TOUCHING GOD
A knock at the door.
Unexpected company always had a tendency to arrive in the wee hours of the morning, long before twilight has even risen over the lands and waters of the world. Far before the night lifts her veil of darkness and casts a pale luminescence over all things, living and not, that is the most common time, it seemed, for visitors to drop by suddenly. Under a star studded with twinkling stars, like little diamonds cast across a velveteen cloth, they came walking.
In older times, on the holidays, the common folk were the most notorious for this. They would arrive, coming to carouse and make merry for the one time of the year they could pretend to be of an upper class standing. At other holidays, they would come singing, cheerful and delighted at the special occasion. Other times, they were merely seeking handouts from a charitable high society, ruled by fear of looking ungrateful and unkind by both their friends and by the religious class during a time of giving and love.
However, while this was not the time of year for that, somehow, Taylor Dawson had been expecting that knock. It had given him a bit of a start, a sudden rapping on his apartment door in the predawn hours, but the singer had been anticipating that event for years. Ever since he was a little boy, Taylor had been certain that day would come, when he would have to leave, unexpectedly, and most likely in the middle of the night. Thusly, the strange, inebriated woman at the Masquerade who had harassed Dane did not truly worry, nor confound the singer.
The one thing that did surprise him, despite the realization that this, in fact, was the day he had been waiting for, was, when he looked through the peephole, who stood on the other side of the door.
"Evening, Dane," Taylor greeted as the door creaked open slowly.
The bald bassist rubbed his head absentmindedly, stalling for a moment, gathering his thoughts and the appropriate words, feeling the growing stubble on his head. "You are never going to believe this..."
Taylor nodded and pulled his long, ebony hair back in a tight ponytail. "Hold that thought."
He turned back, heading back into the apartment. Dane quickly tucked in the door, following his friend and band mate down through the long hall, passing the kitchen and going into the light, cream living room. It caught the bassist off guard how quickly Taylor could navigate the organized chaos that was the little one bedroom apartment. The dark haired chap could tuck and dodge past the equipment and amps without even batting an eye, while the landscape, which shifted between every visit, it seemed to Dane, caused his friend to take pause before every obstacle. Dane held his breath as he caught up with Taylor at the hall closet, contemplating the correct way to say things.
"Look, I know this is going to be hard for me to say," Dane began.
Taylor shook his head, digging through the jumbled mess at the bottom of the closet, casting aside old clothes and storage boxes. "So just say it."
"There are..." the bassist swallowed, having only just been told the same thing.
Taylor gave a quick nod. "Yes... go on..."
Dane had enough of the closet searching. "Look at me, god damned it." Taylor glanced over his shoulder, a bit shocked at the sudden urgency, but not too terribly surprised, oddly enough. "Look, Taylor, I need to talk to you, with you."
"It's alright," he replied, turning back to the closet. "I already know."
"What?"
His friend's hand had found purchase on the item he so desperately sought and hauled a packed backpack from under everything. The thing was ancient and tired looking, a bit tattered. The hunter green fabric had faded here and there from wear, while other, discolored spots had obviously accidentally been bleached. Taylor held it out as if evidence of his knowledge of this event.
"I'm already ready to go," the singer announced.
Nycole rounded the corner into the room and looked down to the man at his knees in front of the closet, as if in some strange act of prostration. "Are you ready to go, my friend?"
Taylor bit his lip. "I've always been ready, physically. Mentally, not so sure."
"I understand." Dane watched in awe as the empath knelt beside his band mate; she placed a tender, seemingly understandingly caring hand upon Taylor's shoulder, as if aware of exactly what was needed. "I know, this is not an easy burden to bear, but it is yours to bear and no one else's."
Dane looked away. He had never been given such care and attention. Sakaki saw the unsure look in the bassist's eyes, but the former hunter couldn't say anything. He had fallen into things just as Dane had, just as Amon had, just as all of them had. However, it was not Sakaki's fate to serve destiny and live out predestined lives again and again until getting it right. The young man had merely been dragged along for the ride.
Nycole, meanwhile, felt the tenor of Dane's spirit change. "Both of you-" she called forth their names, extracting the information from their minds with little effort. "Dane and Taylor, both of you have been given what is both a wonderful and a terrible gift which cannot be returned. Both of you have been touched by Fate and Destiny, marked to live this life and to perform certain acts."
Taylor closed his eyes slowly. "I know."
Nycole smiled softly. "You have always known."
xxxx
"What did you do?"
Brett barked the words at Sierra, demanding an answer and commanding authority over any who dared cross his. He was, after all, Thirteen. He was blessed and cursed, given all the power necessary to do what Destiny beckoned him to do.
Sierra grinned coyly. "I beat the bloody pulp out of her." She gave a toss of her head to the Other Thirteen. "I gave her exactly what she deserved, what she had been begging for." Evil flashed through her eyes with seeming life and vigor of all the demons of the universe congealed into one. "I sent my Thirteen down upon them, let them do whatever they wanted to her."
One of the Other Thirteen cast forth a wave of fire, hot tongues of flame, licking towards these three. Amon felt his own energy, his inner spirit rise forth to meet the flame. However, he merely smacked it back towards the source, the origin, like a batter at the plate. The action seemed so natural, so practiced and ready.
"Who?" Amon questioned curtly.
Sierra hissed through her teeth. "The other Oracle."
"Nycole..." Amon breathed.
Kristo shook his head, giving a break in his hold of Sierra just long enough to backhand the giggling girl. It was not in Kristo to willingly strike a girl, unless absolutely necessary. In this case, it was. He needed the truth, the whole truth, not these games and riddles the Oracle played.
"No. It can't be. We left her safe," Kristo snarled directly in Sierra's face. "And even if they did manage to find her, the others would have kept her safe. They'd die for her if they had to." He glowered over her. "It's a lie."
"Leanna..." Amon breathed the word, sadly, solemnly, like a death knoll.
Kristo, enraged, moved in less that a heartbeat. With the speed of the hummingbird, he hauled Sierra to her feet and hurled her at the Other Thirteen, knocking a few of them down as they caught the falling Oracle. Their Oracle. For Sierra, while her greed, bloodlust and malice, could never, ever give caution to his fellow Warriors. His hands shot out, grabbing at both Brett and Amon, dragging them with him as he plummeting into the abyss.
Yet they did not fall. The void reached out and cradled its master, Kristo, and his companions as they slipped into the nothingness about them.
"Brother..."
xxxx
They were on the move in an instant, running, fleeing, escaping from the city of Atlanta and its suburbs. There seemed a cool calculation to how everything was happening, to what was being done. It was as if everyone knew their own place, their own distinctive task to accomplish to make this small evacuation work.
Nycole felt her heartstrings tug as something pulled at her with grave intent. Something from the far North. The empath didn't want to think about it, didn't want to hurt anymore, wondering if this was the end of one of her Thirteen, her beloved Warriors. She felt torn, as if dragged off by someone's callous hatred and terrifying rag, pulled to the North by some unseen force.
"Be safe."
She whispered the silent prayer to the sky as the stars slowly drifted overhead.
"Please..."
xxxx
"Oz."
Kristo drew forth the thought with determination. He called upon each and every memory of his brother, his poor, innocent younger brother.
Being younger and setting off fireworks. They had grown up together, separated by a little over ten years of age. As soon as the younger Kristo had been able to convince his mother to let them, he showed his little brother sparklers and, then, with great relish, fire crackers. He felt such fatherly delight at his brother's claps. Kristo himself, had only been fifteen or sixteen at the time. Kristo could still see the little boy running across the damp, summer grass, a sparkler in each hand, as a dash of glitter trailed being him in small streams of light.
No luck.
He closed his eyes tighter, focusing harder.
He drew upon the last memory he had of his brother, or, at least, of seeing his brother face to face. Yes, there had been phone calls and pictures sent back and forth, but Kristo had been forbidden, by both Fate and the Tennessee Department of Child and Family Services from seeing his brother.
However, before that, they had lived together, up until Kristo went into the military. That last day together, Oz had been heartbroken. His elder tried hard to keep his younger sibling calm and happy. This was a day to be merry. Kristo was, in essence, going off on what would really be like an extended training session for his true calling. However, Kristo could not, in any sense of the word "ethically," divulge that tidbit to such an innocent, young boy. Kristo left his brother with a pat on the head and a playful tossle of Oz's blonde hair, telling him to worry not, and hoping that a day would not come any time soon when he would have to suddenly tell Oz of everything.
Kristo could still see the look of deep sadness in his brother's eyes, yet he could not quite find Oz. They had hidden his own brother well within Kristo's chosen kingdom of shadows and night.
"Damn you."
xxxx
"How much farther?"
Robin hated asking the question, but, somehow, deep inside, she couldn't bear to continue just riding in the passenger seat beside Leanna as the woman sped down the long, lonely highway through the night. Amon had always been so detailed, so precise, while Leanna remained only impartial and silent. Her silence spoke volumes of her cool seeming disdain. Or was it just like Amon? That Leanna merely had nothing to say instead of wasting her time on petty small talk and chatter.
Leanna dipped her head slightly. "Washington to Atlanta is approximately 12 hours following appropriate speed limits and state driving statutes."
"We aren't..." Robin whispered, tucking her knees up beneath her chin.
"No," the assassin allowed the word to slip from her lips almost absently. "No, we are not."
"Then, how long?" the teenager asked again.
"I do not know."
xxxx
The abyss, the void, for it had many names, went on for time immemorial. The vast nothingness of the shadow and night went on forever, into infinity, and beyond, for all intensive purposes. Humans so often like to think of the universe as such, but nothing, not anything, is anywhere near as vast as the abyss that Kristo could fall into at a moment's notice.
Oz could have been anywhere in there. Anywhere. In any place in that dark nothingness.
Kristo screamed out, calling to him. "OZ!"
And there came a faint answer, a whisper of sorts, carried on a breath of air and the sweetly indulgent scent of midnight intoxication.
"Oz!" He called again.
Another soft reply hung about the wind. "Brother..."
"OZ!" Brett shouted, hunting this way and that, looking for their lost KIng.
"HERE!"
And, there he was. Amon almost jumped out of his skin at the sight of this, their King for all ages and lives. The man couldn't believe his eyes. It was nothing more than a mere boy, no older than Robin, maybe 15 at the oldest, the utmost oldest. His sandy blonde hair hung in a slight bob cut, falling gently across pale, fresh skin, so innocent and unmarred by time. His eyes were of the palest, softest blue, an almost unnatural cerulean with sharp, teal highlights. This boy heralded the image of youthful innocence and peace.
"Oz..." Brett breathed.
However, to Amon's dismay, Kristo's reaction remained far more calm and collected. He gave a nod, reaching out with both his mind and his arm. The shadow walker's fingertips caught, brushing against his own brother's skin before taking hold of Oz's hand.
"Let's go."
xxxx
Aha. If I were a smartass, I would make a LOTR reference her in pun.