Aliomenti Saga 6: Stark Cataclysm (2 page)

Angel nodded, her platinum blond curls bobbing.

“Sorry,” Fil said. After fishing a fork from the utensil drawer, he sat down at the table and began shoveling food into his mouth. Any excuse not to talk about his least favorite topic.

Adam smiled. Though four centuries in age, he looked to be in his early seventies. That appearance was of his choosing; his natural look would make much of the world see him as a man in his early forties. “Don’t apologize. Discharge.”

Fil swallowed his food. “I
hate
discharges.” He shoved another bite into his mouth, chewing with great fervor.

“So you’ve mentioned for the past decade. It’s part of your responsibility, though.”

Fil swallowed again. “Yeah, yeah, don’t want to attract the scary Hunters, men I could blow up without breaking a sweat.” He rolled his eyes. “I wish we could just wipe them out. I could do it, you know.” Visions of the Aliomenti Headquarters in rubble filled his head.

“No, Fil,” Adam said. His tone was that of a stern grandparent. Adam wasn’t really his grandfather, of course; he merely played that role. He did it well, too well most of the time. “Much as I hate to say, they need to live, because—”

“We know, we know,” Angel chimed in. “Daddy’s memories say all three Hunters are alive when he travels to the future.”

Fil turned away, though he knew the anger generated by her words was impossible to hide from his empathic sister and “grandfather.” They lived their lives in bondage to those memories, a devotion to a future that permitted a man to leave his wife and children rather than fight those who would seek them out and attempt to destroy them. It would be no more than an attempt. He could take them all out now. He knew it. But his mother had forbidden him from taking such action.

“Fil.” Adam’s voice was patient as always. “You’ll feel better if you do a discharge.”

Fil stood pushed his plate aside. “I’m not hungry.”

He stood and stomped out of the room, listening to his heavy footfalls and the rattling of the walls and furnishings.

He froze as a weak voice reached his sensitive ears. “Fil?”

He teleported to his mother’s door and hesitated outside her room. “Mom? Should I—?”

“Yes, come in.” Her voice sounded weaker than usual. That couldn’t be a good sign. He took a deep breath, turned the handle, and pushed the door open.

He’d seen pictures of his mother from her wedding day. She’d radiated happiness and beauty; he could see the Energy sparkle in her blue eyes in those photos. He thought of the pictures he’d seen from the time of his birth, when she’d still shown a spark… just a bit more subdued, something he noticed now only in hindsight. His favorite picture, of her holding the newborn Angel, gave even more evidence of her decline. Even as a seven year old, he knew something was wrong. And he’d heard the adults—Adam, Eva, and Aaron—talking about his mother’s graying hair falling from her head soon after Angel’s birth.

He forced himself to look in her direction and smiled.

“I know I look awful, Fil.” Her voice was soft, delicate, belying the lifetimes his mother had lived, the power she’d wielded in both physical and Energy terms, the emotional strength displayed as she’d lived the last few decades without any obvious support from her soul mate. The wrinkles were severe, the eyes dull and sightless, her hair long gone. Her remaining, waning Energy was spent in a daily battle for survival. The ravages of a millennium of living had savaged her life force over the past eighteen years, accelerating as each defense fell.

She looked every bit of her thousand years. And each day made it clear that, unless they found a means of reversal, she’d not be with them much longer. He was amazed at the tenacity she’d displayed in lasting this long, while they fumbled about with various theories and attempts for cures.

“You look beautiful, Mom. You always do.”

“Liar.” There was no malice in her quiet voice.

He winced slightly. “I can honestly say you don’t look a day over five hundred.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She closed her eyes, exhausted by the brief exchange, before opening her eyes to continue. “You need to discharge.”

The words hit him like a dagger. All her pain, all her suffering, and he’d made her worry about
him
again. “I know, Mom. I was planning to get a session in before school.”

The pause told him she knew that was a lie… or that speaking took too much strength. “Good boy.” Another pause. “Fil… I don’t know how much longer—”

“Don’t say that!” His tone was savage, his fear at her message overwhelming. “We’ll find something, Mom. We should announce a vacation, go to the Cavern, and—”

“I won’t do that to those people, Fil.” She coughed, a hacking sound that sent shivers down his spine. He was grateful that Angel wasn’t seeing or hearing this. “Seeing me will make them fear for their own lives. Mine was a unique set of circumstances that will never occur again. When the time comes, I want you and Angel and Adam to tell everyone that I’ve gone on a mission with Will.”

He turned his head so she couldn’t see his face.

He’d be an orphan in any true sense of the word. His mother… gone. His father… in deep hiding. He’d be asked to pretend they were dead, to care for his ten-year-old sister.

It wasn’t fair. It was too much to ask of him. Alliance members told him his father was a hero, willing to sacrifice his own happiness to keep his family safe. Safe meant nothing to Fil. Safe meant separation from the father who existed only as a memory. Safe meant a painful final existence for a woman robbed of her eternal youth.

He wanted them together, not “safe.” Together, as a family, they could make any situation permanently “safe.”

That approach never received serious consideration. Plans and discussions focused on hiding Will’s continued existence from the Hunters. As a result, a man six centuries younger than his mother acted as her father-in-law, they lived under false names and appearances, and he could do nothing Energy-related outside scutarium-lined safe zones.

It wasn’t fair.

I know it isn’t fair.
He jumped as his mother’s words sounded in his mind.
Life rarely is. The mere possibility that your child could be at risk is a horror too terrible to consider for a parent. If you can do anything to alleviate that risk, you’d never choose to do anything else, no matter how great the personal price. One day, you too may become a parent, and then you’ll understand better why your father and I made the decisions we made.

Fil paced the floor, shaking his head. “I’d rather take my chances, Mom. I’m old enough to make that choice. Angel could level a city block without difficulty; no Hunter is going to be a threat to her.”

They don’t work that way, Fil. The don’t come at you with figurative guns-a-blazing. They trap you and use your own conscience against you so that your greater power is of no use. The only way to win is to avoid engaging them. They’re relentless. You’ve seen the videos. Two centuries spent looking for Will, without fail, even with no hint of his continued existence. If they learn that the two of us live, that Will Stark has a second child, that my true identity is... what it is? I’ve little doubt they’d destroy the entire planet to enforce the penalties for breaking their Oaths. I don’t want to give them the chance to prove me right.

He heard her transmitted words, but they failed to resonate.

It was different for him. She’d had centuries of life lived with Will. Angel had a strange telepathic mutation that allowed her to sense his presence and existence when all other approaches failed. Adam and other long-term Alliance members had worked with Will for decades or centuries. Even Arthur Lowell, the Leader of the Aliomenti, had spent years with his father.

But not him. In those few formative years, he’d been Shielded and prevented from communicating with the younger Will. He’d watched the man suffer at Fil’s affliction, blaming himself. It would have taken mere moments to allow a bond to form. But that was denied to both of them, because of a deep fear that such a communication would alert the Hunters.

And while Fil could understand that logic, nothing could explain why his centuries-old father, one reputedly living in the shadows, couldn’t take a few moments to communicate briefly with his son. Offer some words of encouragement or advice; tell Fil he was proud of his son. Anything. It didn’t even need to be face-to-face; Will could send an email or a postcard, and Fil would be ecstatic beyond words.

The decision to deny Fil even that brief bit of communication hurt deeply. And each time someone told him Will Stark was a hero, a knife twisted into Fil’s heart just a bit more, ripping open the scars of abandonment once more.

He went along with it for two people: his mother and Angel. But he’d never make a decision because of the benefit it might bring, or the harm it might cause, to a man who actively avoided him to such a degree.

I hope you find peace, Fil. It’s difficult for you to understand now, and I can’t deny that in your position I’d feel a sense of resentment, abandonment, even anger at your father and what his actions and memories have meant for you. I can promise you this, though: one day, you’ll come to realize that this is far more difficult for Will than it is for you. I can’t ask you to accept that, not now, or even take my message on faith, or to trust me. You can learn this only through your own experiences. Today, I can only ask that you keep an open mind that what I’ve said could be true.

Ever the dutiful son, Fil nodded.

Go, please. Discharge. The buildup… it doesn’t help your temperament. You’re acting like someone going through ambrosia withdrawal.
With the strain visible on her face, she arched what remained of her left eyebrow.

Fil couldn’t help it. He laughed.

He walked to his mother, bent down, put his lips to her cool forehead, felt the leathery, loose, translucent skin, and kissed her. “Love you, Mom. Don’t ever doubt that.”

And I love you, Fil. More than anything. Never doubt that, either. No matter what happens.

Fil nodded, and then teleported to the discharge chamber.

The chamber was a small room constructed hundreds of feet below their new home. The sparsely furnished room had one unique characteristic outside its location: it had been lined with dozens of layers of scutarium. They’d tested its capacity, deemed it fit to withstand even a Fil Trask-sized Energy onslaught, and stepped aside. Fil felt the room was similar to a stint in detention. All alone, no electronic devices to allow outside communication, nothing to do but read a book. He picked up a decades-old tome, sat in one of two chairs in the room, opened the book, and turned off his Shield.

The Energy poured from him, eager to escape the boundaries of the Shield. He let the excess bleed off first, letting the scutarium absorb and clear it from the room. He then began consciously pushing more and more Energy from his body. The older Will had done this a decade earlier, two days before the great fire destroyed the life Fil had known in his relative youth. Will had done it to summon the Hunters to Pleasanton at just the right moment. Fil went through the same process on a regular basis to avoid leveling his new hometown should an unexpected sneeze disrupt his Shield integrity.

The book was enjoyable; he finished reading two chapters before marking his place. The raging fire exited his body, leaving behind the pleasant warmth that new Energy users found so addictive. It was a temporary reprieve; the Energy would naturally regenerate over time. For a few weeks, though, he’d live in greater comfort. He found his mood markedly improved, just as his mother predicted. The excess buildup of Energy soured his mood, and he needed to avoid anything that might set him off, shatter his Shield, and bring ruination to innocents.

He took a few deep breaths, feeling the air work its way to his lungs, felt the refreshment as overtaxed cells began performing optimally once more after being relieved of the intense internal heat. He took a few moments to rebuild his Shield, using techniques his mother taught him years earlier to keep the construct in place when his focus moved to other matters. Like school. He glanced at the watch on his arm. He’d need to leave soon.

Fil teleported directly to the kitchen, smiling. He felt cheerful for the first time in weeks.

Angel and Adam were finishing breakfast dishes. Adam gestured at the microwave. “Plenty there for you if you need more. It just needs to be heated up.”

Fil nodded. The discharge sessions always left him famished. He gratefully warmed the leftover food and sat down at the table, shoveling the food into his mouth.

Angel sat down to join him. “Feel better?”

He nodded, chewing feverishly. “You do realize you’re going to have to do this at some point as well, right?”

She grimaced. “Don’t remind me.” Her eyes became distant, her facial expression confused. Fil felt his pulse quicken. The look wasn’t one he’d seen from her before, but he could feel her rising confusion. When she regained focus, she looked surprised… and frightened.

Fil shot to his feet and leaned over the table in her direction. “What’s wrong?”

Adam, who’d walked out of the kitchen, stepped back into the room, worry on his face at the sight of the emotion on Angel’s face.

“Mom… I… she… I can’t…
feel
her.” She swallowed. “She’s gone.”