In Icarus' Shadow

by Matthew Jones

  Chapter Seven

  Noise; the rustling of leaves in the wind.

  What?

  Thomas opened his eyes, frowning as a blue sky swam into view above him, framed by unfamiliar branches. Exceptionally white clouds glided across the vibrant expanse, with the light of the sun gleaming from them. He chuckled softly at these literal silver linings, but was distracted by a new sound. Laughter, so carefree and happy that it could almost have been the chiming of a bell. Sitting up, he saw a woman running toward him. No, not running, nor even skipping. She seemed almost to float across the earth, moving the length of several strides with a single step, flowing with a preternatural grace. She was clothed in some kind of gossamer silk, the sort you would see in an old Greek or Roman painting that revealed nothing, but covered almost as little. She laughed again and waved to him, calling out to him with a musical sound that sent a shiver of bliss through his very bones. She approached and he saw... Nadia? He reached out for her hand as it was extended toward him, but found himself getting further away instead of closer. Falling instead of sitting.

  Tumbling through space, he landed head-first in a sea of pleasantly warm water. Struggling back to the surface, he gasped for air and his lungs gratefully obliged. He looked about in confusion. Blue, calm sea stretched in all directions but one and the land he saw in that direction was distant. He struck out for it, but his clothes had grown heavy with water and he made little headway. Treading water for a moment, he saw something racing toward him through the sky and he gaped as he saw it was a man. Tyrone Burgess was flying through the air toward him. No longer able to even try to comprehend what was going on, Thomas merely gaped as the hulking man smashed into him fists-first. Driven deeper into the water, he found that he could no longer find his way back to the surface; his lungs screamed as the darkness of unconsciousness closed in around him.

  Noise. A wet warmth on his face. A salty taste in his mouth. His eyes were open, but he could not control them, could not move them from their glassy upward stare. Someone was bent over him, crying. He tried to frown, but could not. It was a woman, but he was not sure if it was Nadia again; her face was oddly obscured. A man loomed over him. Tyrone? No, smaller, with alabaster skin and golden hair. Who...? His thoughts were interrupted by the woman brushing the side of his head; her hand came away bloody. Was he... dead? The woman turned toward the man standing to the side as if to shout at him, but Thomas felt his consciousness slipping again and could not hear the words.