Penumbra
High Road; Low Road
The memories flooded his mind came unbidden… undesired.
He climbed through his bedroom window, a temporary escape from the tyranny – he wandered the streets, not to return to the place that was and was never home. Normally he might have made an appearance to his companions, confidants and cronies... Tonight, he wished to leave no trail… to escape for good. A place in mind, a romantic ideal, and he were to be gone in the dark.
The swirl of lucidity clouded the present. He had no wish to know these things, no matter how much clarity that they awarded him for listening. It was wrong, and he knew that.
There was torment and there was torture… and none of it compared. He had to admit, it was nice to be cared about for once, but to care was to be in pain – he could not afford that, for himself or for them… and again he left, a mere ghost of a memory. So he did not care, as he did not worry…
But why did it still hurt so much?
For a brief instant, he was himself again… and perhaps he understood. He was ill as he relieved years upon years filled with blood and grief. And to what end? There was no glory, no romantic ideal in the Phantom War… It was fought for survival, and the glorious prize… was death.
No! he denied them; he tried desperately to drown them with his dreams, his emotion… thoughts of her flooded his mind, rightful in their claim. Her name was his salvation from the deluge, for it was the single thing he knew for sure to claim as his own. Even his reflection held no recognition to his self.
But she...
Aki…
And how had he staggered here, to this hall of mirrors? They surrounded him, permeated his mind, shown his form, and yet echoed nothing of his plight. The pained, desperate man staring back at him held none of the answers – the bare truth.
He stared into his eyes, a disappointment. He cast his gaze downward… failed… indistinct. What was he for, then, if not to bring pain to those he cared for?
His breath caught as he noticed the wraith.
It was behind him. He could feel it. He tried to see it, but it was nowhere – always behind him, out of sight by reflection or as he turned. Had it always been there, or had his imagination conjured it forth?
"Who are you?" his voice cracked. Had he used it?
Bold question, came the reply, Heart to heart? Sincere, boy; good boy…
It slid over his shoulders – a shawl of the invisible twilight… crooning in the voice of the evening zephyr.
"What do you want?" he demanded, strong in control – in survival.
Want? I want only to serve… to help… Yes, I want only to help him that seeks me… Brother of the Earth that seeks me… you that seek me.
"What makes you think I need your help?"
She walks a dangerous path, a path you cannot reach. Laughter, soft and fleeting… stagnant pool ripples in the dark places beneath the Earth. Tell me… what would you do to save her? For you know she will not act to save herself.
He frowned. It was not a fair question. The answer, he did not need to give. Before it even glimmered in his mind, the bargain was made.
…Anything…
The mirrors rippled, and he saw himself clearly for the first time.
---
Aki jerked awake to the sound of a half-dream. No memory, no way to tell if it were her dream, she pushed up in her chair. Disoriented, she glanced demurely from side and side. This was not her laboratory-made-apartment. This was not the Boa. So… where was she?
Hospital whites and grays, and the hum of equipment. Yes, she had fallen asleep here, after checking with the staff to ensure it was safe. Ryan…
Rubbing her eyes, Aki glanced his way. He had fallen to slumber… shortly before she must have nodded off, herself. No sedation necessary, just natural, healing sleep. Peaceful sleep. At peace.
The young doctor shivered, stifling the urge to rouse the sergeant to defend against her own train of thought. She looked for else to attract her attention, finding little to nothing in the chill, sterile room. Nothing warm, not a thing living save Aki, herself, and he… and he that needed the rest.
Her gaze was drawn to the window. She stood slowly, becoming reaccustomed to her cramped body as she made her way to stare at the city beyond. Well-contrasted to the world in which she stood, the skyscrapers loomed dingy and dark… and sharing a different facet of the same grays.
All reflected on the glass.
The window was useless. The eternal twilight of the Barrier masked day from night. There was no reason for it to be there save the aesthetic that mankind had associated it with, and for that glass was easier to produce than most materials, and easier to smelt and recast and reuse without difficulty. Which failed to explain the scratches on this one, but for the shrill grating on glass of a dream.
Aki blinked.
Perhaps she was seeing things… an eccentric reflection playing into her mind. Or it had subliminally influenced her dreams…?
The scars on the outside of the glass held her attention rapt. That which drew it further did so from the other side of the glass… a shadow taking flight from the corner of her eye. Aki leaned forward, straining to see beyond the edge.
Am I sleeping even now?
"Doctor Ross?"
Trembling, the young woman spun about. She smiled weakly. Not asleep, not a dream… Merely a young, wide-eyed private looking for a job done and gone.
"I'm sorry but I couldn't find the other one… They…" Not lost on Aki was the fear the young woman wore bare. To her own fright, it hit an empathic nerve, and she sympathized, worrying for her lost near-friend… What had happened to him that caused such a terror?
"I'm sorry; they thought he was one of Michaux's," She choked the name as though it were a curse, "Doctor, that's who they gave him to."
Unnoticed, Ryan cracked an eye open. Stifling the disagreeable, don't, feeling that strikes before certain doom, he interceded politely, striking his status as officially asleep.
"Who are you looking for?"
Both women turned. Aki leapt to explain, apologetically,
"Your squad-brother… we… ah, seem to have lost him."
"Yeah, I gathered," the sergeant asserted, "But what did you say? Who got him?"
The girl hesitated. Only with Aki silently imploring her, did she speak up, "Staff Sergeant Michaux, sir."
"Hell," Ryan swore, coughing humorless snicker, "That's what I thought you said."
Decidedly not afraid of this person unknown, Aki smiled and shook her head, "Where can I find this… sergeant?"
"Doctor, I…" the private caught herself fast, strangled, "I didn't ask. I don't know; I'm sorry, doctor."
"It's okay," Aki assured her, turning to Ryan on her way out, "I'll see what I can find. Be back soon."
"Doctor Ross!" instead of letting her go in peace, the sergeant instead imparted a cryptic series of warnings, "Be careful; straight and to the point; don't let yourself get sidetracked, don't assume, and for God's sake, get out as soon as you can.
Anything can be an offence, and will be taken as an offence. Remember that."
Aki fought to grin at the somber warning. There was laughter in her voice as she replied,
"Don't worry, I can take care of myself," she paused before the door, "But I'll be extra careful, just for you."
And she was gone. The private lingered, unsure whether she was supposed to wait or report home. Just as she were about to excuse herself, Ryan spoke up.
"You gonna stick around 'til she gets back?" he asked leisurely, watching her movements, the way she turned meekly to stare, not at him, but a hundred yards past him with big, frightened doe-eyes. He could have laughed. He didn't.
"I'm sure it'll be one heck of a story, when she does," he continued, his bass flawless to every lazy word, "Go ahead; pull up a chair if you want."
She obeyed instantly – nearly falling over herself to fulfil the offer seen as demand. Ryan sighed, suppressing a chuckle, Is that how they teach 'em now?
"You remind me of someone," he said, "You know that?"
"Sir?" the girl glanced at him once before staring back at the floor tiles.
"A very special girl I knew once, a long time ago…" It was too new; too raw. The sergeant nearly trapped himself in a world that was of his own making. He altered the subject – he was near about talking to himself, anyway, "What's your name, kid?"
"Violet."
"Violet," Ryan repeated the name-word clearly, adding to it easily, "Violet Mercer?"
Her head snapped up, her eyes frightful again, "How did you…?"
The man held up his hand, cutting her off; he flicked a finger to point directly to the thick white band on her uniform,
"You're wearing your nametag."
"Oh."
This time, he did laugh, albeit quietly. He noticed, pleased, how she smiled shyly. Even if she couldn't look at him for more than four seconds at a time, it was an improvement.
"Well then, Mercer, want some advice from an old-timer?"
"Sir."
It could have been a yes, or it could have been a no. Ryan paused, gaining a sense of the situation.
"Don't leave them behind," he offered at length, "They wouldn't want you to – they'll be right there for you every time, just don't ever go away without them. You got that?"
He had surprised her again. Her mouth moved without sound… and the sergeant only watched, dispassionate… letting her to her own affairs and decisions of what to make of it. Eventually, she managed to squeak,
"Yes sir."
And so he smiled.
---
The safest way past the demons of Hell was to follow at the Devil's heels and pray no one paid heed.
This, although perhaps he had not thought of it as thus, was Neil's strategy. With every second step habitually shadowing Sierra's, he followed her at a marked time past light and darks that merged to a gloom in the corner of his eye. He did not look; he did not dare. He did not know if he was supposed to be following, or if the sergeant even knew he was there.
But the doubt was far overcast by simple perception. At the last he had been aware, the two of them had not parted on adverse terms… or at least, more adverse than Sierra was on the general basis. The fact that she had stepped up to defend him only strengthened his confidence – if she did it once, chances were good that she would do it again. The idea that she, herself, was one that could easily find menacing situations was clear to his course of thought, but he also knew that she was intimidating to people that had not known her since she wore braces. And even if shove came to blows, she was perfectly capable of handling her own, and with his help, given help was necessary, then….
And, at the very worst, he could always run.
As Neil's logic dictated, this was the safest place in the world to be.
Survival appeased, the technician determined to explain unto his rescuer the whole story once she was somber… which meant, most likely, when she asked him, and was – with all due luck – willing to listen to his reason.
Content for the time being, he let his mind permeate to where he were presently allowed of the more pleasant atmospheres of consciousness… in this case, limited to the bright memories opposed to fantasy or reverie, murky but perceptible in the realm of hindsight….
And every blissful facsimile was to be equivalently shaded to mark the embittered future accompanying it. Not one retrospection of the sheaf did the man not see at least one… brothers and sisters, in blood or in battle, heartlessly sacrificed to the unquestionably elusive goal of preservation.
This furthered to the reoccurring apprehension over his own mortality, as well as the personal admonition that maybe that hadn't been such a good idea…. But the damage was done, and he had little enough spirit to stop the lead of the cycle of thought.
Instead, with little better to do, he ran with it.
---
Awareness was fleeting… indistinct. Shadows flittered, tangible… alive. She could see them easily now. They watched from behind the light, moving and jostling one another for the best vantage. Sometimes they would run away, and at the very least shrunk back whence she approached. They were waiting… a warning or a welcome to the world… or perhaps silent bystanders to whatever they knew had invariably come to pass.
But Jane cared nothing for it. Frequently, she stepped off her indistinct path to deliberately scatter them, watch them flee, wraithlike, to their new hiding places.
"I hope you're having as much fun as I am," she laughed, dry… rasping. She was worn out… it hurt to exist, but so long as she could still harass the locals… well, she had something with which to entertain herself, at any rate.
Maybe it went both ways. They never actually went away, they just… moved.
She turned back to the center of the hall, trudging forth to the solid, perfectly timed scuffing sound of her bare heels scraping the stone beneath. Dragging her feet almost felt like a privilege, the sensation tearing at her feet apart and running cold into her calves. But, no, that seemed… wrong. For the first time in some hours, she actually focused on the ground before her.
Snow.
Behind, the pure, untainted white leading back to marble halls – she hadn't left a trace. Before, it piled up on floor and walls aside, parting for a giant oaken portal. All around her, the stuff trickled down from above, not interfering with the perpetual light that was so aggravating her nerves.
Jane groaned. She hated the cold. But… hell if she wasn't closer to the other side of the snowdrift by now.
It took a lot to ignore the chill. It climbed her legs, sinking deep into bone. Her blood froze and, yet circulation maintained…
Soon, she felt no different than the snow at her feet.
Numb, she stopped for her breath. In equilibrium as the air around her…
Suddenly, she jumped alert as she noticed the shadows had moved closer. Perhaps bolder, they seemed far more animate, rustling audibly in excitement… perchance whispering among themselves.
Oh, what do you know? Forcing a derisive snort, Jane fell the last few steps to the end, landing heavy against the wooden plane… she imagined pulling the door open once she recovered enough to do so, if only it weren't so cold.
As it turned out, she didn't have to worry about it. The door, heavy as it were, swung easily inward under her comparatively slight weight. She fell with the movement, landing heavily beyond.
It burned… as extreme as the freeze, the thaw tore its way into her body and took root, seeking equipoise to the chill that she conducted. With the little energy she still possessed, she clawed her way toward the interior, despite how her hands caught fire. Only once the cold had receded, now all but replaced, did she stop….
She lay as she was, seared… incinerated to ash and scattered to the wind, perhaps… not that she knew. Hours might have passed, and it seemed to fade. No abandon, as she could have hoped, and no oblivion…
At long last, she groused, rolling up and taking heed of her newest surroundings.
Dusk. Dark, penetrating gloom. Unlike the rest of what she had seen, light only emanated from a few strategically placed and rather mundane candles. Dead shadow dominated, where the radiance cowered in stagnant little pools, flickering only in fear of the breeze.
The place may as well have been carved out of a single, giant tree… the struts and supports, the floorboards, all a part of the embellishment rather than form. Careful imperfections had been detailed, grandiloquently, so as to show they were there.
And the door, Jane noticed, had closed of its own accord.
Sighing, she turned back to the great hall. She had little desire to backtrack, but this was… unholy.
But you're here, she goaded, now what?
Inert, she fought to move.
Well?
No movement. No reply. She grew impatient.
Walk!
Falling forward, she stepped for her balance, padding softly into the vast open beneath vaulting archways. A mere shadow to the emptiness, she past the tables and chairs, carven of the same stuff as all else and merely portrayed different, that loomed grand in the darkness.
The first that caught her full attention was a simple object – a chalice, turned upon its side. There were, she noticed at length, several of them about, but only this one, askew, managed to make her realize it. She righted it, stopping short of marvel at the love that must have gone into the craftsmanship of the thing – wooden like all else here, but thin, eloquently shaped and solid to the touch.
She turned away from it, now entranced by a sudden glimmer deeper inward… and high above. Carefully she watched, waiting for it to repeat. It failed to do so, and, inquisitive, she followed the direction to a mantel rising from the floor, near over her height. Peering over the edge, there were many more furniture legs just visible in the dark.
Piqued, Jane made the effort. Ascent was easy enough – she slipped her hands over the edge and dragged herself upward, stepping twice up the edge. Continuing, she peered into the darkness, trying to find that which glittered so enticingly.
Another, shallower vault followed… and a third platform and standing high above the others. Carvings in the wood proved easy footholds, and Jane stood before a single table – unlike the multiple and arranged below. Yet even this was abandoned.
Twelve ornate chairs contrasted the multitude of plain and practical that existed below. Each, perhaps, was a theme – marked in no language the woman knew.
A last landing, high above the third as the third was the second and small. In comparison, it was the smallest – five full paces across an indeterminately polygonal shape… as Jane soon found, it overlooked the full hall. A majestic dais raised from the floor, a masterwork of metals and woods. Curved elegantly as two beast's heads that rose, vigilant to either side above the seat. Perched daintily upon a lovingly carved ear, a ruffle of black feathers curled in on itself, hiccuping in sleep and setting in motion a silver chain attached to a tawny talon… setting off a sparkle in the meager light. She reached for it – this that lived in the lifeless abyss; it roused, yet not to her action, as before she touched it, and it hissed, as to felinekind.
This was the heart – death still and lifeless. Feathers roosted, but silently, for the most part, and as though not of this place. In this dark and nothing, this vacuum, it would be the last thing Jane could have suspected.
"Women are not allowed in this hall."
Boisterous, the words may have carried to the edge of the hall, where no ears listened. It could have reached beyond. As it were, it caused Jane to jump and that were all she knew of it. Spinning to confront this one, she came abreast the chair and glared.
Perhaps he were handsome, this fair, well-groomed man. His leathers bore a distinctive authority, and he smiled kindly enough… but there was something in his eyes… a thing deceptive.
The raven – as it were no less pleased than Jane – hissed and cawed, fluttering once before settling to glare as she did… irritably and spiteful.
The man took no heed, all his attention on the woman before him. He followed her glance to the bird with much interest.
"Ah, I see you've met Hugin," he murmured darkly, "Clever little thing… a pity he's no more useful than a doorknob."
"But as I said," he repeated, drawing focus back to himself, "Women are not allowed here."
Likely that she should have spoken, but she had little incentive – this was the first person she met since she Gray had left her in the luminescent halls… and already she didn't like him. Familiar resentment smoldered, held in check by caution on unfamiliar territory.
If the man cared, it didn't show. Ostentatious, he continued on,
"I am willing to grant you an exception of course, although I must say… I am curious as to you are doing here."
Only when it became apparent that he could likely remain for some time did she give a curt reply.
"And who are you?"
"That… is," he answered slowly, seemingly taken aback, "An ill-mannered question."
"But come," the stranger's smiled returned. Danger, the sensation rippled, opposing the gesture. The man stepped forward, hand outreached in offer, "There are much more pleasant places than this… Come, you tell me–"
As he moved, a blob of darkness brushed past Jane's right side. Another to her left, though not as close, lunged synchronistical. She saw them clearly - a pair of wolves, chained to the throne – as they strained their bonds to the limit, snarling and barking at the stranger. The woman watched, neutral, in fascination of the display.
The man stumbled back, clearly rankled at the interruption. As if to add his personal brand of insult, Hugin cawed once, ruffling in displeasure.
Recovered, the man scowled… cautiously measuring how to further proceed. Guarded for the moment, Jane merely smirked. The impasse lasted briefly, for another voice sounded – worn, wind waning through the skeleton of an ancient ash…
"Leave be, Deceiver… This one is not for you."
"Then who is she for?" the one demanded, turning. Jane saw the newcomer now, an old man – thin and wan, bent under robes that would appear to heavy to bear, yet he did, "What rules still govern us, now? Answer me this."
"This is… still my hall. If no where else… there will be order here… And be they our ways…"
The great breathes between words wheezed audibly. The old man leaned heavy on a walking staff, face hidden, downcast… impressive beard swaying from side to side beneath the brim of his hat as he walked. He set a hand to the head of the nearest wolf, almost a consoling effort, as he meandered past.
Settling into the raised chair and setting his staff aside, he sighed deeply; the wolves flocked to him, whining in commiseration.
"It would be wise… to remember that," the elder spoke, "And… if you do not agree… then you may… always leave."
It seemed a fractured second, and the younger man vanished with his scowl. Jane could only blink – he had been there, and now he was gone. Her understanding had a slight trouble comprehending it as she saw it.
"And you… child," the hat turned. Perhaps the head turned, and she could not see, "Who comes before me at this hour? I would… see… you…."
"Ah yes…" where the woman refused to move, it seemed to make no difference. She watched, cautiously, alert to the chain winding about her ankles as the wolf it were attached to sought solace, "Warrior… you… your kind would have be welcome here… in an Age… but we lost so much… so much…" he coughed, sending a fluff of beard trembling.
"But I sense you… you are not for mine… not yet, perchance… What is to be done, yes, what is to be done?"
The old man cackled, "Hugin, come to me."
The raven fluttered down from its post, landing on the man's inert arm. He trilled and murmured, reaching to stroke the feathers affectionately, "Yes, I lost her… I lost his sister… but Hugin has remained ever faithful… ever faithful… but he must… I must do without…."
"He will lead you well… do not stray… do not run… he shall lead you…"
"Take her… to the Serpent," he crooned, "He will know… what must be done. The Serpent… tell him…."
Now ever vigilant, Jane wondered at the wisdom of this. Wise to not interrupt, she waited impatiently. Hell, what other choice do you have?
The old man chuckled, raising his arm with the single command, "Go."
The bird took flight, flapping harshly into the darkness. Somewhere beyond, it cawed impatiently. Jane remained until the elder nodded, wheezing a laugh, "Your place… is not here…. Go on."
Still hesitant, she lingered. A sudden thought unbidden in her mind.
"What of Captain Edwards?"
"Captain Edwards…?" the voice questioned, sounding surprised, "That one… is not here…. You may yet… find him… if you seek…. But he… can find… his own way…. You believe… truth this."
Unsure whether it was a statement or a fact, Jane turned to walk to the edge of the landing, wavering in her own determination. She glanced back to find the old man gone, the wolves crouched doleful at the foot of the chair….
Shuddering, she slipped down the side, bounding back the way she had come to follow the restless and overeager caw!
