Suture (The Bleeding Worlds) (3 page)

Angie groaned and turned away. Gwynn stood, transfixed. On the bed, a body, female from what he could guess, lay in a state of decomposition. She'd been dead for some time. The thing Gwynn's eyes couldn't leave were the wisps of blonde hair framing the skeletal face. Blonde hair, someone else's, he reminded himself. Not Sophia. Still, another casualty of a universe gone mad. What had she endured in her final moments? What horrors forced her to lock herself in this apartment and stay here until death finally claimed her?

A scream tore the air around them.

"Knife," Angie yelled.

She slammed into Gwynn, smashing him to the floor. In the midst of him trying to free himself from tangled limbs, he caught a glimpse of Caelum moving—all fists and pushing forward against an attacker Gwynn couldn't twist enough to view.

Angie pulled herself free, stood, and dashed to Caelum with feline grace.

The two now struggled with a third form. A male, perhaps thirty, though the emaciation of his body, uncontrolled facial growth, and haunted eyes, made a true guess at his age impossible.

"Let me go," the man screamed. "Leave her alone you monsters."

A knife lay at his feet—the knife Angie had seen and tackled Gwynn before it embedded in his skull.

Eight months of training, his first field mission, and he'd been careless enough to move in front of an armoire large enough to hold a grown man. He'd been so focused on the girl, so lost in the grief he couldn't let go. He'd thought he was ready for this, prove to be valuable. He'd been wrong. He was a danger to them.

"Sir," Angie said, "we're here to help you. We have medical help not far away. We'll get you outside, take care of you."

At this, the man thrashed even harder. Gwynn moved to help restrain him.

"No," the man wailed. "No. I know what you're going to do. No. I won't let you."

Even against their Veil infused strength, the three of them had a hard time holding him.

"Caelum," Angie said, "can't you do something about him?"

Caelum reached a hand up to the man's neck. A soft glow emanated from his fingers and the man went slack.

Gwynn hefted more of the man's now dead weight. "What did you do?"

Caelum shrugged. "Sometimes the best way to heal someone is to help them sleep."

Angie keyed the all-call on her com. "We've got a survivor on the top floor. We're leaving the top floor only half searched to bring him down now. He put up some resistance and Caelum's sedated him. Can someone call the ambulance on standby?"

"I've got the ambulance," Jason replied.

It took the three of them to carry the sleeping man, protecting him while they navigated the refuse and knocked aside barriers. Reaching the first floor, they made straight for the door.

"Hold on." Njord's voice came over the com. "Don't take him outside until I'm up there."

"Sorry, sir," Angie replied. "We're already outside."

Even with the stench still hanging nearby, being outside of the building felt fresh and cool in comparison.

"
Gahhhhhh!"

The man flung away from them before they had a chance to react—his eyes wide and foam spattering from his mouth. He fell to the ground, writhing in painful convulsions.

"Where's the damn ambulance?" Angie yelled. "Caelum, can you do anything for him?"

"No," Njord yelled from the door. "Get away from him. Now."

Angie made to protest, but Gwynn had already scooped her up and made for the door. He'd seen this, eight months ago, and he knew precisely why Njord wanted them clear.

The man's skin bubbled, bones snapped and cracked, jutting out at impossible angles, and despite the horrors happening to his body, he rose to his feet.

"Weapons," Njord commanded.

Gwynn deposited Angie onto her feet. He turned, Xanthe answering his need before he'd called. He expected to see a hulking mass similar to what his high school principal had become, a Taint—a person from this world corrupted from exposure to the Veil's energies. This transformation was different. Though he realized, with sickening dread, he'd seen this as well. Once, in the Cameron House, he'd seen a phantom with Pridament, a man who was an echo from another world. When that man had been pulled entirely through the Veil into this world, he'd changed as well. Pridament called him something else.

"A Curse?" Angie said. "But that's impossible. How…?"

The monster's screams cut her off, shattering the air like glass. Xanthe flew outward, the blade dancing like a ribbon. Before the Curse could attack, Xanthe severed its head. The blade snapped back to its normal size before the body hit the ground.

He recalled a time when he'd killed something previously human and been filled with guilt and remorse. Even now, his stomach twinged at the guilt laden memory. But he felt no guilt for this thing in front of him. It had ceased to be human the moment they'd stepped outside. He'd given the poor man freedom. Perhaps he would find his lost love and again feel the softness of her blonde hair.

When did I start thinking that way?

A hand pressed down on Gwynn's shoulder. "You all right?" Njord asked.

Nothing but silence came from the others. Snapped from the moment, Gwynn realized he hadn't even willed Xanthe forth. The blade had come to his hand without his beckoning, and it had killed without him issuing an order. Had the events of his hometown and eight months of intensive training done this? Had it turned killing into nothing more than an instinct?

"I'm fine," Gwynn replied. Though he doubted very much he was.

Five miles from the farm, a figure wrapped in a black cloak, stood atop a barn roof, watching events unfold. He needed no binoculars, the Veil amplified his vision. A few members of Ansuz had just pulled a man from the building. Stupid fools. They should've guessed what would happen. The man began the horrible transformation from human to Curse. A Full Incursive. A being from one world dragged in their entirety into this world. He wasn't so much transforming as he was being crushed and remolded. Before he could see how events would play out, a figure stepped in front of him. Her pale face remained framed by the familiar two black ponytails that hung down below her breasts. The jade eyes regarding him lacked that same familiarity, perhaps because he liked to remember when they held love. Those days had died long ago.

"Adrastia," he murmured. "If you still go by that name."

"Sometimes. It's the name I had when we first met, so I'm fine if you use it." She reached up toward his face, but hesitated within an inch of it. "What should I call you now? Nidhogg, Abzu, or maybe your true name?"

He stepped around her, looking back to the field. The Curse lay dead. In the moment Adrastia had him distracted, he'd heard it. Only a few notes, not enough to be certain, but it was very close.

What should she call him? Not his true name, he'd abandoned it long ago, even before he began wearing the mask to conceal his face. No, something more appropriate to who he had become, and how he saw that life.

"You can call me Cain. I was always partial to it," he answered.

"Because you enjoy being associated with that first act of murder?"

He shook his head no, and regarded the markings circling his right arm. "No, because of this." He shoved his right arm toward her. "The mark of Cain. The mark inflicted by God upon the one cursed to wander forever as an outcast."

He saw pity in her eyes—pity she didn't want him to see, as she turned her head quickly away from him.

"Why are you here?" Adrastia asked, forcing a haughty anger into her voice. "Shouldn't you be crushing worlds, or finding others to join in your fall from grace?"

He surveyed the end of the battle. Someone among their ranks had beheaded the Curse. Njord, perhaps? It was possible. But those notes, reverberating through the Veil… left him doubting.

He looked back to the girl. How many years had their paths intersected? "Does it matter why I'm here?" His eyebrow raised as he studied her face. "Could it be you've found a world you wish to defend? Is the detached watcher going to finally get her hands dirty?"

"Do you really care? If I said I found value in this world, would you, for the sake of our relationship, leave it in peace?"

He shook his head. "No world will find peace. Look there." He nodded toward the fallen Curse. "That place alone should demonstrate my point."

"You may wish to be called Cain, but I should call you Loki."

He allowed himself to smile. The mask, with its monstrous visage, would keep it hidden.

"Is that the role you want to cast me in?"

"The dragon has left the roots of Yggdrasil, Hodur has murdered Paltar, even Fenrir readies to move." Her expression filled with sorrow. "From where I stand, only one role has yet to be filled."

"The Loki of legend is the father of Fenrir and supplied the spear to Hodur. Fenrir is not my creation, nor did I deliver the spear."

Anger flared in her eyes. "You are the father of
all
this." She swept her arm toward the building and Ansuz. "Even if the spear didn't pass from your hand, it came to rest in Hodur's through your machinations. We can stand here and argue technicalities of prophecy all day, it doesn't excuse you from your sins."

Cain stepped forward, his right hand balled into a fist. "What of your sins? What of your abandonment of me when I needed you most?"

"You made it very clear you didn't want me any longer."

"Made it clear?" A tremor passed through his voice. "What part of my praying to you to return every night made it clear I no longer wanted you? When I erected temples in your various names, falling to my knees, pleading for you to return, was that the moment when I no longer wanted you?"

"You made it clear when you decided to shed the blood of billions."

Cain straightened, his fist relaxing. Could he blame her for hating him? He'd become everything she'd tried to teach him
not
to be. Despite all her powers, she couldn't see his heart, so he couldn't blame her for her ignorance.

"I came because of a song."

"What?"

"I heard a song," he said. "You asked why I was here. I heard a song. Something familiar I wanted…needed to hear."

"There is nothing in this world for you to hear. You decided the tune of your existence long ago."

"Yes, I did. Still… I had hoped to hear that melody again. Goodbye, Adrastia. If you decide survival is worth joining a monster such as myself, I'm sure you'll be able to find me."

He stepped into the Veil and disappeared.

Adrastia stood on the roof, watching Ansuz as they continued their search of the building and cornfields.

"Yes," she said. "Perhaps it
is
time I got my hands a little dirty."

Gwynn sat on a grassy slope beneath an oak tree that soared above his head and draped a canopy of branches over him. He stood from the shade and stepped into the sunlight. After a few moments, a feeling of unrest pricked at his mind. Something felt wrong about the sunlight. Standing, he reached his hand toward the bright orb in the sky, shuddering as he realized he felt none of the sun's familiar warmth against his palm.

A feminine giggle came from behind him.

Turning around, he found the grass where he had just sat covered in a red and white checkered blanket with a spread of sandwiches and cut fruit set in front of the most cliche picnic basket Gwynn had ever seen.

The owner of the giggle sat coquettishly on one corner of the blanket. Chestnut coloured hair fell down beneath her shoulders and her hazel eyes sparkled even in the shade.

"Angie," Gwynn said, though it sounded more like a question than a greeting.

"Come on silly, sit and eat," she said.

He didn't question her any further, he moved forward and took a seat on an opposite corner of the blanket.

"You don't need to sit so far away." She feigned a look of innocence that belied the flirtatious tone of her voice.

"I know." He did know. Yes, he could move closer to her, perhaps even close enough she would rest herself against his shoulder. He didn't move. It felt wrong to be so close to someone…else? His head felt muddied.

She looked at him expectantly. When she knew he wouldn't be moving, her lips fell forward into a pout which lasted only a moment. A rosy smile soon replaced it and she snatched the plate of sandwiches from the ground, offering it to him.

"I tried to make all your favourites," Angie said. "I wasn't sure if I got it right. What do you think?"

The sandwiches were ham with lettuce, mayo, and on whole wheat bread. Probably the kind of sandwich his aunt Jaimie would've liked him to eat.

"Sure, they look fine."

The pout threatened to return to her lips. "Don't be silly. I appreciate your manners, but honestly, what kind of sandwich would you like?"

Gwynn gave it some thought. "Ham is okay. But I like it mixed with bologna and summer sausage. Oh, and some marble cheese sliced thin on top."

She laughed. Being with her felt odd. Not uncomfortable, but not right at the same time. She did have an enticing laugh, though.

"And is whole wheat bread fine, or would you prefer something else?"

"I always preferred white." A sheepish grin curled Gwynn's lips. "With the crusts cut off."

She smiled and shook her head like a mother would—humouring her child even though she knew his demands were silly.

"I'm sorry I was so far off the first time. I think I've got it right now, though."

Gwynn looked back to the plate. The sandwiches were now thick with three types of meat, marble cheese, and stacked between fluffy white squares of bread, without crusts. He grabbed one with a chuckle and began to devour it. When had he last eaten? He felt famished. The meats were filled with flavour, the bread still soft and warm.

"Wow. I think this is the best sandwich I've ever had," he said without even thinking.

Her face beamed. "I'm so glad. I'll be sure to remember the exact details next time."

"Next time?"

"Of course." She said it with such enthusiasm she bounced with the word. "I'm tired of lurking in the shadows. After what happened at the farm, and the way everyone's been acting around you…"