Golden Void, page 18
part #3 of Black Blade Series
I plant my hand on the closest step and slide a little further out.
There’s definitely someone down there, but before I can learn more, I realize they’ve left the door open. The yellow gas is pooling around their feet and spreading to the rest of the lighthouse.
I can’t tell much about them. Their silhouette’s obscured by what looks like a few cheap parkas and baggy pants. As they turn to face the stairs, I can see a thick, black gas mask over their face.
I don’t really know anything about Dreamers, but if I had to guess, I’d say this isn’t one of them.
So… could they be friendly?
It feels dumb to even consider just saying hello, but the thought they might have more of those gas masks stops me from dismissing the idea straight away.
I mean, how long are we going to be breathing this stuff? I think I can guess what Kendrick would say. Shoot them. Take the mask, not the risk.
Except I don’t have a gun, so-
Thinking about guns opens the pit in my stomach, reminding me that Kendrick’s…what? Sick? I guess I don’t really know.
It’s not just nerves, though. I could do it, if I wanted to.
I did magic, and it wasn’t an accident. I could probably do it again, even if it doesn’t really feel like it.
So…if Kendrick’s right, and she probably is…
Yeah, I could throw fire down on them.
I remember flicking through the pages of that book I got, imagining how different I’d feel knowing I could do something like that, but…
Well, it doesn’t feel good. If anything, I feel worse, like I bought new shoes ‘cause my feet were cold but they’re huge and hard and they rip up the carpet. I can’t-
The figure puts a foot on the first step of the staircase.
I push myself back up and crawl over to Tyson.
“What is it?” He whispers, glancing down at the hole and the echo of footsteps on the stairs.
“Just one person, don’t know who it is,” I tell him. Could we just hide in these closets? They probably have a bunch of clothes and stuff in them, but why would they go up instead of down? Maybe they’re not after the caves, they’re after…
“Can we take them?” Tyson asks, “like, are they magic?”
“Dunno,” I run my hand under some of the furniture, looking for spaces we can fit, “is Castor okay?”
“I’m n-not sure I’d be much help in any sort of confrontation,” he stutters, “I might try talking to them?”
“We could jump them,” Tysons says, shuffling around the opening to the stairs, looking for a place to stand behind anyone who emerges, “like, even if they are magic, if we can get them before-“
“Sssh!” I hiss, listening to the footsteps coming closer, “if they’re coming up here, it means they’re-“
“It could be whoever lives here!” Tysons says, “what, you think they’re after the sword? How would they even-”
There’s no more time, and if it’s the dumbest thing I’ve done all day, I pull open the closest that sits against the dusty wall and climb in.
I can see Tyson through the crack for a moment before Castor climbs in beside me, his eyes wild and staring, hands reaching out and urging Tyson to do the same thing.
Before I know it, I’m squashed against the side, and as Tyson actually climbs in, I can’t tear my eyes off the shadow just reaching the top of the stairs or the trails they both left in the dust.
Someone’s elbow plants itself in my gut, but my stomach’s too tense to give way.
I guess it didn’t occur to them that we wouldn’t all fit? The closet door’s slightly ajar.
If whoever it is out there has a gun, all they have to do is open the door and shoot. There’d be nothing we could do.
Unless Castor can suck up bullets. Too late to ask now.
One foot shifts forward, spreading the dust on the floor. They start to pace.
As they step past the closet, I can see empty hands. There’s nothing on their back, but there must be lots of space for nasty stuff in that big puffy coat.
The hem of their pants is all ratty and frayed, even the gas mask, barely glimpsed through the sliver of light between the doors, looks old.
Close up one hand is leathery, bony, with dark skin and raised veins. The other one…
The figure turns, just as I was craning to get a better angle.
The other hand’s inside a big brown driving glove.
I inch forward, hoping for a better look, but Tyson’s shifting throws me off.
“Ty-” the complaint leaves my mouth before I realize it, his hand pushing against the side of my face.
“Alone, no weapons.” I strain for the space to look at his solitary eye in the dark, “we could do this,” he whispers.
By the time I’ve looked back, the figure’s wandered away from the crack.
They must’ve heard us, or guessed the totally obvious, if I-
“Hey!” Tysons tumbles over me, almost overturning the closet and forcing us all out onto the floor. He scrambles to his feet, sword raised. “Friend or foe, pick fast!”
The masked face swings around, and the second they step forward instead of back, Tyson holds the sword high and brings it down.
I’ve seen this before. It took Lance a while, but once he got going…I know how sharp the sword is, maybe that’s why I flinch at the crystal-glass ringing sound it makes as it flies through the air and-
Stops.
By the time my eyes are open again, Tyson’s down and Excalibur clatters to the floor from between the figure’s gloved fingers.
His eyes are closed, his arms and legs are curling around his chest as a sliver of blood runs from his mouth.
The figure steps over him, and my mind races through what I need to cast a spell, my right fingers slapping my left palm, left fingers on right palm, and-
Arms wrap around me, almost lifting me into the air as the gas mask falls with what sounds like…laughing.
“Meg! You’re okay!” The creased brown face, peeled into a grin, pulls back as she throws her mask to the floor.
“Mom?” It sounds wrong. Somewhere along the line, I promised myself I’d never say it again.
“I finally found you,” she sighs, “I really, really thought I’d never see you again,” she runs her hand through her mess of dark hair, “are you okay? What did they do to you?”
“You…what?” Nothing comes out. “No, you can’t be here.” It’s the only thing I can say that makes sense.
“Did you really think some old stuck-up English hag could pull one over on me?” She grins again, reaching out for another hug,.“She might fool some bureaucrats, but not me, we can-”
My hands push hers away by instinct, like lashing out at a spider. As I stumble away from her, eyes wide with tears, I trip and fall over Tyson, slamming my head into the stone floor.
“Megan!” She reaches out, trying to pull me to my feet as I crawl away. “We’re going home together!” It sounds like something she’s said to herself over and over again.
I’m on my back, trying to squint the stars from my eyes.
I’ve been through this before, but now I know what I’m dealing with, the burning gut, the swelling face, the breath that comes faster and faster between heaving sobs.
“No! I’m not going anywhere with you! Ever!” I say as I fight to sit upright.
The words rip my throat. I don’t know if she can even understand them.
Mom shakes her head, still reaching for me.
“We’ve been through this,” she says with a sigh, “I thought being kept here in a foreign place would help you appreciate everything I tried to do for you, but if-”
“You never did anything for me!” I shout over the sobs, “Nobody took me. I want to be here, if-”
How many times have I gone over what I’d say if I saw her again? Why isn’t it coming out right?
“I have documents!” She shrieks over me, “Warrants! I’ll fight everything in court! I had you! You came from me, and just because you’re confused, or addicted to drugs and fast food and you think you know what you want, it doesn’t mean I won’t fight for you!”
Her hand fastens around my wrist, circling it completely and almost pulling me off my feet. She was never this strong. Or is it me? Did I get weaker?
Behind her I see Tyson stumble and fall. Castor is just cowering in the corner, watching.
This is a nightmare.
That’s what it feels like. One I’ve had before, way too many times.
She really did come back.
My hand in hers is shaking, little flakes of cinder flickering as they flit away in the heavy air.
Is that how it works? I just keep going?
My arm strains against Mom’s ice cold grip, tracing up and down my forearms, only she pulls me through the room to the stairs she won’t let me cup my hands, and I can’t see them through my tears.
Another tug. I spit and fire bubbles down my face, the flecks of spittle flowing down into my hands and-
The feeling of dread was so heavy I really thought nothing would happen. I felt sure the fire Kendrick gave me was a fantasy, nothing more, but the second the fire touches my palm, a blue flash swirls around the room. Mom screams, recoils, and a puddle of fire fades to a glowing orange in my hand.
There’s no room for hesitation. I raise my hand and throw the fire where it belongs, the molten globe sparking and hissing through the air.
Mom’s hand rises to swat the fireball away from her face. It crawls over her gloves, bursting like a firework and sending jumping sparks across the floor, until-
Until her other hand closes around it, and like a television winking out in a blackout, the room goes dark again.
Mom’s hand opens, and a chunk of glowing rock falls to the ground like an old piece of coal from a dead fire.
“How dare you…” she hisses through her teeth, “think I didn’t know about all this? Cults? Devil worship? How long have I been trying to keep you out of this…” she closes her eyes, the last flecks of fire disappearing from the blackened parts of her heavy coat, “I never thought it was this bad, oh, Meg,” the snarl in her faces fades, the pits around her eyes darkening, “you need my help more than I thought.”
The glove is gone. Shreds of the old leather lie smoking on the ground.
She unclenches her hand and reaches towards me, only this time I can see the hole where her palm should be. The hole’s not in her flesh, it’s in the world.
I can hear it whistle as it rushes towards me.
“Go away.” It sounds like a whimper. It is.
“Meg, I can fix this,” she says, stepping closer and closer, “I have friends now, a teacher, a guide, together we can repel all this evil and re-harmonize your spirit, if-”
“Repel this!” Tyson staggers forward, swinging Excalibur, and Mom jumps back. As he raises the sword over his head, Mom catches it.
“You brute,” Mom says as she hauls him across the room and throws him across the far wall, “don’t think you’ll lay a finger on my Meg!”
I hear a crunch as the back of his head hits the wall, and before he staggers up again, Mom lifts him by his collar.
My hands shake, fingers tapping on each other. No point. It didn’t work.
“Stop!” I shriek at her, “Stop! He didn’t do anything!”
“Did he hurt you, Meg?” she asks over her shoulder, trying to hold Tyson still as he kicks and struggles, “I can fix that,” she hisses as she turns back to him, her hollow hand creeping up his chest until I can see his hair through the hole.
It’s…
I don’t know what the sound or the feeling is, but it’s like I just took off in a plane, combined with a rising whistling. Tysons struggles, but-
Something shoots past my ear.
I only see it out the corner of my eye, but it’s long, shiny, like a sewing needle, and Mom whirls in place to catch it.
First, thunder booms and the fog rolls in around us. The lighthouse wall where she holds Tyson just stops existing as I watch Mom break whatever it is in her hand.
Tyson crawls across the floor, trying to roll away before Mom scoops him up again, this time holding him up like a shield in front of the perfectly round hole that’s appeared in the wall.
I can almost see the sky up here.
“Put him down.” Marion looms through the opening to the stairs below, and the metal between Mom’s fingers melts and runs across the floor, slithering under his cloak and rejoining his body.
“You!” She hisses from behind the struggling, blood-streaked Tyson, “I know you! Don’t come any closer, or your precious Quest is over!”
“You know me,” Marion says, stepping further into the room, glancing over to me, then at Castor in the corner, “then you should be aware I’m not unreasonable. Name your terms.”
Should I feel better, knowing he’s here? Where’s Kendrick? Can he fix this? Won’t her hand-
“Her hand!” I blurt out between ragged breaths, “it has a hole in it, it sucked my fire, I think it’s…I don’t know, it’s bad.”
“I see.” Marion nods. “My offer stands.”
“You know the one who took her,” Mom says, arm wound around Tyson’s throat, “give her back, give her back and you can have your meathead. I want documents, testimony for the court, money for the lawyers, whatever!”
Marion’s eyes crawl across her, Tyson, then back to me. How much does he know about this? Did Kendrick ever mention it? Probably not so…
“All of that can be provided,” he says, not meeting my eye, “but you will have to answer some questions. The source of your-”
“No questions!” she barks back, “you think I’m some bimbo? You think I don’t know the first thing you tried to do is kill me?”
More fog is seeping in through the round hole, winding its way around Mom’s feet.
Marion glances over at me again, although I’m not sure what he gets from looking at me, my face is too numb to tell what sort of expression it shows.
He’s still looking, at me. Once I meet his gaze, his eyes flick to Mom.
“I want a car to the airport,” Mom says from around Tyson, who’s still struggling as she tightens her arm around his neck, “and compensation, too! Yearly, no, monthly. For emotional distress, I-”
Marion’s arm bursts from under his cloak, frothing into a stream of water that crosses the room in a second.
This is what he meant. I jump forward, watching as Mom’s hand meets the water and starts to draw it in with a sucking sound like a jet engine.
All I do is tackle her, my arms around her stomach. She barely budges, but when her hand shoots down to pull me off, Marion’s on her, and I feel his full strength. I pull at Mom’s hand, keeping away from Marion’s eyes as his balled stone fist lifts her off her feet, a fountain of blood curling into the air as she staggers across the hole in the wall, and for a moment, vanishes.
“Yeah!” Tysons yells in the fraction of a second before her hand grabs his ankle.
She says nothing, but I can see her face twisted into a toothy snarl above the yellow fog and crashing waves, clawing at him, trying to pitch him off the cliff, before…
She falls.
Her arms wheel in the air until her hand touches the lighthouse and digs in, the fingers curling like claws, raising lines of broken stone.
She slows, and plants her feet halfway down the cliff-side, still looking up at me before the mist swallows her.
Marion’s hand flies down for Tyson, but it’s too late.
He falls too, but he has nothing to save him. Excalibur’s black cloth flies away on the wind as he vanishes into the fog.
They’re both gone.
“Oh no…” It’s the only thing I can think of to say. “What do we-”
“The foot of the tower,” Marion says, cape swirling through the polluted air, “it’s possible he survived.”
I nod, and grab Mom’s mask from the floor, “take this!”
Marion holds it for a second before placing it under his cloak.
“Kendrick needs it more,” he looks around the room, “where’s Campbell?”
“Who?” I ask, looking around at the empty, foggy, broken room, “oh.”
Castor’s nowhere-to-be-seen. “He must’ve run off.”
“Come.” Marion hurries down the steps, pushing past Kendrick, gun in her hand at the foot of the steps.
“Go well, did it?” She asks as we run past, “didn’t need my help at all, did you!”
“We think Ty fell,” I tell her, but she squints at me.
“I’m no fool,” she says, “what’s wrong?”
I can’t tell her yet. Maybe Marion will. Mom’s definitely still out there.
He’s gone, too, out into the fog. Maybe he has some magic way of seeing through it.
I start to cough, screw up my face, look away and pace, anything to keep from breaking down. I’m not going to cry.
I think Kendrick’s willing to let me work it out.
“So, he fell,” she says, changing the subject, “so, Quest over, we all go home? Can’t imagine anyone surviving a fall from even halfway up this bloody thing.”
I guess I should ask her if she’s all right. I mean, she looks okay. There’s a thick wad of bandages poking out from beneath her sweater’s neck. The place where she used to keep her cigarettes.
“Dunno.” It comes out with a breath, almost like a sob, only all the tears have dried up. “We found a gas mask.”
“Good,” Kendrick spits down onto the rolling carpet of yellow. I guess we’ve both given up on trying to keep it out of the lighthouse now, “suppose I should ask who you got it from? They still a problem?”
“It was my Mom,” I tell her, just straight out. If I don’t tell her now, I might screw myself up trying to keep it a secret forever. “I think she’ll be back.”
“I-Is everyone all right?” Castor coughs, stumbling down the steps and waving the fog away, “I m-must admit I sort of panicked and made myself scarce.”
“Fat lot of good you are, you wet blanket,” Kendrick bows her head, but glances up at him as he creeps down the stairs, “conjured yourself up a hiding spot, did you?”
I’m not really sure what I’m feeling, but it’s probably not Castor’s fault. I’d have run away too if I could.
