Resonance 4th Edits - Bleeding Worlds Bk 3 (32 page)

“How did you know?”

Marduk smiled warmly. “I am very old. And you are not the first person I have seen return from the Veil. However, I am sure you are the first to return with a new limb.”

Gwynn raised his right arm, studying it, realizing his experiences in the Veil weren’t just dreams. His arm, being able to move the bandages, even sensing Adrastia’s passage, they had all survived the transition to the physical world.

“So again,” Marduk said, “is there anything you need to ask?”

“The word. I’ve been told several times I need to become the word. Do you know what that means?”

Marduk came around from behind the counter, lifting himself backward to sit on its surface.

“Only the ones who said those words can tell you the specific meaning,” he said. “But I can give you some ideas. At the most basic level, words convey information. More specifically, words are a means for expressing our thoughts. I am no mind reader so I cannot know your thoughts as you think them. I can observe your body’s movements, your expressions, but even those I am using my own interpretation to guess. I can only know for certain if you use words. A word is a transformative thing, giving meaning to objects, thoughts, and feelings. In religions, their teachings are often referred to as ‘The Word.’ But again, their function is to convey the thoughts of the church, deity, whatever, into something people can understand and follow. If you are to become a word, I would interpret the meaning to be you must become an instrument of transformation—conveying some abstract notion into something concrete.”

“Like giving birth to a new reality?”

Marduk laughed.

“Well, I suppose. Though much to the joy and frustration of men, only women can give birth. We are merely…catalysts in the process. Thousands of women perform a miracle every day. Perhaps it is why we men are both so envious and covetous of them. We have even gone so far as to insert ourselves in legends and prophesies that contained
only
a woman. It is little wonder our species has progressed so little.”

“So no new reality?”

“I could not say,” Marduk shrugged. “You asked about being the word. I have told you my guess. Only time will prove me right or wrong.”

Gwynn rose from the bench, his legs steadier. He extended his left hand, which Marduk took.

“Thank you,” Gwynn said. “For everything.”

“You are most welcome. To say I am impressed you returned would be an understatement. You must have a strong sense of self and of where you came from.”

“Maybe.”

Where I came from? I wonder…

Gwynn released Marduk’s hand and took a step back, giving the old god a slight bow.

And folded away.

Gwynn didn’t immediately follow Adrastia.

He did want to see Fuyuko, but with Marduk mentioning where he came from, he realized he owed someone else a visit more. It was something he’d promised himself he would do if he ever returned to the world of his birth.

Brantfield was deserted. Not just quiet, but empty. Pausing for a minute, he reached out around him, pushing as far as he dared before fearing he’d lose himself. Only plants registered—humans, and even animals, had abandoned this place. The barriers of the Veil were thin, unstable. The world killer which had opened those eight years ago weakened like a fresh scab during the Cataclysm. It wasn’t enough to destroy the world, but it made this town unsafe. Any human who spent too much time here risked becoming a Taint.

Most of the buildings were crumbling, or pulverized by some unknown force which left craters pock marking the city. Nature had risen in the form of grass, weeds, and trees, to reclaim the land people had paved over.

Eight years ago, I thought the city’s rolling over nature was a bad thing.

He still did. But there was no denying this Frankenstein of nature and human construction had a depressing loneliness.

It should be one or the other. Not both.

His point of arrival was just south of his old high school, Northfield High. From the exterior, the school appeared almost ready for students. Only a few broken windows betrayed its abandoned nature. Gwynn remembered he and Fuyuko scrambling through the halls, pursued by a monster who had previously been his principal.

Were they able to fix the damage before all this happened?
he wondered.

He placed a hand against one of the walls. Could he reach out, touch some memory within the stone and see this place’s final moments? No, even if it was possible, it wasn’t something he wanted to see.

My home was only ten minutes away.

He didn’t bother with the walk. Even from the distance of the school, the crater where his neighbourhood used to be was visible.

Several folds later, he’d moved a mile outside the old city limits. He’d moved fractions of miles at a time, testing how far the devastation spread. At the point where he’d stopped, a single storey building had been erected spanning the four lanes of what used to be one of the city’s main entrance arteries. The sign above the entrance declared the building to be the Brantfield Memorial. The road leading up to it had been widened into a parking lot with a turn-a-bout so vehicles could enter and exit. A fence topped with barbed wire and signs cautioning life threatening danger spread along the city boundaries.

Gwynn pressed his hand against the door lock, willing the tumblers to twist and turn, finally opening with a solid
click
. He touched the alarm panel and told it to be silent—he didn’t need any company.

Six computer terminals lined a glass wall facing the city, so the devastation was visible.

He tapped the screen on one of the terminals. It hummed and came to life with a solemn welcome screen with chunky black letters and a sepia toned picture of what the city used to be like. This screen faded and a menu appeared with options to view the city’s history and those lost in the Cataclysm.

A tap on those lost gave the option to view alphabetically or to search. Gwynn could already guess the answer, but he tapped in the name anyway.

An image of his aunt Jamie filled the left of the screen, while the right displayed basic biographical information. Under the heading
Survived By
, was a single name—Gwynn Dormath.

The picture must have been supplied by someone Jamie knew—Gwynn didn’t recognize it. Besides, all of the pictures in their home would’ve been destroyed.

Jamie, pictures of his parents, the place he’d started to acknowledge as home, all gone. He’d destroyed them.

Tears spattered on the screen. Gwynn crumpled to the floor, leaning his head against the terminal’s pedestal.

“I’m so sorry, Jamie.”

Sorry. Such a trivial word. He’d taken her for granted. Accepting he would never return to his own Earth ever again—was it all to avoid this possibility? How many times did he look at Allison and think how much his aunt would enjoy meeting her? Never once did he give voice to words suggesting she was…gone.

But he’d known.

He gulped a few breaths and used the terminal to steady himself as he stood. Jamie’s smiling face still looked on from the screen. She wasn’t entirely gone, he knew. All people had a soul, and that soul could be reborn.

“Wait for me,” he said. “I failed you in this world. At least let me create a better one for you to live in again.”

Gwynn picked up the strands of Adrastia’s passing through the folds of the world and followed them.

§

A mix of assault rifles and pistols were levelled at Gwynn’s head.

Adrastia jumped from a nearby chair and threw herself in front of him.

“Hold your fire, he’s a friend.”

She crossed her arms tight and narrowed her eyes.

“I thought I told you to stay with Marduk.”

Gwynn tried to muster an apologetic look. “I just couldn’t stay there and do nothing.”

“Gwynn?”

Fuyuko came around the table which occupied the center of the room. Gwynn took a step back, his left hand up in defence.

“Hi, Fuyuko,” he said. “Sorry, just, I’ve been through some things, and I’m not quite ready for hugs yet.”

She didn’t argue, or look hurt. If anything, she appeared suspicious.

“I’ll say you’ve been through some things,” Jason said. “How the hell did you get your arm back?”

Gwynn looked at the bandaged appendage on his right. How strange to have this back after so long.

“That’s probably a longer story than you want to hear. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was walking into something so…” He looked again at the guns that, despite Adrastia’s assurance, stayed aimed at his head. “…serious.”

A mountain of a man stood at the far end of the table. He raised his hands to shoulder level and lowered them, wordlessly instructing the soldiers to lower their weapons. They did this without question or hesitation.

“I am Quetzalcoatl,” the man said.

Gwynn knew this man would be an Ageless One. Not only did his energies cause Gwynn’s fingertips to itch, but he was built, and wore the same suit, as Zeus and Woten.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Quetzalcoatl,” Gwynn said. He noticed the people assembled in the room flinched—he’d probably missed some honorific.
Whatever.
“My name is Gwynn Dormath. I didn’t mean to cause a disturbance, I only wished to reunite with my old friends.”

“Old friends…” He looked to Fuyuko, Jason, and Adrastia. Realization was painted on his face by widening eyes and slackening jaw. “Then you are a former member of Suture? Wait…”

Quetzalcoatl came around the table, his finger wagging accusingly.

“You are the Catalyst. Woten used you to initiate the Cataclysm.”

Gwynn nodded, his mouth drawn grim.

“I am.”

Quetzalcoatl’s tone didn’t sound hostile or accusing, but Gwynn let his left hand go loose, extending his control into the air around him. And in the worst case scenario, there was always his right arm.

“This is a wonderful surprise,” Quetzalcoatl said. “For you to have done such a thing, you must contain incredible power. It is perfect you are on our side.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“We’re going to war with Woten,” Jason said. “Lord Quetzalcoatl has pledged weapons, troops, even Takeda’s Solution so we can awaken more Anunnaki, and protect ourselves against losing our powers.”

“No,” Gwynn said, pushing past his friends to get closer to Quetzalcoatl. “You can’t do that. Lock Woten away, find some way of evacuating the people of Asgard to some other world, whatever, it doesn’t matter, but you can’t start a full-scale war.”

“Why?”

Jason came into Gwynn’s personal space. Reflexively, Gwynn placed his left hand on his right arm, keeping it lowered and contained.

Jason spat his words. “Who do you think you are, storming in here after hiding away from taking any kind of responsibility and telling us what to do? What makes you think a coward like you has any right to make decisions concerning war?”

“Jason,” Fuyuko said.

“No, I won’t hold this back. Besides, it isn’t anything new, is it Gwynn? This is pretty damn close to the conversation we had before you ran away from Fenrir.”

“And you weren’t wrong,” Gwynn said.

To this, Jason took a step back, his next words hanging soundless in the air.

“You were right, I did run away. I was afraid and couldn’t handle my own guilt. Every time I looked at the conditions those people were in, I blamed myself. It wasn’t my arm crippling me, it was my head. But this isn’t the same. Over the past few days, I’ve seen things, and I know, if war happens between the Anunnaki, especially spanning more than one world, it will destroy the walls of the Veil causing every world to be obliterated. I’m not saying to keep from fighting Woten out of cowardice, I’m trying to save everything.”

Jason straightened.

“I appreciate you taking some responsibility for the past. If we’d had this conversation years ago maybe things would be different—not just between you and I, but in the case of this war, too.”

“What are you saying?” Gwynn looked to each of the people in the room. “After what I just said, you’re going to push ahead anyway?”

Jason moistened his lips and took a shaky breath.

“While I would want to hear more from you before calling the whole thing off, the fact is, it’s too late. War’s been declared on us from two different fronts, and we have only two choices, fight or die. You may be right. And as much as I might be willing to die for the masses, I can’t ask entire worlds to do the same. Especially when it means leaving the ones who’ve committed the greatest crimes to be the winners. If that’s the case, I’d rather see reality burn.”

“I don’t believe this,” Gwynn said. “What do you mean war has been declared on two fronts?”

“Yes, what
do
you mean?” Adrastia asked. “You were just telling me how Woten inserted sleeper agents here on Earth. Where’s this second front?”

Jason scratched the back of his neck.

“After we learned the true reason Anubis betrayed the Pantheon, he was routed and we gained access to the Bifrost to Asgard. I’ve been in touch with Marie. Turns out a third party decided to attack us.”

“Third party?” Adrastia said. “But the only ones with that kind of power are…Oh. Oh no.”

“Cain?” Gwynn said. “Cain attacked Fenrir? Why?”

Jason nodded toward Adrastia.

“Marie said he tracked Adrastia to our base. He wondered why she paid us a visit.”

Gwynn and Adrastia locked eyes.

He knew from her expression she shared his thoughts. Her mouth opened to say something.

Gwynn didn’t wait. He fell back into the Veil.

The Veil was a coursing river, and Gwynn was a fish moving at speeds faster than most land vehicles.

Everything was connected. Through those connections, he could do anything, reach anything, he wished. And the connection he focused on strongest at that moment was with Sophia.

He emerged from the Veil just outside the perimeter of the wards they’d set up to protect Allison.

Instead of running to the house, the scene froze him. Several bodies lay strewn on the path. He picked his way through the corpses.