The thrilling conclusion! Or not. :D
Many, many thanks to anyone who's taken the time to read this. Hope it's been worth your while.
Vox Humana - Part 7
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The twins had taken the lift, and what was more, had departed the globe entirely, as she found out when she called down for them. "I think we scared them off," she said. Things had gotten a bit... noisy.
"How do we get down?"
Seven, of course, could leap easily from the platform, as they both knew. "There's this," she said, tugging on the rope that held the tag to the section. It was tied to a heavy-looking metal box with several dials. "But I don't want to pull it loose from the book."
"What about this?" said Nine. He had gone over to the spools, and now patted the largest one, wound with sturdy cord.
"That'll work."
As they lowered the cord to the ground and prepared to cut it, he said: "I still want to hear the endings. Both of them."
Why? He already knew them.
Nine held the cord while she cut. As he set about tying it to the metal box, she went to the corner and placed the shears tenderly back on the cloth.
"Those were his tools, weren't they? The ones he left."
Of course he would know that. "Yes," she said.
"He's still looking out for us."
She smiled. Her thoughts exactly.
·
·
It rained a little the following morning, and the twins tested their garments, splashing through the pools with their leg-coverings, twirling under the spray from the open roof. Seven could almost hear their exuberant laughter as she watched, along with Nine, from just inside the entrance to the globe.
"Why didn't we think of this?" he said, laughing with her.
It was a good question. Even if not this exactly, at least something should have occurred to her. Like a portable shelter, for example. Not that she had any idea how such a thing would work, but she did know they existed. It seemed so obvious now.
"I should have thought of it when we covered up the globe," he went on. "Even though we just used regular cloth. Maybe that's when they got the idea."
"I had no idea there even was waterproof cloth."
"I only remembered it when I saw it last night. But people would wear those kinds of clothes to protect themselves, even though the rain didn't really hurt them."
"There are all kinds of rooms in this place, with all kinds of things," she said. "Like the place where they found the bulbs. I remember there being some clothes in one of them." Long garments, hanging in a tall alcove, one of them in a strange and shiny fabric.
"It's funny, isn't it? How there are some things we just know, and some things we have to learn. And some things that we don't realize we know until we see them."
Or feel them. A sharp little thrill went through her as she remembered.
"And it's different for all of us," he said. "What we know, what we can do."
What had they been talking about? Oh, right. "They have a lot of knowledge stored up. They can probably do almost anything."
"We can do almost anything." He smiled at her, and that little thrill went through her again. Though they stood close together, framed in the narrow opening of the globe, they did not touch, and that was for the best.
"You should get to work on that light. They should be finished with our things in a few days."
"Oh, I wanted to ask you about that. It won't work."
"What?"
"The bulb won't light. It looks like it should. Nothing's broken inside. But no matter what I do, I can't get it to work."
As they went over to his workspace, abandoned from the night before, the twins came back inside. Seven watched as they scurried over to a cloth they had laid out, removed the dripping clothes, and hung them on a wire stretched across overhead. "Come here," she said to them, and when they did, she inspected them each in turn, looking for wet patches. A bit on their faces, on their hands. They would have to be careful about that. But all the covered places were dry. "I can't believe it," she said again. All those years of protecting them, and now they were protecting her.
The pair smiled brightly at her, and then, in perfect sync, departed for the lift. There was still much for them to do.
The metal pieces, which had been strewn around haphazardly the other night when she had sat with him, were neatly arranged now, on top of two books stacked to make a table. Nine picked up the housing he had built for the bulb and handed it to her. "I tried it with a switch," he said, "and without. All the connections are there. But it still won't light."
Inside the housing was the battery. She shook it out into her hand. "Where did you get this?" she asked.
"From one of those things the people wear on their wrists. The ones that tell time."
"Was it working? Were the little things moving inside?"
He frowned. Apparently not.
"Where did you get the last one?"
"Five had it with him."
Which meant – "The power goes away from these things after a while. He must have put power back into that one. From the generator."
"Right," he said, nodding. "Right. That's – of course. So... there's probably no way I can do this, then. There won't be any out there that still work. Not after all this time."
She handed the things back to him. "I'm sorry. I should have thought of it before."
He smiled at her. "It's all right. I didn't either. And anyway, maybe we could build one of those things someday. A generator. If we found a place where we wanted to stay. But it would have been good to have a light for our journey."
They already did.
Of course, she did not say this. What she said was: "We'll deal with it. I can usually find my way, even when it's darkest. And there's always the twins."
"The twins... oh! Their lights."
"They can use them if they need to. They can only keep them on a few minutes at a time, but in an emergency, it should be enough."
Nine placed the housing down on the book, and then the battery. His hand moved over to the glass bulb, lingering on it just a moment, before letting it go as well.
When he turned back to her, he looked at her very seriously, and then did something very strange: he took her hand, brought it up to his face, and brushed his mouth against her fingers. It was... not unpleasant. She took a deep breath.
"I need to ask you something," he said.
She blew the breath out again. Of course.
"I was trying to wait for you to tell me. But I don't think you will. So I'll ask you."
This didn't sound good...
"What is this thing," he asked, "that you think I know?"
She took her hand back. Stared at him.
"You think I know something," he went on, unfazed. "I think it has to do with why you left the other night. And I thought you might tell me when you got back, but then I realized that you think I already know it. It doesn't even matter what it is. If you don't want to tell me, then don't. But I just thought that I should tell you that I don't know it. Whatever it is." He frowned a little, as if he was trying to work out what he had just said.
But she knew exactly what he was saying. And if he was lying, then he was incredibly good at it. His face, his voice, held no trace of insincerity.
How was this possible?
"I know it's something you've done that you regret. I've worked out that much. But it's in the past now. So if you don't want to tell me – "
"In the past?" she said, finding her voice again. "In the past? All I've heard from you since the others – all you've been asking about is the past!"
"What are you talking about?"
What was going on, here? Was she losing her mind? "I'm talking about you. Asking the same question over and over again, only you wouldn't just ask me directly, you kept trying it to make it look like you were asking me other things. How often did I visit the twins? Did I ever want to visit the others? How long was I with them? Where did I live, how long was I away? So I answered your real question, the one you wouldn't ask me, just to get some peace. And then – " she planted her feet – "then you come at me with, why didn't I tell them I was out there? What about what I said to One? And now you're trying to tell me, now you're really, seriously trying to tell me, that you don't care about the past?"
He stared at her. "I – but – " he stammered, shaking his head. "None of that was about the past."
Maybe she was losing her mind. Or he was. Yes, it was definitely him.
"What did you think I was trying to ask you?" he said.
"So now you're going to – "
"No, no, please," he broke in, holding up his hands. "Tell me. What did you think I was asking?"
"You were asking," she ground out, "why I left them."
Comprehension dawned on his face. "Right," he said, nodding. "That – explains a lot."
Ten seconds. She was ten seconds away from hauling off and –
"You were right, there was something I was trying to ask you. But that wasn't it."
"Then what?" she snapped. "What was it?"
Out of nowhere – incongruously, incomprehensibly – he came over with that look again. That shy look. That awkward look. "I – you answered it already. At least, I think you did."
"You just said that – "
"Not then," he said. "Last night."
"What, you mean when I told you about the – "
"No. After that." If his face was anything to go by, there was no doubt as to what he meant.
Words failed her.
He averted his eyes. "I wanted to know if you were going to leave. If what you really wanted – was to be alone. Like you were before. I wasn't – I mean, what happened back then was – I just wanted to know if you were going to leave. I was trying to figure you out."
He was trying to figure her out.
She played back all of those questions in her mind. The ones before. The ones since.
How could she have done this? How could she have misjudged him so completely? All he'd wanted to know was if he would have to go the rest of his life without another voice. She couldn't even blame him for wondering. For hadn't she often wondered it, too?
The difference was, for her, it would be a choice. She had chosen that path before. She had made her peace with it. But he hadn't. And to consign another to silence – to unending, unbroken silence – against their will –
How could he think that of her? Even if she did leave, it would only ever be for a little while. She had made mistakes, and plenty of them, but she had never set out to deliberately hurt anyone. And she had thought he understood her. She had thought that there were things that she hadn't had to say, that he perceived, that he knew.
She had thought that he knew her. That he saw her.
And had still...
Those things that they had done. Those things that she had let him do. Letting him hold her. Letting him put his hands on her. Crying out in surrender. Surrendering herself.
But he didn't know. He didn't know her. And maybe, he never even wanted to. He had just blundered into it, blundered into everything, the way he had been doing for the entire two weeks of his waking life – a child, he was a child – and she had –
She had soaked it up. Soaked up his regard, basked in his unwavering attention.
And even worse than that – more appalling, more humiliating than that – was that she still wanted to. Still wanted his eyes on her, his hands on her. Still wanted his regard. His attention. Still wanted to talk to him. Still wanted to hear his voice. Still wanted to cry out in his arms.
Because he may not know her, but she knew him. He was still all the things he was before. Still clever, still perceptive, still compassionate. Still resilient. Still the one who had risked life and limb for her, the way no one else had, the way no one else ever would. Still the one willing to die to put right the mistakes he had made in complete innocence. Still the one willing to act, to take risks, to stand up even when she herself faltered, when even her own supposed courage failed her.
Still the next step, still the end to waiting. Still the beginning.
Why did he have to open his mouth? Why did he have to tell her? Couldn't he have let her go on believing? Why could he never leave well enough alone?
It was her own fault.
Because once again, she had not been listening. To him, to what he had been asking. Even in the candlelight – with the despair so plain on his stricken face – she had not seen.
She had blundered into it, too.
"Maybe I should tell you what it is, then," she said, and her voice sounded low and strange, like it was coming from someone else. "Because then you might not be concerned so much. With whether I leave."
He made to take her hand again, but she pulled it back.
"I believed what I said about One," she went on. "I still believe it. But what I didn't realize at the time was that we're a lot alike. We both needed a purpose. It was what set us apart from the rest. He knew what our true purpose was, or at least part of it – but he was running from it. So he needed another one. As long as he could be the leader, be the protector, he had a purpose. Without that, he would have nothing. And I know this, because I was just the same.
"I didn't admit it to myself at the time. I told myself that I needed to find out why it had captured me, that I couldn't kill it until I did. And I did want to know that. But it wasn't the real reason." The words were pouring from her now, unstoppable. "When that thing came back to life, even though it had wounded me, even though it had just put me in that place, I was glad. I was relieved. Not right away, but later. I was relieved that it wasn't over. And after that, during all that time, I never once – once – went in for the kill again. Even though I had nearly gotten it the last time. Even though it had wounded me, and I wasn't afraid. Because as long as it was out there, as long as I was hunting it, as long as I was keeping it away from the others – I had a purpose. I was protecting them."
"But you did kill it," said Nine. "You saved us – "
"Yes," she said, "when I was left with no choice. I would have died before I would have let it harm you. But it got Two, when I wasn't there to protect him."
"You couldn't be everywhere – "
"Exactly. And that's why I should never have held back. I should never have played games. I gambled with all of their lives. I gambled with his. And I lost."
"No, you didn't. I'm the one that woke it. I'm the one that woke the machine – "
"But none of that would have ever happened – "
"It needed to happen!" he said, and this time he did take her hand, held it in both of his, held it to him. "Don't you see? That was our true purpose, you said it yourself. We saw it with our own eyes. The world is different now, because of what happened. They're gone – their voices are gone – but they're still here. They're everywhere. Don't you feel them?"
Every second.
"They were trapped, before. Not when they were inside the machine, but before that. That man made us, but he never told us what to do, not really, not even in that message he left. He probably didn't even know himself. It took an accident, it took a mistake. I was the one who made it, but nothing set me apart. It could have been any of you. But you didn't have what you needed. You didn't have the talisman. So there was nothing you could do, nothing any of you could do, but wait. That's all you were doing. You weren't gambling. You were just waiting."
For something. Anything.
"I had no idea you really believed that about One. I thought you were just trying to pick a fight with him, so you would have an excuse to leave. But I don't think he really wanted it out there, either. He didn't want anything to do with it at all. He was running, just like you said. That's why he told you to stay away from it. You were getting too close, just like the twins. Just like Two. He was afraid of what you'd find out."
Leave it be, I say!
"I don't know if he thought you would really leave. But those things you said – they must have made him angry. Maybe he just said it without thinking. Maybe he was just willing to take the chance at that point. He wasn't above that kind of thing if he thought it was necessary, or if he thought he was being pushed too hard. You could either stay, and fall in line, or you could leave, and you would be lost forever. I don't know."
His face, when she had said those things...
"But I think I do know why you never told them," he went on. "Why you asked Two to make that promise. If they knew you were alive, if they knew you were out there, then they would be making a choice. They would be choosing to be apart from you. Instead, you wanted to be the one to choose. You wanted to be the one who was apart. And you could still be with them, in your own way, because you were protecting them. I had you all wrong, right from the start. It's not that you wanted to be alone. It's just that you were less alone when you were by yourself."
Time stopped.
She was back there, back at the place with the towers, slicing her blade through its neck. Plunging it into the ground. Lifting her visor. Seeing their faces. Hearing their voices. Two, embracing her.
Charging the winged creature. Snared, harpooned, pinned against the hull. Struggling, as it hauled her in. Eight, cutting the cable. Saving her.
The library. Five smiling, helping her to her feet. Six, paper fluttering, happily greeting the twins.
All of them – all that were left – gathered, standing together, watching the forbidden place burn. All together, all of them, back together after so much time. As if no time had passed at all.
All of them, acting – finally, acting.
And One. The two of them, working together, fighting together, the way they had done before, the way they were always meant to do. The general and the lieutenant. How she would have followed him, if only he had led her where she'd wanted to go.
All of them, doing what they were meant for. What they were made for.
What would it have been like? What would she have been like?
What had kept him? For so long? She'd never asked. She'd never asked why it had taken him so long to wake. Did he know? Should she ask him? What had it been like, sleeping so long?
Was it like waiting?
She closed her eyes. Felt the rise and fall of his gentle breathing. Felt his arms, circling her. How long had he been holding her this way?
"It wasn't like that... at the end," she said softly. "And – " she took a deep breath – "it isn't like that now."
Though she knew it was impossible, she swore she could hear him smile. "I was waiting to hear you say that," he said.
·
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It would be morning, soon.
Nearly everything was done. Four neatly-tied bundles of rain clothes sat in a row by the entrance to the globe, fitted with straps to be carried across their backs. Her weapon leaned against the wall next to them.
Nine was busy stocking the quiver – Five's legacy – in which he planned to carry a few threaded needles, and one special needle, a small one that had been rubbed with a magnet and run through a strip of cork. Placed in a pool of water, it would spin until it pointed north and south.
The twins were turning through the crinkled pages of their catalog, taking one last look. When they came to some of their favorites, they would lock eyes, beaming their lights at one another in a shared memory. She had expected them, at first, to be a little melancholy; after all, this had been their home for many years. But they weren't. Maybe after all that time they had spent, storing knowledge and never using it, they were just as happy to let it go. After all, they had been waiting, too.
Seven was taking stock.
Her weapon was coming with her. That wasn't even a question. But what about the rest of it?
She picked up her shield. Slipped it onto her arm. It was a good bit of work, she had to admit. It had taken her a long time to find the right parts, especially the tube that held it on; nice and sturdy, with that clip on it that held everything in place. It had saved her a few times. But there was a different adversary out there now, and this would make it harder to fight, not easier. One more thing she would have to carry, one more thing she would have to juggle while putting on the clothes. She took it off, and placed it aside.
Her helmet. An even better bit of work. She turned it over, looking at the smooth, hollow inside. How long had it taken? Chipping away, little by little, at that structure of bone. Figuring out a way to hold it together. Weighting it properly, so it was balanced, with the feathers attached to the back.
It had seemed so important at the time.
·
·
Back and back, running swiftly, flying swiftly, to the place where she had rested after her escape. There, a disheveled pile: thread, feathers, and bone. A skull-face sitting on a mound of scrap.
That morning, she had seen it. The creature. The beast. Making its rounds on its ungainly limbs. Fully recovered.
Both of them, fully recovered.
This last creature had not survived. This last creature had died, languishing, in its cage.
She picked up the skull. Turned it in her hands. An idea had been forming. A good one.
Just about the right size, to slip onto her head. For good measure, she took some of the threads, too, still strung with the feathers. She might be able do something with them.
This last creature had lent her its parts, its wings, so that she might do what it could not. Now it was time to return the favor. This last creature had been game.
Now it would become a hunter.
On her next visit to the twins after she had made it, they took one look and ran, scurrying away, frightened of her. She heard the sound of her own laughter ringing in the silent globe; saw their faces, peeking out from their hiding place, when they recognized it. Felt herself smiling as she lifted the visor.
The pair in ecstasies. Swooping toward her, swooping around her, snatching the piece off her head, each trying to hold it first. Lights flashing in insatiable curiosity.
And once again, she didn't blame them.
·
·
Turning it in her hands again, she smiled. It was good work. It had served her well. It did need new feathers, though; they had come off in the explosion. Maybe she'd find some along the way.
Why not?
Nine had finished with the quiver, and was holding the crossbow now, just looking at it. She had never known the like of him. Never known the like of the past few days. But she did not say this. Instead, she asked, already knowing the answer: "Are you going to take that with you? I can show you how to use it."
"No," he said. "It'll be too much to carry, with the rain clothes. And I really don't think we'll need it."
Her thoughts exactly.
"But can you show me how to use it, anyway? I'd like to try it."
She suspected that he didn't really need her to show him, but did it anyway, standing beside him, instructing him, positioning his hands, as Five had done. Smiled at the delight on his face when he fired it. "Nice work, isn't it?"
"It really is." He turned to her. "There's one more thing we need to decide on."
They had put it off for last. But it was time, now.
The twins brought it over. Unwrapped the cloth that shrouded it. Handed it to Nine, who cradled it, just as had he had done the night of the burning.
Metal. Hemispherical. Exquisitely crafted. Strange symbols etched into its three divisions at the top, smaller ones circling around the base.
Talisman.
Poor Six. He had tried to show them. They had not seen. Except for Two, who had been the only one who had ever bothered to look. What might have happened if he could have spoken? Really spoken? Would they have listened? And as she thought this, it suddenly occurred to her that he had been trying to tell her something, too, up in the clock tower all those years ago.
Talking. Listening.
She would really have to remember that.
·
·
They departed at dawn.
Only small puddles and traces of dampness now remained in the library, and, past the cascade of books that guarded the threshold, the sky outside was extraordinarily clear. According to the twins, it was normal for the rains to come and go. She wondered how long it would be until the next one. Wouldn't it be funny if, after all they had gone through anticipating and preparing for them, they didn't come again for months?
Walking through the courtyard, they passed by the remains of the plants that had once grown there. Grass. Trees. She knew the words.
"I think you'll like them," she said. "If they do come back."
"I think I will, too."
"I really don't remember much about them. I never got to look at them too closely. I don't think I ever even touched any of them."
At this, the twins waved and gestured, pointing at themselves. They had.
"What did you think?" Nine asked.
Identical faces smiled, nodding excitedly. No surprise there.
They walked on. When they reached the site of the burning, they looked up, at the building, towards the room.
That man had spoken to them, from the message in the box. And as she had watched the projection flicker in the room's muted light, she had felt not one flicker of recognition for him. What was it he had said? That they were all that was left of humanity?
Human. The last human voices.
But they weren't really, were they? They were only impressions. Only instruments.
Human, but not. Human, but more. The next step.
"Are you ready?" Nine's voice. A hand on her arm.
She was.
Five points, like spokes on a wheel. Wordlessly, the four of them picked up the tools they had used before, still where they had left them, and dug into the ashes at the center. When the hole in the ground was deep enough, Nine removed the talisman from where he had stowed it and placed it gently in her hands. "You do it," he said.
She had never held it before. It was heavier than it looked.
She placed it into the hole they had made. Together, with the tools, they mounded the mix of ash and earth back onto it, and tamped it down.
After the ground was closed up, she stood again, briefly, at Two's place, while Nine retrieved her weapon. She took it from him, smiling at him, feeling the beautiful weight, and stood with him a moment, taking his hand, by the spokes of the wheel. Then they all continued on, heading for the border of the ruins.
Walking circles wouldn't bring them back. It didn't even need to. They were already here.
And they were still speaking to her.
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Well, that's a wrap. Liked it? Hated it? Caught any mistakes? Let me know what you thought! :D