Transient Echoes (29 page)

“I’m here, Ludo,” said Terry.

“Do you see the things you have made?”

“I do.”

“What are they?”

Terry listed his creations as he had made them. He began with the sky, the suns, the grass, and the trees. He listed the insects, the animals, the birds, and even the fish in the sea.

“Now, look at these things. There are many, and they are yours. But now you must build more. Fill this place until it is overflowing. Until your mind is stretched, and you can barely contain what you see.”

So Terry did. He created thousands of individual animals, insects, birds, and fish, and counted them and remembered them all. In the valley, there were deer and lions, beavermites and cheches. Every animal he could conceive of, a hundred thousand creatures from across two worlds, brought together in a young man’s mind.

When he came to the point where he could barely sustain their numbers, he wavered. “Now what?” he asked.

“How many do you see?”

He did not need to count them, for he knew the answer without thinking. “Sixty thousand, eight hundred and twelve,” he said.

There was a short pause. “Remarkable,” muttered Ludo.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Do you feel the strain?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Hold this for as long as you can.”

So he did, and it felt like days. The pressure of the thousands built upon his mind like the weight of a mountain. He fought the urge to let go, knowing how far he had already come. To do so would mean defeat, but most of all, it would mean Janice was right. So he did not relent.

As he sat there in the valley, a fleet of creatures surrounding him, encapsulating him, a swell of pain moved through his body, beginning in his feet and rising until it found his chest. He took shorter and heavier breaths, and for a moment, he thought he might black out.

Yet, he could not stop. Not until he—

A cold breeze hit him, caressing his lips and cheeks, bringing a calmness. He paused at the sensation, here in this place where there should be none.

Suddenly, the agony left him, draining like water from a jug, and he was empty. He wondered if perhaps the animals had vanished, if he’d somehow lost them…but such was not the case. The valley and sky were as full of life as ever, not a single creature missing. Only the strain was gone. Only the weight of the world.

He stood and walked, and he felt the tips of the grass beneath his bare feet and the morning dew which covered every blade. Another gust of wind blew, tugging his face and filling his ears, bringing the smell of Variant, sweet and pure. The light of the suns beat against his face and forearms, warming him.

He sensed it all as though it were real.

Maybe it was.

“Open your eyes, Terry,” said the farmer from beyond the sky. “Then, you will know what it means to fly.”

******

Come and see
.

Terry opened his eyes. He sat in the light of a rising moon as it pierced his barred window and filled the darkness of his cell. Flakes of dust fell from the ancient stone, swirling in the silver beams like leaves in a storm.

Outside his cell, a guard grunted, and Terry knew exactly where the man was. Twelve meters down the hall, tapping his holster and biting his lip. Terry saw him without seeing, heard the beating of his heart like thunder in his chest.

Two floors above, the boot of a guard pressed firmly against the floor, followed by another. This one was walking, marching to…to somewhere…a dining room with forks and plates, bustling chefs and laughing men. The smell of bread and soup, hot and spicy like the chili Terry’s mother used to make. He could taste it in the air, and his stomach ached.

Far from the prison, deep inside the surrounding woods, a beavermite gnawed on the bark of a wooden stump, searching for food. Another squeaked nearby. A baby, begging for its dinner.

Terry saw every one of them. All he had to do was listen.

His time in the second world had given him focus, improved his ability to draw his strength. But he no longer felt the urge to run or fight. All of this, it came from something else.

Peace and tranquility. A quiet stillness.

He had to tell Ludo about this, to thank him for his guidance. Without him, he never would have been able to—

But Ludo wasn’t there. Terry listened through the barrier of stone, but heard nothing. No movement, no breathing. He was gone.

Or worse. Those men had beaten him so much for so long. Maybe he was finally—

Terry stopped himself. Worrying would do nothing. He had to stay focused. Stay in this moment and search. Find his friend. He scanned the building, listening for the sound of Ludo’s voice, for whatever sign of the farmer’s life he could find.

He listened through the halls and along the staircases, passing through dozens of people in the process. Some were laughing, snarling, coughing, sleeping, eating, talking, fighting. An orchestra of noise bleeding through the walls. Terry hushed them soon, filtering the hundreds, searching for the one.

Then he found him in the corner of a room, high above the rest. A gasping farmer, whispering a prayer.

“The Eye save me,” muttered Ludo, and then a stick fell against his neck.

“Coward, thief, and traitor,” said Gast Madeen, the man with the purple eyes. “You are not worthy to speak such words.”

Ludo’s pulse was slowing, his breathing quick and fading.

It was time to go.

Terry turned his attention to the six guards in the hall—two talking and three alone, one sitting on a bench and drinking.

He walked to his door, touched the metal with the tips of his fingers. The steel was ten centimeters thick, too tough to break through on a normal day.

He took a step back. He didn’t know if he could do this, but there was no other choice. Time to test these so-called wings. He formed a pair of fists and plunged himself at the door. The walls shook and the metal bent. The guards stopped what they were doing and looked in his direction.

He tried a second time, plowing into the barrier with the strength of his entire being, and this time, pieces of stone broke from the metal, falling to the floor like breadcrumbs. He did not relent. The guards arrived and shouted for him to stop, panic running through their bodies. Hearts racing. Blood pumping.

Terry pushed again. “What’s he doing?” yelled a man. “The door is breaking!”

“Stop! Stop!”

“Get your weapons ready!”

With a final push, Terry broke the door free, separating it from the wall. The metal exploded into three of the guards, knocking them against the hallway. The others stood gawking for a second before reaching for their guns. They aimed and opened fire.

Terry fell to his side, trying to avoid them. The first two missed, hitting the floor and wall. The third hit him in the arm, but there was no pain.

He leapt at the men, kicking one in the stomach and knocking him several meters away. He gripped the other two by the neck and squeezed, throwing them both to the side against the nearby cell. They did not get up.

He glanced at the place in his arm where the bullet hit him and found there was no blood. Had he been mistaken? Had the bullet missed? He wasn’t sure.

No time to think. He had to find Ludo.

Terry ran swiftly through the corridors, curving around the corner and into the stairwell. He climbed to the second floor, encountering a group of four guards along the way.

He didn’t stop, though, not for a second. He leapt from the stairs, hurdling over them. With the heel of his foot, he kicked one in the head, and landed behind the others. Before they could turn to see him, he hurled his body at theirs, flinging them again
st the far wall like stones. T
hey landed in a pile, motionless.

When he reached the third floor and entered the next room, he found another swarm of soldiers. Unlike the last group, these did not hesitate. Instead, they drew their weapons and took aim. At the head of them were two familiar faces. Red and Scar. “What are you doing here?” asked Scar, squeezing the grip of his gun. “How did you get out?”

“Let me by,” said Terry.

Red scoffed. “Why would we do such a thing?”

“I’m taking my friend and leaving,” said Terry. “Let me go, and there won’t be a problem.”

“You mean the traitor?” asked Scar. He looked at Red. “He means to go through us.”

Together they laughed.

“Fine, have it your way,” said Terry, and dove at the nearest soldier. He hit the guard in his chest, slamming him against another and sending them both to the floor. He took the gun in the man’s hand and swung it around, slamming the butt of the weapon into another guard’s nose. Blood splattered into the air, landing on Scar’s chest.

“Stop him!” cried Scar, firing his weapon.

Terry was already moving. He leapt at the others, bullets hitting his legs and arms, though he felt nothing. He threw his fist into one man’s cheek, breaking it. With a firm kick, he knocked the wind from another. Then, he turned his eyes to the two brothers, to his would-be captors.

“You will let me through,” said Terry.

Scar unsheathed a knife. It was Ludo’s blade, the one he had called
sacred
. The one he had ordered Terry to find and use against Gast at the farm. “You will die now, little boy.”

Terry didn’t give a damn about the knife, whatever it was, and he attacked without a second thought. Scar dodged, jumping a few steps to the side. Terry ran headfirst into the wall, missing his target.

Red plowed into him with his shoulder, but Terry barely felt it. He took the man by his wrist and twisted, and Red fell to his knees, crying out in pain. “Stop!” he begged.

“Let me through,” said Terry once more.

Behind him, Scar was moving, shuffling his feet against the floor to right himself. Terry could sense him coming, so he released Red and stepped away. Scar swiped the dagger and missed, cutting the air.

“Stand still,” ordered Scar.

Terry said nothing.

“Kill him already,” said Red, clutching his wrist.

“I intend to,” said Scar. He twirled the knife in his hand and the metal shimmered, reflecting a distant beam of moonlight. He stepped towards Terry, swiping the knife at him chaotically. Terry dodged, letting the blade slide within centimeters of his arm, feeling the wind. When the weapon was down, he kicked Scar’s hand, knocking the knife free. Scar looked at him in shocked anger, then charged, wrapping his arms around Terry’s chest and forcing him aside.

Red ran for the sacred vessel, taking it in his good hand.

Terry wrestled with Scar, turning him on his back and holding him. Terry pressed his knees into the man’s chest. “Just leave me alone,” Terry told him.

Scar spit, hitting Terry across his chin.

Behind them, Red lunged with the knife outstretched. Terry sighed and slid to the side, avoiding him, but in the process, Red fell forward, tripping onto his friend.

The tip of the blade sliced into Scar’s neck.

Blood flowed quickly from the torn flesh, and Scar clasped the wound with both his hands. But it was no good. He writhed and twitched as air bubbles formed in the crimson river, stealing the life from him. He tried to scream, but all he could do was gargle as his own blood filled his lungs. He sounded like he was drowning.

Red stared in disbelief as his friend lay dying.

Terry backed away toward the wall.

Scar stopped moving rather quickly. As the last breath left his body, Red called out his name. “Garis.”

Terry stared at Red. “Leave now,” he said.

Red’s eyes were filled with tears. “You killed him,” he said in disbelief.

“You did,” said Terry.

Red looked at his hands, then at the place where the knife had entered his brother. “No,” he muttered.

“Leave.”

Red got to his feet and backed away. He looked at Scar, then at Terry. Without another word, he turned and ran, escaping through the stairwell.

Terry waited for him to leave, then knelt beside Scar’s body. He pulled the knife from the man’s neck, releasing more blood. He was going to need this.

******

The door slammed open, hitting the wall with the sound of a lion’s roar. Terry stepped forward.

He looked in the corner where Ludo lay, bound and tied by metal shackles. He was still breathing. At the other end stood Gast Madeen. Purple Eyes. One of the high priests of Xel and Lord of Three Waters. “So you’re the one making all the noise,” said Gast. He raised his wrinkled brow.

“Gast,” muttered Terry.

The old man smiled. “How nice to be remembered.”

“Let him go,” demanded Terry.

“But I’m not done with this one,” he said, motioning to Ludo.

“You are now,” said Terry.

“You speak with such confidence. All this from the same child I fought in the grasslands.”

“Things are different.”

“Are they?” asked Gast, tilting his head. “I told you once that our lives
repeat
. You have lived this moment before. What makes you think it will be different?”

“Because I’m different,” said Terry, and he lunged across the room at Gast.
Gotta make this quick, before he has a chance to
—

The old man dodged, touching Terry’s arm with the edge of his palm, throwing him into the wall.

Terry caught himself, kicked off the stone, and turned back around. Gast grabbed him by the leg, slamming him to the floor, knocking the wind from him.

“I see you’ve brought the vessel,” said Gast, nodding at the dagger in Terry’s hand. “Took it from my son, did you?”

Terry wheezed, trying to collect himself. He shuffled back.

“You think because you’ve learned to fly, it means you’re special. I am a high priest of Xel. My chakka is pure. My wings are wide. I fly with the strength of the Eye. You’re like a newborn to me. An infant bird.”

Terry got to his feet. “Shut up,” he muttered and ran at him for the second time.

The old man dodged again, but this time Terry didn’t try to hit him. Instead, he kept going forward.

Terry found Ludo in the corner, blood on his face and neck. He cut the rope binding his friend’s hands and gave him the knife to finish the rest. “Stay back,” said Terry, and swung around to place himself between the two.