a corded handset and rotary dial from the mess.

  He spewed a line of Arabic containing the name of the bookstore and asking how he could help the caller. Despite translating the words in her head, Adrastia still picked out the hesitant and unrehearsed nature of the greeting.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Marduk said in english, “you’ve reached Ancient Manuscripts of Iraq. How may I help you?”

  He paused, waiting for the person on the other end to respond.

  His face scrunched up and he looked at the phone as though it played tricks.

  “Wait, who did you ask for?”

  After a few more seconds, he stretched his hand with the receiver toward Adrastia.

  “It’s someone asking for you,” he said.

  “Sorry. I don’t have a phone, so I gave a friend your number.”

  Marduk sighed, his whole body slumping.

  He waved the receiver at her without saying anything more.

  Adrastia put it to her ear.

  “Jason? I was starting to worry about you.”

  Marduk suppressed a scoff. She’d been sitting in his shop for days, and there was only one person she worried about.

  “Wait, wait,” she said. “Quetzalcoatl agreed to what?”

  §

  “When Gwynn comes back…”

  “You mean if.” Marduk corrected.

  “No,” Adrastia said, “I can’t think that way. He will come back. But something large is happening, and I need to be there. Besides, when Gwynn gets back, he’ll probably need some time to recover before he moves anywhere else.”

  Marduk smiled kindly.

  “I will extend him my greatest hospitality.”

  Adrastia hesitated, seeming unsure how to express gratitude or to say goodbye. After a moment, she reached forward and gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You have done more for me than I deserve.”

  The tinny jingle of the bell above the door broke the silence.

  Marduk said, “I’m sorry, we’re not open at the moment,” before looking toward the door. Raising his eyes, his mouth dropped. “By God, you made it.”

  Adrastia released her grip on Marduk’s arm and turned so quickly her head went light. But she pressed past it to see the man standing in the door.

  Streaks of gray snuck into his black hair. His cheeks were sunken and sallow, and dark bags, more like bruises, hung under his eyes. But she barely registered these things.

  “Your arm.”

  Gwynn mustered a weak smile.

  “Yeah,” he croaked, “I picked up something extra.”

  She ran to him, but he held up his left hand blocking her further advance.

  “Not yet,” he said. “I need a moment. And I’m not entirely sure I trust this right arm yet.”

  Gwynn maneuvered through the maze of stacked books and sank onto a bench along the side wall.

  “Marduk,” he said, “would you have some long bandages I could wrap this arm with?”

  The old god nodded.

  “Of course. Until recently, this was a less than safe part of the world. It would not only be uncharitable to be without a first aid kit, but possibly suicidal.”

  He reached down below the counter, cursing in some long dead language as he knocked down several book stacks in the process.

  After a few moments, he reappeared with a large metal box, painted red so long ago it had darkened and stained to the color of old blood. The lid protested with a loud, metallic creak as he opened it and rooted around the contents.

  “Here we are,” he said, making a slow approach toward Gwynn with a long strand
of bandage.

  Marduk didn’t go close enough to put it directly into Gwynn’s hand. Instead, he extended his arm and forced Gwynn to do the same.

  “Thanks,” Gwynn said, as much for the keeping of distance as the bandage.

  Gwynn pressed one end of the bandage just below his elbow and let the rest unfurl to the ground. He closed his eyes, drew a long, slow breath, and let his body relax. The bandage swayed, caught in a phantom breeze felt nowhere else in the shop. Then it jerked, twisted, and jumped, the breeze becoming a gale. Gwynn stretched out his right arm. Coiling like a serpent, the bandage formed loops around his arm and then snapped tight, surrounding right to his fingertips.

  His breath came out in a contented sigh.

  “How did you…?” Adrastia gaped.

  A slight smile curled his lips.

  “Everything is connected,” he said, as though confirming a secret he doubted till then.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “What?” Gwynn looked surprised, like their questioning looks made no sense. “Oh,” he said after a few moments, “in the Veil, I learned things. But…I wasn’t sure whether they’d translate the same way outside. It’s not as strong, but the principle seems the same.”

  Adrastia stared at his right arm.

  “I have so many things to ask you,” she said.

  “It’s a long story. But it looked like you were about to go somewhere when I arrived.”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “I was going to meet Jason and Fuyuko.”

  “Jason…and Fuyuko? She’s here? She’s ok?”

  He rose to his feet, teetering for a moment, and grabbing the wall to catch himself.

  “I’ll come with you,” he said. “I want to see Fuyuko.”

  “No, you need some rest, and probably food and something to drink. I just need to check in with them for a little while. I’ll come back here and get you. Promise.”

  She charged out the door before Gwynn could protest further. The world shifted, signaling her folding away.

  I felt her fold. No, I felt the whole world change, allowing her to fold.

  It wasn’t just the world folding he could sense, but also the trace of Adrastia. Folding had never been his greatest strength. In Suture, he’d been of the lowest class, having to actually visit a place before being able to fold to it on his own. But now he could feel the connection between things. Her path would be a trail of bread crumbs, guiding his path to her.

  “Before you go,” Marduk said, startling Gwynn from his thoughts, “is there anything about your experience you would like to discuss? I sense great change coming, and we may not be able to speak like this again.”

  “I wasn’t…I mean…”

  Marduk held up his hand to stop Gwynn’s stammering.

  “I admit, my title of god of knowledge is perhaps overblown. But that does not mean I am an idiot. Your intentions were clear as you watched Adrastia leave. I can also see some wonderment in your expression, meaning something new happened as she folded. Did you sense her leave? Can you still feel her presence, like a thread crossing many miles?”

  “How did you know?”

  Marduk smiled warmly. “I am very old. And you are not the first person I have seen return from the Veil. However, I am sure you are the first to return with a new limb.”

  Gwynn raised his right arm, studying it, realizing his experiences in the Veil weren’t just dreams. His arm, being able to move the bandages, even sensing Adrastia’s passage, they had all survived the transition to the physical world.

  “So again,” Marduk said, “is there anything you need to ask?”

  “The word. I’ve been told several times I need to become the word. Do you know what that means?”

  Marduk came around from behind the counter, lifting himself backward to sit on its surface.

  “Only the ones who said those words can tell you the specific meaning,” he said. “But I can give you some ideas. At the most basic level, words convey information. More specifically, words are a means for expressing our thoughts. I am no mind reader so I cannot know your thoughts as you think them. I can observe your body’s movements, your expressions, but even those I am using my own interpretation to guess. I can only know for certain if you use words. A word is a transformative thing, giving meaning to objects, thoughts, and feelings. In religions, their teachings are often referred to as ‘The Word.’ But again, their function is to convey the thoughts of the church, deity, whatever, into something people can understand and follow. If you are to become a word, I would interpret the meaning to be you must become an instrument of transformation—conveying some abstract notion into something concrete.”

  “Like giving birth to a new reality?”

  Marduk laughed.

  “Well, I suppose. Though much to the joy and frustration of men, only women can give birth. We are merely…catalysts in the process. Thousands of women perform a miracle every day. Perhaps it is why we men are both so envious and covetous of them. We have even gone so far as to insert ourselves in legends and prophesies that contained only a woman. It is little wonder our species has progressed so little.”

  “So no new reality?”

  “I could not say,” Marduk shrugged. “You asked about being the word. I have told you my guess. Only time will prove me right or wrong.”

  Gwynn rose from the bench, his legs steadier. He extended his left hand, which Marduk took.

  “Thank you,” Gwynn said. “For everything.”

  “You are most welcome. To say I am impressed you returned would be an understatement. You must have a strong sense of self and of where you came from.”

  “Maybe.”

  Where I came from? I wonder…

  Gwynn released Marduk’s hand and took a step back, giving the old god a slight bow.

  And folded away.

  27

  Homecoming

  Gwynn didn’t immediately follow Adrastia.

  He did want to see Fuyuko, but with Marduk mentioning where he came from, he realized he owed someone else a visit more. It was something he’d promised himself he would do if he ever returned to the world of his birth.

  Brantfield was deserted. Not just quiet, but empty. Pausing for a minute, he reached out around him, pushing as far as he dared before fearing he’d lose himself. Only plants registered—humans, and even animals, had abandoned this place. The barriers of the Veil were thin, unstable. The world killer which had opened those eight years ago weakened like a fresh scab during the Cataclysm. It wasn’t enough to destroy the world, but it made this town unsafe. Any human who spent too much time here risked becoming a Taint.

  Most of the buildings were crumbling, or pulverized by some unknown force which left craters pock marking the city. Nature had risen in the form of grass, weeds, and trees, to reclaim the land people had paved over.

  Eight years ago, I thought the city’s rolling over nature was a bad thing.

  He still did. But there was no denying this Frankenstein of nature and human construction had a depressing loneliness.

  It should be one or the other. Not both.

  His point of arrival was just south of his old high school, Northfield High. From the exterior, the school appeared almost ready for students. Only a few broken windows betrayed its abandoned nature. Gwynn remembered he and Fuyuko scrambling through the halls, pursued by a monster who had previously been his principal.

  Were they able to fix the damage before all this happened? he wondered.

  He placed a hand against one of the walls. Could he reach out, touch some memory within the stone and see this place’s final moments? No, even if it was possible, it wasn’t something he wanted to see.

  My home was only ten minutes away.

  He didn’t bother with the walk. Even from the distance of the school, the crater where his neighbourhood used to be was visible.

  Several folds later, he’d moved a mile outside the old city limits. He’d moved fractions of miles at a time
, testing how far the devastation spread. At the point where he’d stopped, a single storey building had been erected spanning the four lanes of what used to be one of the city’s main entrance arteries. The sign above the entrance declared the building to be the Brantfield Memorial. The road leading up to it had been widened into a parking lot with a turn-a-bout so vehicles could enter and exit. A fence topped with barbed wire and signs cautioning life threatening danger spread along the city boundaries.

  Gwynn pressed his hand against the door lock, willing the tumblers to twist and turn, finally opening with a solid click. He touched the alarm panel and told it to be silent—he didn’t need any company.

  Six computer terminals lined a glass wall facing the city, so the devastation was visible.

  He tapped the screen on one of the terminals. It hummed and came to life with a solemn welcome screen with chunky black letters and a sepia toned picture of what the city used to be like. This screen faded and a menu appeared with options to view the city’s history and those lost in the Cataclysm.

  A tap on those lost gave the option to view alphabetically or to search. Gwynn could already guess the answer, but he tapped in the name anyway.

  An image of his aunt Jamie filled the left of the screen, while the right displayed basic biographical information. Under the heading Survived By, was a single name—Gwynn Dormath.

  The picture must have been supplied by someone Jamie knew—Gwynn didn’t recognize it. Besides, all of the pictures in their home would’ve been destroyed.

  Jamie, pictures of his parents, the place he’d started to acknowledge as home, all gone. He’d destroyed them.