Gabriel nodded and walked off towards the gate. He stopped where Vel was, touched his
shoulder briefly before moving on without a word. Vel didn't even seem to notice. Elstrin thought he ought to go over as well, but when he tried to stand he found he couldn't. He was shivering, a delayed response to the icy flood of Rem's healing magic, or whatever it was. He rubbed his arm, trying to make the cold go away. His limbs felt numb, his mind foggy. "What's happening?" he wondered out loud.
"I'm putting you to sleep," Rem said, sitting down next to him. He took a deep breath and craned his neck back, staring at the sky. "I'm sorry I can't do it as gently as Snow does. I haven't had many chances to fine-tune it."
"I don't want to sleep," Elstrin argued weakly, fighting to keep his eyelids open.
"You need to. You were in the dome just now and something went bad, so you were exposed to lots of harmful energy. My spell will take care of you."
Anger rose up, such a familiar emotion now, one he'd been trying so hard to shun since he'd
joined the army. Looked like it still found him in the end, no matter what he did. "I don't want your fucking spell," Elstrin said, words slurring, attempting once again to stand. All he succeeded in doing was losing his balance a little and slumping where he sat. The ground felt unreasonably comfortable. "I want to see Kana, I want everything to fucking go back to normal, I… I want… god, Andrew's fucking dead, I…"
He gave up and let darkness crash over him. At least it was some form of escape.
Chapter 21
Colonel Stag was tired.
It wasn't the kind of tiredness that came from the severe boredom of a full day cooped up in the office doing paperwork. It wasn't the physical tiredness that exercise and adrenalin left behind. It wasn't stress, not really. He was just tired.
He decided to call it a day. He'd need to go down to the city early tomorrow morning, to inform the parents of Andrew Walker that their son was dead. It wouldn't be a very cheerful meeting. He'd done it before, a few times, to different families, and the response was pretty much the same. He supposed it left him with the same kind of tiredness he felt now. Something death-related. Clinging strands of invisible something.
"Mr. Stag?" a small voice asked, and he paused in his slow walk up to his apartment. It was Keri, standing just outside one of the many little hospitals stationed around inner HQ, hugging a purple teddy bear she'd somehow acquired. She looked pale and lonely in the washed-out light of the setting sun. Stag went over to her, trying to muster up a cheerful smile, though it felt more like a grimace.
"Hey, Keri. I'm sorry about all this. You can go home in a few days, I promise."
"Where's Gabe? I wanna see him."
"You can't just yet," Stag said gently. "He's… busy."
"What about Snowy?"
He closed his eyes briefly. "He got hurt. Don't worry, he'll be okay, but your brother will stay with him for a while to make sure he's fine."
Keri's eyes went large with worry. "Who hurt him?"
"I don't exactly know." And it was true—it couldn't have been the sorcerer, not in the purest sense, because the man was dead, had been for years. Gabriel would know, but he wasn't available right now. "He wasn't really here. He… took one of our soldiers and made him do all the work."
"Was it Mr. Leopard?" the girl asked. Stag blinked in surprise. "He's inside. A bunch of people brought him here and he looked really sick, but he wanted to talk to me so I did, but then he kept falling asleep so I came out here to give him some rest. And… and he was crying. Was I making him cry?"
"Oh, no, no, of course not," Stag soothed, taking her hand and leading her back indoors. "Come on, it's cold here. Leopard has a daughter about your age; I think he just misses her." Like Stag did his own children. "You did the right thing, staying with him. I'm sure it comforted him a lot."
Keri's lips twitched up. "Do you have a daughter too, Mr. Stag?"
"Yes. And a son. Rachel and Jamie. You should meet them. You guys would get along."
"I'd like that!" she beamed.
Stag smiled. "When things settle down, then." He nudged her towards the nurse waiting by the front desk. "I have to see Leopard now. I'll get Gabriel to come here as soon as he's free, all right?"
"Okay." Her expression turned solemn. "Tell Snowy I hope he gets better soon."
Stag nodded and waited until the nurse escorted her away before heading up to Leopard's room. He was still in the emergency ward, though his vitals seemed stable enough that there were no doctors there when Stag entered. The man was barely conscious, face sallow and breaths thin. His gaze roamed up feebly.
"Sir," he mumbled, coughing as he spoke.
"How're you feeling?"
"I—I'm sorry," Leopard whispered.
Stag pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. "Don't waste your energy on blaming yourself," he said sternly. "Tell me what happened."
"It—I couldn't fight it. I…" Leopard took a deep breath and began again. "I was training with Skax. We were standing close to the outer gate, I think. It came and… took over me. I had my own set of shields over the standard one because it's been acting up a lot the past few weeks, and the— the thing, it ripped them apart like they were paper. I had no time to react. It marched me out to the gate, and it knocked the guards out without even needing to touch them. It was… intelligent, and quick, and it didn't waste time killing them, it just wanted the gun. So I took it and I went back and it was like I had tunnel vision, all I could focus on was Vel Matthews and how I needed to—to kill him. It was almost robotic, the way the thing thought. And then…" He turned away, misery etched onto his face. "You know the rest."
"And when it left? Where did it go?"
"I don't know. Towards the city, maybe."
"Was it human?"
"I… I don't know." Leopard frowned at the ceiling. "Some of its emotions were. There was hate, very strong, single-minded hate—and rage, and sorrow. But its power—it was so strong. A human couldn't have done that, especially not one who'd spent months locked up in a cage made by Snow and Gabriel's magic."
"Hm." Stag sat in thought for a moment. "Did it recognise Snow?"
"Maybe. I was basically passed out by the time he got there. I don't remember much past that point."
Stag nodded and stood up. "Okay. Don't—"
"Who else is dead?" Leopard asked, hands clenched weakly upon the blanket.
"Nobody," Stag said kindly. "A few others got shot, but we got to them in time. It wasn't your fault."
Leopard closed his eyes and exhaled, shoulders slumping with relief, but his voice was still laced with guilt. "If I'd just spun a couple more shields—"
"It wasn't your fault, Troy. A couple more shields wouldn't have made a difference. Get some rest," Stag said, patting the man's shoulder. He walked out and closed the door softly behind him. Outside the hospital, he stood and breathed in the clean air before resuming his trek up the dusty roads. It was dark by the time he arrived at the colonels' apartments, a small cluster of buildings that looked like a cross between the sparser lieutenants' apartments and the more elaborate general's living quarters. He stared up at the sheer rock face of the mountains for a while before going in.
Stag sat on the side of his empty bed with a heavy sigh and, almost out of habit now, picked up the framed photograph that stood on the bedside table, next to a picture of his family. It had been taken a few years ago, back when he was just a sergeant. Thirty-two men just prior to their heading out to Lancer Desert, led by Lieutenant Snow. All thirty-two of them had made it back in one piece. They were the only platoon to not suffer losses or serious injuries. Others were not so lucky. Perhaps it hadn't been luck. Perhaps Snow had been stronger back then, his bond with Rem more secure. The thought of him possessing more power than he already had now made Stag shiver. He didn't know, back then, and he'd never asked.
He examined the frozen faces, tracing his finger along the cold glass, smudging it briefly with
/> mist. He recalled their names. They all had names—his was Chris Galloway, although he thought he responded quicker to Stag by now. Lieutenant Leopard was Troy Wilkinson. Lieutenant Steel was Leonard Hart. Colonel Serpent had been Damien Matthews. Thirty-one of them had titles, and had names.
Not Snow. Snow had no first name or middle name or last name, and his rank never changed. He was simply Lieutenant Snow. A fixed constant in a place that grew and changed, came and went. Lived and died.
Stag peered at his smiling portrait, trying to find something that could make him fit in. He was wearing the same uniform as the rest of them. That was… about it, really. There was honestly not much that could negate the obvious difference between him and the other soldiers. His smile was faint, quiet, serious in an impossibly innocent way. Vague. As if his mind was off contemplating other matters as he waited for the cameraman to count down. His smile wasn't like the bright excited beams of some members of his platoon, young men eager for an action-packed mission. It wasn't the stern determination of several others, glaring at the lens with jaws set to either show their fearlessness or hide their anxiety. It wasn't the grim grins of some who'd experienced bloodier missions during their time of service. It wasn't any of that. It was just his smile.
Snow stood out. Stag was sure that if he showed the photograph to an unsuspecting person, they'd point and ask who the secretive white-haired soldier was, if he really was a soldier, and why he looked so amazingly calm. And Stag would not know how to reply.
He'd wondered once about Snow's title. Why Snow? It had been an idle question born of pure curiosity. Small-talk, in Stag's opinion, but Snow had given a long, cryptic answer.
"I'll tell you a story," he'd said. (He'd sounded thoughtful and carefree. They were sitting outside Rem's dome; maybe that had something to do with it.) "In a place—it's important, by the way, that it's a place and not a land—in a place where only demons can reach, a handful of demons are gathered. By handful I mean less than ten. The exact number tends to shift around, but I think it's about seven or so. They are the only demons around in a large, large area, so basically, the place is their secret, sacred Place. Amongst the demons present, three of them act as the scouts, the eyes and ears of the rest. They are Dust, Sand, and Snow. Because they are everywhere. Snow is present on tall mountains and frozen tundra and big continents of ice. Sand is present beneath oceans and within deep canyons and vast deserts. And where Snow and Sand are not present, Dust is present. They are the eyes and ears, the sentries.
"The demons have a friend, or maybe he's a brother. He is Death. He isn't a demon—he's an
angel. First, the demons let him into the Place reluctantly, out of necessity. Because Death is a busy person, and the universes are measureless, sometimes he misses a few places. Places you wouldn't expect life to be but there's life anyway, like underwater chimneys where pale crabs cling and feed on minerals, like scorching pools of quicksand in which tiny lizards scurry out and in to dig for scraps, like the lone wanderer travelling atop a mountain hidden between mountains. Sometimes Death doesn't see it when these far-flung bits of life are extinguished, as life inevitably is. Sometimes he's distracted by other, larger things, like a nuclear bomb falling on a busy city, and by the time he's done with that he's forgotten about the smaller things. Now, we all know it's absolutely horrible to die and have nowhere to go. I don't need to explain this. So Death went to the demons, who understood, who are honourable despite what everyone thinks, who let him into the Place. Death asked the sentries for a map. A map full of their power; infused, in a sense, with part of their souls, a map which would never let Death fail at his job again. And so the three demons made this map. They were nervous, scared, afraid that the War would return now that an angel was on their side. But nothing happened. Death, too, is honourable. Above all, he is honest.
"Eventually the demons and the angel became friends, maybe brothers. Maybe closer than that. Lost souls were given direction again. The Place remains secret and sacred. And every once in a while, they meet there. Death would take out his map, and Dust, Sand and Snow would upgrade it, draw in new things that have formed and erase old things that are obsolete." Snow took a deep breath and leaned back with a shrug. "And once that's done, they catch up on things. You know. Drink a bit of expensive wine. And so it continues on to this day. Thanks for listening."
There had been silence then, a strange, content silence that seemed to emanate from the dome. "So… where're your horns and tail?" Stag had finally asked, after thinking for a while and deciding that he was better off not knowing most of the answers to the questions swimming about in his head.
And Snow had smiled (sadly, this time) and said, "It's just a story."
x
Gabriel smelled blood.
It was three in the morning and he was only just heading out of inner HQ. He needed a quick breather someplace where magic wasn't so saturated. He wouldn't have noticed it on any other night, but the broken energies pouring from Rem's dome had set his shields haywire. He felt jittery and depressed at the same time, bone-tired from fixing the endless leakages until the barrier was finally whole again. At least he didn't remember the handful of hours where he'd been shoved out of his own mind to make way for Snow. Undoubtedly it had been nasty, and he was glad it was over.
He was really not looking forward to the rest of the day, but it had always been like this—no matter how beat he was, he needed to work. He'd pulled through before, and he could only believe that he would this time too. The base was stabilising now that Rem had begun his freaky connection magic thing that Gabriel didn't understand, and once his shields calmed down he'd collect Keri and leave.
He walked past the cadets' barracks and paused, doubling back at the heavy, metallic tang of blood hanging in the air, carried over by the breeze and amplified by his magic. It was fresh, too much for a simple nosebleed, and contained the bitter hints of intense emotion. Without thinking, Gabriel followed it, jumping the gate and striding to Apartment A.
He jogged up to the second floor and approached the bathroom. Half of the lights were on, white halogen tubes flickering as moths flew across them. The sounds of quiet, broken sobbing reached him. He could almost taste it now, a salty, rusty flavour lingering at the back of his throat. Hesitating and not knowing why, he peeked around the doorway.
Vel was there, curled up in a corner by the benches in a t-shirt and boxers, his forearms and
thighs striped with oozing cuts. He gripped a razor blade in a trembling, bloodstained hand, and even as Gabriel muttered a curse and hurried forward, he gritted his teeth and drew a slow line over his leg, a soft whimper bursting from his lips. His eyes were squeezed shut, face stained with tears and blood, sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. He didn't react when Gabriel knelt next to him. Didn't seem to even realise he was there, his free hand gripping a chunk of hair like he wanted to rip it out.
"Vel," Gabriel murmured, and the boy jumped violently, eyes snapping open, red and exhausted. Gabriel took hold of his wrist firmly before Vel could injure anyone else with the razor. His hand was cold and clammy and shaking. "Vel," he said again, keeping his voice very quiet. "Stop this."
"G-go away—" Vel choked out, his gaze frantic, fear and agony vying for first place in his expression. He tugged feebly on his trapped arm. Gabriel plucked the razor from his fingers, and Vel watched it go with a small squeak of dismay. "No. Give t-that b-back."
Gabriel tossed the blade away to some dark space out of sight, released Vel but touched him gently on the shoulders instead, where he was clothed. "Don't do this, Vel. Please don't. You don't need to."
"I—I do," Vel whispered, eyes wide, and his voice broke completely. "I d-do, Gabriel, you d-don't unders-stand, it h-hurts so much a-and I—I fucking n-need—I need h-him—"
"I know. Of course you do," Gabriel soothed. "You don't need the razor, you don't need to hurt yourself. Andrew isn't here now, so what you do need to do is just remember him."
"R—"
Vel brought a hand up to his mouth and let out a strangled sob, drawing his knees up to his chest, making himself so small he trembled from the effort. He was silent, then he pitched forwards slowly to lean into Gabriel's careful half-embrace, shoulders shaking noiselessly, finally relaxing his white-knuckled hold on his hair so his hands fell to grasp at Gabriel's shirt weakly. Gabriel wrapped his arms properly around the boy, rubbing wide circles over his sweat-damp back, pressing his lips lightly to his feverish forehead. Vel was crying too hard to draw breath, but when the first few horrible, silent minutes passed, he let out a long, low keen, muffled against Gabriel's throat, a sound so full of grief that Gabriel knew from the moment he heard it that Vel would never, ever be the same again. He'd loved Andrew, more than his friends knew, possibly more than he himself knew, and now Andrew was gone, and had taken a little part of Vel with him. It made a strange, dark temptation yank at Gabriel's heart, one he'd had to resist too often in the past few years. Now it was even stronger, because Vel reminded him so much of Serpent, and all that guilt he thought he'd gotten past came rushing back tenfold. If only he could've given Serpent some tiny comfort before the end. If only he could give it to his brother now, unlock that forbidden void of chaos inside him and just dip into its seductive, unnatural power for one minute. He could so easily let Vel and Andrew say their proper goodbyes, give them those final few moments together that they'd been denied when the bullet smashed through Andrew's skull and killed him in such a fleeting instant….
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