Suture (The Bleeding Worlds) (4 page)

The farm. His mind cleared just a bit, to recall the farm. What was that, three days ago now? Yes, and he'd been encased in a cocoon of silence since. The members of Ansuz seemed uncomfortable around him and the other kids in Suture avoided him like he was something to be feared.

"Thanks, Angie. I appreciate it."

She didn't respond. Instead, she stared, slack jawed, toward the horizon.

Dark clouds had begun to gather, swirling like an angry ocean in the sky.

"That's not right," Angie said. She scrunched her eyes closed and hunched slightly forward.

The clouds responded by growing darker. Gwynn couldn't even distinguish one cloud from another—it was just a mass of black.

A breeze ran a frigid finger along Gwynn's jaw. It whispered in his ear, and though he couldn't make out the words, he knew they filled him with dread.

Angie's eyes were open now—wide and worried.

"We should go," she said.

Go? How did he do that when he couldn't even remember how he'd gotten here?

"I'm so stupid," Angie said. "Letting myself get too comfortable. I let my guard down." She was on her feet, shouting at the approaching storm. "You're not welcome here. You cannot, will not, interfere."

A deep rumble sounded in the distance. Her body recoiled as if she'd been struck. Gwynn couldn't move. Something in the whispers of the breeze, the way it wrapped around his body and held him immobile, felt familiar.

Angie scrambled toward him, gripping his shoulders.

"You have to wake up, Gwynn," she shouted, trying to make her voice heard above the increasing howl of the wind. "I'm sorry. Please, Gwynn, for both of our sakes, wake up."

Gwynn's eyes opened. He was wrapped in warm blankets, his body cradled by a soft mattress. He blinked the blurriness of dreams from his eyes. As his vision adjusted to the dark, the details of the room came into focus. Blank walls, a lone desk—home? No, he remembered, not home, Suture. He doubted he would ever consider it home.

He rolled over to look at the bedside clock. The cold blue numbers displayed the ungodly time of three-thirty am. He lay there for another twenty minutes before deciding sleep would never return.
Odd
, he thought, considering his dream,
I can't remember the last time I had a dream.

He recalled a time, not long ago, when his nights were filled with nothing but horrible dreams. Memories really, waking him throughout the night. During that time, the thought of losing those dreams frightened him almost as much as the dreams themselves. Remembering what you had, and what was lost, seemed so important. Now, forgetting seemed like an attractive idea.

He rose from the bed, clicking on the lights, and grabbed a towel and clean clothes. Another lesson learned from those many nightmare filled nights—warm water can help wash away the sting of dreams.

The washrooms were communal between the private rooms of Ansuz members and the dorms shared by the other kids of Suture. A private room was one of the perks of being in Ansuz. Though Jason told him it was more for the benefit of the other kids. Apparently Gwynn wasn't the only one who had bad dreams.

The warm water pouring over his face helped bring the waking world into clearer focus. He'd had a dream about another girl. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or not. If it had been nothing but a good dream, perhaps he could allow himself to feel good about it. But the ending…the black clouds and wind intent to speak to him. Even now, he could hear it, reaching for him, searching for a way to enter his mind. He recalled the whisperings of the other kids shortly after Ansuz returned from Nebraska.

"Did you hear what he did?"

"His sword."

"Didn't even flinch."

"Bogeyman."

He leaned his head forward, letting the water run over his scalp and down his back. He tried to envision the dark being washed out of his hair, following the trail of the water, away from him, and washed down the drain. Dark clouds in his dreams, a bogeyman by reputation—he should've stayed in Brantfield.

He sighed, twisting the knob to kill the water. Tonight, the darkness refused to be washed away.
 

Dried and changed, he left the washroom and started toward his room.

"Trouble sleeping?" someone asked.

He half expected it to be Angie. Instead, it was Fuyuko.

Since the events of eight months ago, she'd been the closest thing he had to a friend. While Jason treated him all right, he suspected the kindness was more because Jason was Fuyuko's boyfriend than him having a true desire to befriend Gwynn.

When he'd first met her in his hometown of Brantfield, he'd found her determined and confident. She'd had a piercing stare that could stop you dead. Since Elaios had shattered her spear, a piece of her soul given form, she'd changed. Her powers had been so important to her, a way she defined herself and had defined her relationship with her deceased brother. Without them she continued to struggle to find out who she was. Gwynn envied her. She could escape this life. No more worrying about monsters and worlds crushing other worlds. A life filled with school, a career, maybe a family. He'd suggested that very thing to her once.

"It's easy for you to say," she'd said, "because it's how you've lived most of your life. I don't know anything else. My parents worked for Suture before I was born. My earliest memories are from when I was about four, and my brother had already awoken as a Script. My own powers came three years later. I don't know any other life. I don't think I've ever wanted any other life."

"I'm sorry," he replied. And he was. Her words had been tinged with tears and he couldn't stand he'd hurt the one person who treated him as a true friend. "I just meant there are other possibilities to be happy."

"If I left this behind, I'd have to leave Jason." She said his name quietly, as though afraid the mention of it would make losing him true. Gwynn's practical side, probably instilled from years of living with Jaimie, figured teenage romance would end anyway. The part of him still paralyzed from losing Sophia understood perfectly.

He'd never tried to cheer her up like that again.

"Yeah," he answered, leaving that past conversation behind. "I had a weird dream."

Fuyuko nodded. "Hazards of the job. I heard things got a little…messed up on the last mission."

"Honestly, it wasn't anything worse than what you and I saw in Brantfield."

"Maybe. Still, I think it's the first time any of them have seen a person turn into a Curse. It seems to have rattled them a bit."

"Is that…" He felt odd asking her, but he couldn't help it. "Why everyone is being weird around me?"

"Because you killed it?"

Gwynn nodded.

"I don't know. Maybe. I guess…well, it's easy to not think of them as people when you never see them as anything other than monsters," Fuyuko smiled. "Or maybe they're just bothered by the fact they all froze and the new guy had to save their ass."

Despite himself, Gwynn chuckled.

"You should try to go back to bed," Fuyuko said. "They won't go any easier on you just because you had a lousy night's sleep."

"Right." He turned to go, but hesitated. While she'd made him feel a little better about Ansuz's reaction to him, it still didn't explain the others. It didn't explain something he'd overheard just the day before. "Fuyuko," he turned back to her, "do you know why the other kids would be avoiding me? And why some of them would be talking about the Bogeyman?"

Her eyes said she knew the answer. Her hesitation made it clear it wasn't something she wanted to discuss. As much as he valued her friendship, he knew he would press her for an answer.

She sighed. "It's probably my fault."

"What?"

"Do you remember that night in the park?" she asked.

"How could I forget it?" He'd first drawn Xanthe from the Veil, channeled all his hurt, pain and sorrow into its forging. Adrastia, singing a song so familiar, making him feel truly awake for the first time. Adrastia, who he hadn't seen since Brantfield. Pridament said he'd seen the girl, and so therefore she couldn't just be a figment of Gwynn's imagination. Eight months without her, Gwynn wasn't so sure.

"When I saw your sword, it reminded me of a story I'd heard. Well, we've all heard it."

"The Bogeyman?"

"Yes."

"Wait," Gwynn caught his voice getting louder. "I thought the Bogeyman lives in closets, or under beds, and steals children, or their dreams, or souls, or something. What could that have to do with Xanthe?"

"Every child needs a Bogeyman. I mean, parents always tell kids, 'Get to bed, or the Bogeyman will get you.' What story do you tell a kid who has the power of a god?"

"I…don't know."

"You tell them a story about something that could frighten them. A moral lesson in why you shouldn't let your powers get out of control. The story says there was a first one, a first Anunnaki. He couldn't die, couldn't love, and so he filled his endless days with one purpose—to gain more power. He became a vampire of sorts, feeding off the energies of other Anunnaki. The stronger he became, the more lives he took, the greater his insanity grew. He became such a threat all the old gods created their first treaty. They worked together to subdue him and locked him away. Eventually, he escaped, and is still somewhere out there now. For the younger kids, it's a story people tell to get them to not use their powers foolishly, or else the Bogeyman will come to take them. For those of us who are older, it's a cautionary tale we shouldn't try to be stronger than what we are, because it will corrupt and destroy us."

"I'm still not seeing what that has to do with me."

"Every Anunnaki draws a weapon from the Veil. While there's no doubt it's connected to our soul," her voice caught, filling the word with remorse, "we're not sure why it takes the form it does. The Bogeyman, first one, whatever you call him, had a weapon as well. A sword."

Gwynn drew a slow breath. "And what, my sword's appearance reminded you of his?"

"Yes."

Gwynn touched his temples, trying to press back a sudden throbbing. "Is that why you knew my sword was called Xanthe?"

She nodded, yes. "After the park, I called my dad and asked him to tell me everything he knew. As the head of Research I thought he might know more than just the kiddy stories. He told me the one thing that doesn't get mentioned often was the name of the Bogeyman's sword, Xanthe."

"And when I couldn't call it, you told me to try Xanthe."

"I didn't think it would work, but the situation was kind of…desperate."

"So what does that mean?" Gwynn asked. "I'm going to be some kind of monster because my sword has the same name?"

"I don't know." Her lip quivered. "I'm sorry. When I got back I…"

"Told Jason."

"Yes."

"It's fine. At least I know. Good night Fuyuko."

"Gwynn." She reached out and grabbed his arm. "I really am sorry. I didn't think it would be a big deal. I was upset and hurting and I just blabbed everything that happened to Jason. I never thought it would be a problem. I guess with the last mission, it just got everyone talking again."

"Fuyuko, it really is fine. At least I know why people are being weird around me. Besides, with everything you went through, of course you'd tell Jason. If it's anyone's fault, it's his for telling someone else. He should've kept what you told him private."

Her grip tightened. "Don't blame him. He likes you. He even respects you. I don't want to see the two of you fight."

"Don't worry." He gently pried her fingers from his arm. "I'm not mad. I'm just saying you shouldn't blame yourself. Besides, Jason is dedicated to his team. He probably told them when I got assigned to Ansuz. If anyone blabbed to the rest of Suture, I'd put money on Brandt."

She gave a sad, tiny laugh. "It would be the kind of thing he would do."

"Good night Fuyuko. Thanks."

She helplessly watched him go. It struck her as a sad irony a man could hold the keys to a billion worlds, yet be so lost.

Njord stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Woten's office in Suture was simple, with a few pieces of art decorating the walls and a simple wooden desk. Though two unoccupied chairs sat ready for him, he felt neither the need nor desire to sit in them. The most luxurious thing in the office were the simulated windows. At this level, Njord knew them to be several hundred feet below ground, but the windows shone with sun light and showed blue skies. Looking closely, he thought he even recognized the coast and could hear the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

"They help to keep me sane," Woten said, entering the room. "You could've sat while you were waiting for me."

"It's fine. I prefer to stand. I suspect I'll be spending a fair amount of time sitting in the next couple of hours."

Woten nodded grimly. "Indeed. I hope your team didn't expect a long rest."

"I don't think they count on anything, anymore."

Woten sat in a large chair behind the desk. He motioned toward the empty chairs with his hand. "Please, Njord, sit. It's a bother to my neck to look up at you."

Njord took a seat. This brought him level with Woten's single-eyed stare. One eye that held such power. Njord was thankful he didn't have to withstand the intense glare of two.

"I've been going over your reports of the incident, as well as what we've learned from the Research department's work afterward," Woten said.

"I'm guessing, based on what I saw, we were correct in our suspicions."

"Yes." Woten picked up a thick file folder from his desk, seemed to think better of it, and let it drop. "I confess, I didn't foresee this happening so quickly."

"The Fallen weren't part of the original plan. They've created complications I doubt any of us could've accounted for."

Woten pushed himself up from the desk and paced, finally stopping at the fake windows—gazing out of them as though their false reality might offer a solution.

"Bleed throughs. Just as Mr. Takeda suggested. Parts of ended worlds, finding a place to exist in other worlds. No reason or purpose to it, just a haphazard bridge between realities," Woten said.