Recommending to read Mikell's latest story, Splintered Hearts, now. It is beautiful and sad and for some reason already over. I cherished every single word. Now, on with this chapter.
Courage is fear that has said its prayers.
[Dorothy Bernard]
Chapter 25: In Which She Chooses
The empty whiteness had been bright enough to hurt her eyes at the beginning. By now she is used to it.
White walls. White floor, white ceiling, white doors invisible to those that have not searched for them hours and hours until their bloody fingertips left dark marks on the hinges. Even now she can't be sure where the walls end and the ceiling starts, and she would feel positively like floating if it weren't for the hollow heaviness of her limbs dragging her down. For she is tired, so tired, but at the same time the emptiness of her own blank mind is keeping her awake. Blank as the walls surrounding her. Blank as her voice that has long since lost the ability to produce sound.
The only thing that's left is the fear at the borders of her abused mind, the fear stretching her thin black tentacles, reaching out for her, causing her to slip. She won't give in to the fear. She has done that for some time, she does not know how long ago exactly, but she has given in to it and the white bandages wrapped around her hands are proof. That's why she can't give in anymore. The fear is turning her into a white stick figure, white as the walls, white as the time passing by without meaning.
Nothing has a meaning in this room.
She is turning into nothing.
A bandaged hand reaches up to her head, to run through dark red hair that is no longer there. When she rubs her fingers together, it almost feels real. When she closes her eyes, it is real enough for her. But closing her eyes means sinking into darkness. And darkness means fear. Her fingertips brush naked skin on the top of her skull and she flinches away as if it had burnt her.
Stares at her fingers and does not know if they are disappearing because of her blurry tears or if she really is dissolving now. She doesn't really care either way.
Nothing has a meaning in this room.
A flicker attracts her attention, a flicker of something weird that she can't place at first. It appears again then, a form flinching and shuddering and reforming fast and seemingly without a purpose. Something is off about this thing, this flame dancing through the air. She can't put a finger on it at first, until a word comes flitting through the blank of her mind, scurrying past her eyes and finally making sense.
It is blue. There is blue fire in the room.
For another moment she just sits there and stares at the small miracle forming in front of her. Blue fire. Colors. Then she reaches out for the flame.
It parts before she can touch it, splitting up into two flames that are dancing in a circle around each other. Her brow furrows with frustrated concentration. This time she slaps at it, clasping both hands together as if to catch a firefly in them. The flame runs through her fingers like blue water and parts again. She doesn't feel anything, but when she looks at her hands, the bandages have turned black and scorched and burned away at the palms. Another color. Black, fear-black, sleep-black. She balls her hands to fists and returns to staring at the flames.
A figure appears.
One second there is nothing but blue fire dancing in circles and spirals, the next second someone is standing there and the fire is gone. Maybe it has been more than a few seconds. She has lost every feeling for time while in here. Maybe it has been days. In any case the person's appearance is enough to wash away every thought that has still been hers. It even washes away the fear. She can't think about it enough to feel thankful.
It is almost too much to take in at once. Black clothing, dark enough to swallow light and radiate a grey shimmer. Blue signs flittering back and forth with every movement, signs that she thinks she could dechiffre if only she had the time. Dark hair with a touch of brown she is sure she never would have noticed if she hadn't been in the void for so long. Silvery chains glinting on milky skin. And eyes colored dark blue like the sky right before darkness falls. Her favorite color. They are filled with pity, painting dark lines around the iris. Pity. Of all things she might need to see. She stares at that face for endless moments. There is a name to the face. She can't remember.
"I am so sorry."
The sudden voice, the sound coming from this person after eternities of drowning silence, is enough to make her jolt. She feels a joint in her left shoulder pop, but she doesn't feel the pain. She is beyond pain. The voice is too loud, pressing against her ears, and suddenly the buzzing hum is back that she has learned to ignore- the loudest sound of all, the sound of nothing. She wants to cry out then, but she doesn't know how anymore. Instead she just stares at the new torturer, the one who destroyed her last defenses with one sweep. The face with a name.
What was her own name again?
Blue eyes meet her own.
"Tara... I hope you can forgive me some day." The voice is back, softer this time, less violent in her eyes. It makes the bitter laugh that follows all that much worse. "Although of course I know you won't, will you?"
She is confused. Tara sounds like a name, but she is pretty sure that it's not her own. She has her own name. What was her name again? Turtles. Lizards. Liza. Why does she think of turtles now? She feels like laughing but is not sure she could. Her name is Liza. And this person in front of her is Renet.
Of course it is.
And her brain starts to work again, immediately flooding her with information. Pictures in colors too brilliant to remain even in her memory. Sounds, an endless row of sounds, sounds she could produce if she knew how to will her body to do so. Names and faces. So many faces. So many alert signs. So many question marks. Questions that need to be answered, and still her throat won't work. She swallows thickly and hot air rubs over the raw, dry skin of her mouth. She hasn't seen water in too long. She doesn't know how she can still be alive like that. Maybe she isn't. One more question she can't ask.
It is answered anyway.
"He will kill you." Renet comes closer and looks down on her. When did she sit down on the floor? Maybe Renet is really floating in the white empty air. She couldn't tell. The words have a hard time getting through to her rusty brain, but they too settle eventually. He will kill her. The man who brought her here, the man who shoved her from absolute darkness into brilliant light and left her to rot. He will kill her, the Ultimate Ninja, the Daimyo's son, the half-bred dragon, the merged monster. For being at the wrong place at the wrong time he will kill her.
The thought hurts, but it doesn't surprise her anymore.
"It is my fault, you know." Renet comes closer, the tips of her glossy black shoes almost touching the girl's thin knees, before she sits down in front of her. Everything about her appearance is too shiny, too neat to be in a place like this, in this single cell with the dissolving stick figure she feels she is. She tries to concentrate solely on the voice, but it only makes it all that louder, all that much more violent, and she gives up quickly. "It is my fault you are here now. I told him the person he is looking for is you."
Renet sighs then, a small sound unworthy of the Time Mistress she is supposed to be, humanoid as she might look like. Tara doesn't care about the woman's feelings. She doesn't care about her ideas, not about her looks, all she wants to finally understand is why she has to be here.
"You are the right person, you know. You are the girl with enough magical potential to become a goddess when the time is due. You are powerful enough to put the wielder of time scepter and war staff in his place with the sweep of your little finger." Renet laughs again, the same harsh and bitter sound from before, the same meaningless echo reflecting from the walls. "That's what I told him, and it is the truth, because he can see through lies like glass and the Time Mistress can't lie anyway." A short break, long enough to take a breath. She has abandoned breathing long ago. Something inside her is slowly turning into ice. "Some Master of Time I am. Whatever. I told him the truth, you are the right person. What I didn't tell him is that you are from the wrong dimension. And that's why he will kill you. Why he has to kill you."
She stares at Renet in a state of pure disbelief. Why does she have to listen to all this? What is the purpose of knowing that escape is here, inches from here, and she won't be saved because some other girl in another dimension has to live? She'd rather she wouldn't know, now that she does. Seeing her last hope flaring up and being smashed to pieces is more than she can handle. More than she ever thought of having to endure. Even after hours and days of waiting in this cell she had still somewhat believed she'd be saved by someone, anyone, really. Now she knows that she won't be, and she doesn't understand why.
"You need to play the part." Renet locks eyes with her, and for a moment all that is are these blue eyes, the universe, the endless space and the mass of every being that has ever been and ever will be combined in one person. For this split second Liza understands that there is so much more Renet has to take care of, that maybe she doesn't count that much after all, that sometimes a sacrifice has to be made. The second passes and leaves her lonely and dizzy.
"You need to play the part and buy us time. The boys and I will make this right, all we need is a distraction. Ue can see many things, but being in this dimension weekens his powers. Play Tara's part, Liza, and help me save this. I don't need you to forgive me. I just need you to help."
There is no plead in Renet's voice when she speaks, only facts, calmly presented to her on a silver tablet. Your choice. Take the key and walk out of here, risking to lose everything in the process. Or press the red button and the bomb detonates right at the enemy's headquarters. But that's where you are.
More pictures flood her mind, and she barely has time to realize that it is not her own brain sending them before she has to close her eyes in order to not throw up. Pictures of the future in everything that could happen. Pictures of fighting and of dying and of never knowing what has happened. Empty black pages. Human beings can see whatever happens during their lifetimes. Not less. Not more.
"I want you to bring them a message." Her fingertips are hovering above the red button now, brushing the smooth surface. Her mind knows no bandages. "I want you to tell them something from me. Promise me, woman-that-can't-lie." Everything that she knows. Everything she has watched over and over again, everything about the Battle Nexus, everything they need to survive. And underneath it all, a single picture stuck to her mind. A group of people standing around a grave. The sun shines. One of them carries red roses in his arms, and a few petals trail down to touch the grass. A boy she might have come to love eventually. Friendships she will never forget as long as she lives, however long that may be.
Renet looks at her for a long time before she nods. "I will deliver the message. Anything else?"
The button feels polished under her fingers, sending tingling sensations up her arms and raising the fine hair in her neck. The one way to go. The one step to take for the sake of the world.
"Will it hurt?"
Renet tilts her head, only the fraction of an inch, studying her like a very interesting specimen.
"Would it make any difference?"
She grabs the dark arms of the fear creeping into her mind and pulls it into the light. Looks at it front and back, up and down, studies its form, the way it shifts and changes and stares back at her with empty eyes. Takes a deep breath. Arranges herself and makes her peace.
"I guess not."
She pushes the button.
The next time she opens her eyes, the room is empty.