Forty-Two
“Hello Cain.” Alastar’s tone was grim.
Fear flashed momentarily behind Cain’s eyes.
After that, the two partners spoke at length in the dark. They spoke of all manner of things, including the fact that Cain was not a psychopath, but merely a very resourceful sociopath. As they spoke, the fear in Cain’s eyes grew and grew to the point where tears flowed sideways from them and trailed down his cheeks towards his ears. When Alastar finally let Cain see the cold extent of the nothingness that was inside the Legend’s God forsaken soul, the demonstration was no longer even needed — because Cain had already been fully submitted several minutes earlier.
Cain’s body quaked as he lay there in his bed, gently nestled between Alastar’s knees. To Alastar’s satisfaction, one look in Cain’s eyes told him that what he feared was not the knife that Alastar had positioned dangerously above his throat. Not at all — instead Cain trembled at the presence of Alastar himself.
Full submission.
Still a warning would not be such a bad idea. “I will tell you Cain that despite your treason, I have no intention of removing you from your position as my partner. I gave you my word once, and I intend to keep it — unless of course you force me to do otherwise.
”I should tell you though, in case you ever get the idea that you wish to sever our partnership again. Hear this — I will never again be as weak as I am tonight, and despite that, here I sit. On your bed in the dead of night, with your sentries chatting happily to themselves as the sun rises unto a blessed new dawn. You have lost men tonight. Brave soldiers, but they weren’t enough to bring the Legend to a close. Think about these things the next time a treasonous thought crosses your mind. And after you think of that, think about how your own men will tear you limb from limb if they should discover that it was a mere sociopath that they had been serving as a king. Do you understand these things?”
It took a while but Cain nodded. Alastar took his knife away from Cain’s throat. “You may rise now.”
Cain got up and backed away from Alastar as though the younger killer were flaming with hellfire. Alastar had never seen Cain look so uneasy. “Compose yourself,” He told him. “Our men are coming.”
Two of the sentries pushed through the door. They looked more than a little surprised to see Alastar seated at the head of Cain’s bed, knife in hand, and covered in blood, mud, and smoke. The sentry’s eyes narrowed aggressively.
“No.” Cain said. The authority was back in his voice. “We have worked out our differences. The Legend and I are partners once again.”
Alastar smiled. “With that, I should take my leave. Please drag Kappa down from the roof and tidy up the area.” Alastar told Cain’s men. “Studor will want to know how many he lost last night.” Alastar climbed out of the bed and stretched his arms casually as though he were just waking up. “Since dawn has come, and I am now free to leave, I should get on my way. No doubt I will have a busy day ahead of me.”
As Alastar walked away from Cain’s barracks he could feel the adrenalin draining from his system, and with that came a fatigue which pushed him nearly to delirium. Alastar did the only thing that his muddled brain could think of to do, given the situation. He delivered himself to the Station’s infirmary and promptly collapsed onto a stretcher.
While he was unconscious, he had no doubts that the medical staff would take the opportunity to poke, prod and probe every square inch of his body. He vaguely remembered Sophia looking down at him and stroking his hair. Her eyes were beautiful, but she looked worried. When he awoke from what seemed like an eternal dream, he felt more like himself than he had felt in weeks.
Sophia told him that they had induced a coma and put him on a respirator for the last two days, which explained his sore throat and scratchy voice. They had continuously pumped Alastar full of drugs, while one doctor argued fervently that they should remove Alastar’s spleen. Luckily, Callistan had been called in and took control of the situation.
Sophia’s eyes looked red from crying and he wondered if she had slept at all herself. “Help me up, sweetheart.” He said.
She pulled him to a sitting position and then supported him as he got to his feet. Then he pulled out the I.V. needle, which was pumping him full of something purple. Bending down, he kissed Sophia gently on the forehead. “Let’s go get some breakfast.” He said.
Sophia smiled up at him. “We can’t. It’s supper time.” She said.
“Even better.”
It took Alastar a couple of days to find another barracks to call his own. In the meantime, he trained, and studied, and attended his sessions with more energy than he had felt in weeks. Unfortunately, his brief stint of health was all too short lasting. Apparently, getting sleep through a medically induced coma was not a permanent solution to his illness. In fact, for the two days after he left the infirmary, Alastar didn’t sleep at all. Not a wink.
Within a few more days, his nose started bleeding again, and before long he felt as badly as he ever did.
“It’s Wanda.” Sophia told him. There was both anger and worry in her eyes. She seemed to be taking his relapse even harder than he was.
By that point, Alastar was beginning to wonder if she might be right. He did some introductory reconnaissance on the Wandandan’s, just to be on the safe side. Alastar worked independently, since just as she had before, Sophia had begun to avoid him. Oracles were a strange bunch.
If she hadn’t stopped by that evening while Alastar was sitting alone in his barracks coughing blood, he might have never seen the desperate look in her eyes, and he might have never known that she was about to do something rash.
“Hey Sophia,” Alastar said, wondering what she was considering. “Watcha doing?”
“I just came by to— To see you, I —” It was at that point that Alastar saw the desperation that seemed to be all over her and through her.
“I’m glad you came. Come and sit.” Alastar tried to speak the words casually, so that he wouldn’t spook her, but his lungs had a different plan. Alastar’s casual conversation devolved into gasping and hacking coughs. He began spitting up blood onto his lower lip. Dammit.
Sophia’s eyes flared wide and it seemed that a sudden rage took hold of her when she saw. She was angry at his illness. So angry that she was almost definitely considering, doing something crazy. He gestured to her again, trying to get her to sit, but Sophia stayed standing. She looked towards the door. If she wanted to leave, Alastar would not have the strength or the speed to stop her.
“Sophia, wait. I have something to tell you.” He reached for her wrist, but she stripped his grip efficiently.
Then she leaned in towards him. For a moment he thought that she might kiss him, but then she pulled away. “You know it right?” Sophia said. “That I really care? Well — I do.”
Then she ran.
Demsie sat by herself in Silent Steve’s spare room, absently playing with a Canadian penny that she had found outside in the dirt. She was thinking about the conversation that she’d had a while ago with Sophia.
Demsie had been completely honest with her friend. She had told her how she had decided to commit herself to the ones that Sophia feared so much. Was it wrong to feel that Sophia could have been more accepting of Demsie’s decision? It wasn’t hard for Demsie to understand why Sophia felt the way that she did though. Without knowing the whole story, maybe Sophia had good reasons to be worried — but in truth Sophia couldn’t have been more wrong.
That was a fact, and Demsie was willing to stake her life on it. There were so many powers at play. Powers upon powers, and powers over powers. That was where her hope would lay. Sovereign authority, it was at the very soul of adoption. They would say that she was crazy, but everyone had always thought her to be crazy. Even her best friend Sophia — at times.
Demsie smiled as she thought about her. They fought like snakes in a cage but they were sisters, and what sisters didn’t fight?
Demsie was committed to loving her sister, and to helping the boy that her sister loved. After all, he was the C.O.D. And that was something pretty special. Shouldn’t somebody help him?
He certainly wouldn’t figure it out on his own. Sure, Alastar was a great one to have around when you wanted to shoot a bottle cap out of the air, but powers upon powers? Come on, for that he was as blind as a bat with earmuffs on.
They wouldn’t have to worry for long though, because Demsie was learning. Not quickly, because it was all so confusing, but for her it was a joyful labor.
Yesterday, she had begun a fast. Which admittedly, she didn’t understand. But it seemed like the right kind of thing to do. Some of the other oracles noticed right away, and they gathered close to her. Others were more wary — but none so much as Sophia, who seemed to be acting downright allergic.
Demsie shook the negative thoughts from her head, determined to think about things that were good. Silent Steve came to mind. What a miracle he was. To think that he had discovered these things all on his own. And a psychopath yet? Incredible. Perhaps there was hope for them all.
Callistan thought so. Demsie had spoken to him about what she was learning and was incredibly glad to find a receptive ear. Callistan told her about redemption. He said that if we cling to life then time and fate might conspire to see us to our own freedoms, but if we choose death, then we forsake ourselves.
It was an odd thing that he said. Odd because Demsie knew that she would choose death, believing that time and fate would find their own answers. Demsie could only do what she could do, and perhaps that was a path of love. Love for her friend, because greater love had no other. He had taught her that.
Demsie closed her eyes, and turned her vision inward to the light that burned in her breast. It was white and vibrant, and connected somehow to the universe around her. Knowing once again the blaze of her heart, she cleared her conscious mind, and began to meditate on those things good and perfect. Somehow, she knew that these truths would surely surpass her limited understanding.
Demsie had seen Sophia storming out of Alastar’s new barracks, a cloud of rage blinding her as she pushed her way through an innocent group of young oracles, and bowling one of them over in the process.
Sophia stopped to help the kid up, but then she and her rage were on the move again. She looked desperate, and ready to do something rash.
Didn’t she know that there was nothing she could do? She would get herself killed if she moved on the Wandandans, but she was going to try anyways.
Demsie’s eyes flashed open.
She looked around Steve’s room, still processing what she had just seen. Demsie knew what she needed to do. She needed to go to her friend and stop her, just like she had done before.
Demsie stood up quickly, not wanting to lose any time. When she pushed open the door she saw Steve as he always was, sitting in his chair, reading through his old black book. “I have to go and find Sophia.” She told him. Then she crossed the room and pushed the outside door open.
No.
Cold terror gripped her. Steve sensed her fear and rose to his feet.
Nudging past her, Steve stepped into the night. He looked around, and when he saw nothing distressing, directed his attention toward Demsie.
“It’s nighttime.” Her small voice shook when she said it. “When I saw her it was still day.”
Steve studied her carefully, but said nothing.
“Maybe it was tomorrow?” But even as she said it, Demsie knew that it wasn’t. It had been today. It had been that day that Sophia’s heart had become rent with anger. That day that it had burned, alone in that storm of rage. That day that the storm had whispered to her again and again and again until she came to believe the lie that there was a deeper truth in her rage. Ironically, it had been Sophia that had accused Demsie of surrendering.
Demsie burst into tears and screamed out into the night. “Sophia, my sweet sister! What have you done?” Then she fell to the dirt at her feet.
Demsie was vaguely aware of Steve picking her up and carrying her back inside. “Shh-shh-shh.” He said softly. “Don’t despair, Princess. All things can work to the good.”
He was right. It was despair that she was feeling. Demsie wiped the tears out of her eyes and tried to settle her breathing down. Perhaps there was a way, a choice that her love could forge.
“I need you to find out something for me.” Demsie said to Steve.
