Bridge_Bridge & Sword_Apocalypse

by JC Andrijeski

  Why hadn’t they just drugged him?

  The answer was obvious, but knowing the answer didn’t clear anything up.

  They wanted or needed him conscious. Why?

  He looked hard at Cass. She watched him back, her thin arms folded, lips pursed.

  He’d kept his mind occupied earlier, during pauses between fights, trying to decide which of the seers standing in front of him might actually be in the room. He’d wavered back and forth on all of them, but eventually decided he was better off assuming none in Shadow’s inner circle were really there. Anyway, why would they risk their skins, even with a shield?

  This was another hall of mirrors, only one with a few more physical props, and a less-complicated purpose.

  He was in a capture cage, for all intents and purposes.

  The guards were likely real.

  Knowing that didn’t really help him; nor did it answer his question about why the guards hadn’t simply filed out the door, shut it, and gassed the fuck out of him until he passed out. Even he couldn’t stay conscious if they hit him with enough.

  They needed him awake.

  But why?

  “It is pointless to ask yourself these questions, nephew.” Menlim’s voice softened, holding that maddening thread of empathy. “We cannot answer them. You are intelligent to ask them, but you must know, I will not give you an answer that satisfies you.”

  Revik found himself believing that, too––but not in the way his uncle meant it.

  Everything about this was too damned familiar.

  The way they wove into his light was familiar. The way they tried to bribe his light, amplifying it through their construct, trying to make him want that, too.

  But it meant nothing to him now.

  Nothing they offered him meant anything.

  When he was young, he’d been dumb enough to take pride in having access to so much light and structure. He thought it said something about him. He thought it marked him as special.

  Now, it just felt like a load of bullshit.

  That amplification of his light felt fake, meaningless, the instant he no longer needed it. He remembered how different it was when he was younger. Back then, it was like a drug––a taste in his mouth and a flavor of current he craved. It sparked through his light like aleimic cocaine. It made him feel like he could do anything, but in that way a drug addict thought they could do anything while sitting in a bathrobe in their kitchen.

  He’d felt the same way when he worked for Salinse, even just for those few months where he stood at the head of the new Rebellion.

  It made sense, really, that he’d mixed that voltage with actual drugs, back when he worked for the Rooks. Some of those years, he’d done a lot of drugs, usually with Terian, but with others, too. That bitter tang in the back of his throat and nose after he snorted a line had a similar quality to the Dreng’s light. Addictive, yes––but also harsh, disgusting reality once the addiction wore thin, once he could taste and view it objectively.

  The addiction part scared him less than it used to, probably because everything about it held less appeal than it used to.

  Maybe that would change in time. Strangely, for the first time, he doubted it, though. Something in him had finally changed––perhaps irrevocably changed, at last.

  That current tasted stronger down here.

  Even now, it was stronger. They’d only just begun to crack his light, but that feeling strengthened, every passing second. It wasn’t only the feeling of being invaded that worsened––it was the feeling of being pulled out of his body, of having his light covered in disgusting crap, making him manic, aggressive, colder.

  He felt it more strongly now than he’d felt it since––

  Revik’s mind stuttered, ground to a halt.

  He stared around the white-washed room, half-blind as the pieces clicked into place. The truth hit him like a punch, so obvious, so totally fucking obvious, he couldn’t make himself unsee it once it grew clear behind his eyes.

  Gods, he was an idiot.

  He was a blind fool.

  It was his light.

  They wanted him awake because his own fucking light powered some portion of the construct. They’d been using him all this time––likely in South America, too. Balidor said they only cracked that damned construct in Argentina after Revik’s light got blown out, after his structures got damaged to the point where they stopped working.

  Balidor confessed he hadn’t been able to break into the primary structures of that construct at all until that happened. He’d assumed the act of knocking out Revik’s light hurt the construct somehow, maybe by funneling too much energy through it and shorting it out––but a much simpler explanation stared them all in the face.

  Knocking out Revik was knocking out part of the construct.

  They’d been using his light, all this time.

  They were using it now.

  They’d been using his structures––his very abilities––to power their construct since he’d first landed in Manhattan. That was why Allie felt the construct so clearly when they returned from South America. That was why he’d felt it so clearly, why he’d felt so completely immersed in those sickly strands, pretty much the instant they breached the quarantine walls. Even after Balidor told him how subtle that construct felt to the rest of the infiltration team––even to him, even to Tarsi––Revik hadn’t realized the truth.

  He was one of the fucking pillars of their goddamned network.

  He was the pillar––the one Balidor hadn’t been able to identify.

  No wonder Menlim didn’t want him using his telekinesis. He hadn’t only been protecting Revik’s light from damage––he knew if Revik used his telekinesis in here, it would blow out his own fucking construct, and probably free Wreg and the others upstairs.

  No wonder he and Wreg hadn’t been able to map the damned thing, either.

  One universal quality of all constructs was that you couldn’t see them clearly when you were inside them. If Revik formed a structural pillar in Menlim’s construct and the Adhipan construct, it would link the two––obscuring the primary structural points to everyone on the damned infiltration team.

  They’d been blind to it for the simple fact that you had to be fully outside of a construct in order to see it clearly.

  He stared at the row of faces in front of him as the pieces fell into place.

  As they did, he knew, suddenly, what he had to do.

  He had to kill himself. Use the telekinesis and knock this fucking construct out for good by smashing his own light. Maybe he could even do it in time for Balidor to find Menlim and his cronies before they escaped. Maybe he could do it in time for Wreg and Jon to find Cass and Feigran––to save his daughter.

  Maybe he could do it in time to blow this whole fucking shit show sky-high.

  “Nephew!” Menlim held up a hand. “Do not be rash, my son!”

  Revik let out a laugh, half in disbelief.

  It came out hoarse, choked, devoid of humor.

  Menlim’s skull-like face didn’t move. He stared at Revik, meaning reflected in his pale yellow eyes. “It will solve nothing, if you do, Nenzi. We will only replace you. If you want to see your daughter again––”

  Revik let out another harsh laugh, cutting him off.

  That time, he felt actual pain as he did. His laughter sounded like it came through a mouth full of broken glass––and more or less felt like it, too. He understood what the seer was telling him. He couldn’t fail to understand it.

  They were already grooming his daughter for that role.

  They intended for her to take his place.

  It wouldn’t be Cass, or Feigran. It wouldn’t be Maygar. It would be that warm, soft ball of light he’d felt around him at night while his wife was pregnant. It would be that little girl who looked so much like Allie it stole his breath, the first and only time he saw her.

  He was too late. He was too late.

  At the thought, som
ething finally broke through the haze clouding his mind.

  Or maybe it just broke.

  He didn’t consciously make the decision.

  He didn’t think about the fact that it would ruin his last chance of helping her, by blowing out his telekinesis so he couldn’t even take his own life. He didn’t think about whether they might take him alive if he knocked himself out. He didn’t think about losing his last chance to help his son––or Jon and Wreg, Jax, Neela, Jorag, Tarsi, Balidor.

  He just knew he had to find her.

  He had to know where she was.

  He crashed through every waving red flag in his light, through that choked feeling in his chest and throat, through the adrenaline running through his veins, the sweat and blood dripping down his face and into his eyes. He looked for her, trying to find a thread to his daughter’s light through the construct he now knew for certain they shared.

  For the first time since he’d landed in the basement, shieldless, he opened his light.

  He sent out a blast of his presence, looking for his daughter with every ounce of his being, searching for her light in the darkness surrounding them both.

  Before he could find her…

  Something else slammed him.

  It came out of nowhere, the instant he opened his light at all.

  Like it was waiting for him.

  The air left his lungs, buckling his knees. He fell physically before he knew why, before he could wrap his mind around any of what he felt or saw, before he could view it with anything approaching rationality. He landed on the whitewashed cement in what felt like slow-motion, but he didn’t feel that, either.

  He didn’t think about the guards, about the fact they were likely closing on him, even now. He couldn’t make himself care about any of it.

  Allie.

  He felt her so strongly it blinded him.

  Then it did blind him, igniting the light in his eyes so swiftly and intensely, he lost touch with the room. A pale green glow obscured his vision, then flared––wiping out what remained of his physical sight, forcing him to remain where he was, kneeling, panting, feeling a pressure in his chest like a cement slab crushing him from above.

  Allie.

  She’d been waiting for him. He must be feeling her there, waiting.

  The blackout must be over. That blackout after death.

  His mind thought these things, but couldn’t make sense of them. He felt the last traces of that rational thread, and something in him broke. Grief expanded over him, over his light. He realized how closed down he’d been. He’d been in survival mode for months. Fighting to stay on his feet, like always. Fighting like he had as a kid, just like his uncle said.

  All of that felt gone now.

  Gods. He had to find his daughter.

  Maybe this was illusion, too. Another distraction, a means of pulling him away from the child. He shouldn’t feel Allie this strongly––not this strongly. It had to be another trick.

  But gods, it was working. It was working.

  He couldn’t let it go, couldn’t move past it. He fought to remember what it had been like the first time, when she’d been in that Tank in the mountains. He tried to remember how he’d felt then, when her light finally returned to him after weeks of not feeling her.

  But this time wasn’t like that. This time couldn’t be like that.

  This time, she was dead.

  She was really dead.

  Then she spoke to him, and his mind turned off entirely.

  Revik? Revik, baby… try to stall them. Just a few more minutes. I’m coming for you, I swear to the gods I am. Just hold on for a few more minutes, and I’ll be there…

  He groped for her in the dark, confused, blinded by pain.

  She was dead. It had to be her, dead.

  She wasn’t broken by the wires. She didn’t sound broken by the wires, so she had to be free of all of it. She had to be free of what they’d done to her.

  He looked for their child––

  Don’t worry about her, Allie whispered. Don’t worry about her, Revik. I’ve got her. She’s safe. I’m holding her right now, okay? I’ve got her in my arms. She’s fine.

  “Allie.” He said it aloud, a near-groan, fighting to breathe. “Allie… no. Don’t take her. Please. Please don’t take her from me!”

  He knew the irrationality of his words.

  Moments before… days before… weeks before… he’d thought only of the same thing. Of killing his own child. Of releasing her from this place, of rescuing her, even if it meant snuffing out her light, and maybe Maygar’s light too, now that he knew he was telekinetic and Shadow would want him, as well.

  Kneeling there, surrounded by Allie’s light, feeling hints of the girl with her, that irrationality bloomed, turning into a suffocating heat in his chest.

  “Gods,” he managed. Tears ran down his cheeks, even as he felt another coil of her light through his. Leave her with me. Please. Don’t take her, too. Please, wife…

  Revik, it’s okay… I promise. We’re all going to be okay.

  It’s not. It’s not okay. Please, Allie… don’t do this. I’ll find a way to free her. I swear to the gods, I will. Whatever it takes.

  I’m not taking her from you, baby, Allie sent. I would never, ever take her from you.

  Love hit him, so much it cut his breath.

  It was hot, soft, fierce, gentle––beyond what he could think past. A warmer pulse of reassurance followed, but still wrapped in that hotter, protective light, flooding his body even as he realized the protectiveness was aimed at him.

  Not at the child, him.

  The thought confused him, but it lingered, making it difficult to breathe, to see anything past that pain in his chest.

  I vow this to you, husband, she said, her voice still holding that heat. With all of my heart, I vow it, Revik. I’m not taking our child away. Well… she amended, her voice shifting, flickering out with a denser, angrier spark. I’m not taking her from you. Never from you, Revik.

  Allie paused, her light completely tangled in his, washing over his, invading and tumbling through him and yanking him out of the dark even as it ripped him raw. He felt completely unmoored, completely out of control, upside down and lost and torn apart.

  He fought to think, to feel their daughter, and got lost in that spark of heat and light all over again, feeling them both, unable to untangle them.

  He felt hands on him, from far away, hands gripping his arms.

  Cold metal circled his neck.

  He felt them all around him, but he couldn’t make himself fight. He couldn’t see anything well enough to fight them off; he couldn’t even make himself care. All he could do was look for the two of them in the darkness, to try and find them, keep them with him.

  They felt so much a part of him, he could barely fucking stand it.

  Allie reappeared.

  Her presence washed over him––so dense, so fucking real, he couldn’t feel anything else. He felt the girl with her, and that feeling of family, of belonging, brought tears to his eyes.

  Honey, she sent, and he felt so much compassion in her light he squeezed his eyes shut, his hands balled into fists where he held them out in front of his body. I’m coming for you, okay? Hold them off. Just a little longer. Just a little longer, please.

  Her voice turned to steel.

  …I’m coming for you.

  52

  PURPLE HAZE

  I CLICKED OUT, frowning, staring up at the ceiling as I fought to control my light, which seemed to be slamming and crashing around the room the second it came into contact with Revik’s, in spite of the shield that locked down my aleimi in most other respects.

  That shield tightened around me as I thought it, right before Tarsi smacked some structure above my head that both stung and forced my eyes to hers.

  She had a smile on her face when I turned.

  I felt her strongly, stronger than anyone else in the room now that Revik had been pushed out of
my light––stronger than the child I held in my arms, who still held her light apart from mine, watching me with fear in her eyes, sweet, small-girl tears glistening on her cheeks as she watched me solemnly, gripping Revik’s shirt in one pudgy fist.

  I couldn’t be sure if they’d felt me.

  Shadow and his minions, I mean––I wasn’t sure if they knew I was here.

  Given my connection to Revik, they probably did, even with the shield. I felt the other seers with me woven into that shield: Anale, Yarli, Chandre, Varlan, Vikram, some seer I didn’t know, Rig, Surli. Also, the one they called Stanley, the African-looking intermediary known as “Rabbit” on the Displacement List, who always seemed to be smiling.

  My mind felt weirdly sharp––bizarrely, unreally sharp.

  They had to know I was here by now.

  They had to, my mind repeated.

  At the thought, my eyes returned to the other person in the room, the one who wore a tan leather skirt suit with knee-high boots, her long black hair a thick tangle around her face and shoulders. Somehow, the fact of her unconsciousness took the sheen off her expensive-looking clothes. It even made the flame-like red streaks in her hair look duller in the dim light of the high-end apartment where we all stood.

  That same woman half sat and half lay on the carpet between Stanley and Varlan’s feet. A collar circled her throat. Organic cuffs bound her wrists and ankles, but those would likely be redundant for at least a few hours.

  Her brown eyes were closed; I suspected they would be for a while.

  She was the real reason the child in my arms looked afraid. She was the reason for the little girl tears, and the reason my child’s light remained closed to mine.

  I’d hit Cass pretty damned hard when I came through that door.

  Truthfully, I kind of thought I’d killed her.

  Well, in the beginning, anyway.

  Even now, so much light coiled and ran through my aleimic body, I felt strangely disconnected, almost floaty. That weird clarity persisted, allowing me to think through all of that light, and to know exactly where I was, and what was happening, and how I got here, and what I’d done. I even knew exactly what needed to happen next––even if my own confidence on that score made me somewhat nervous, too.