Shuttered Sky

he was growing backwards—when he had “the stunt” on him, as his mother had called it. Fifteen, but trapped in a body of a seven-year-old, growing younger day by day. Did he look like this child looked now? Winston now noticed that the woman held a steel pole in her hand.

“These bodies—they feel so many interesting things,” the boy said. “Pain is something we are just starting to explore.”

The woman brought the pole down across the middle of Winston’s spine. He felt the pain shoot out from his solar plexis to his brain like his soul exploding within him. He screamed.

“Why do humans scream?” the. boy asked. “Doesn’t it just make the pain worse?”

The boy told Ari to let him go. Winston wasn’t going anywhere now. “Take the girl to a place where Dillon can see her,” the boy said. “I want to play with Winston some more.” And so the pilot left, dragging Maddy struggling through the door.

Once they were gone, the woman brought the pole down again on Winston’s back, a bit higher, and twice as hard. Winston heard it whistle through the air before making contact, and this time he not only felt the fracturing of bone, but felt his spinal column sever like a sheared cable. In an instant he could feel nothing beneath his waist. She swung again, his shoulder blades taking the blow, but the next blow came at his neck. The pain exploded in his neck, but went no lower. Now he felt nothing below the neck, and he opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air, unable to work his lungs.

The woman stopped and watched.

“Does it hurt real bad?” the boy asked—not out of malice but curiosity, which was worse. Then the boy giggled. “Most things on earth have no backbone—I learned that in school. Now neither do you.”

They were silent for a moment, waiting.

Then Winston felt the pain come back along his spine, first to his shoulder, then to his mid back, then exploding again through the small of his back, to his legs and feet which he could feel once more. He lost containment—his power spread forth from his soul. The weeds between the tiles grew denser.

The boy pressed his finger against Winston’s spine, prodding the broken vertebrae. “You can regrow your nerves, but you can’t fix the bones,” he said. “You need Dillon for that, verdad?”

Winston’s answer was another wail. His own body was the enemy now, forcing him to feel every ounce of pain, long after any other nervous system would have been rendered useless. He had never longed for death before through all he had experienced, but now he cared about nothing but ending the pain.

“We can’t leave him like this,” the boy said.

The woman agreed. “Dillon could still repair him. Even if he dies, Dillon could bring him back.”

The boy got closer to Winston, looking into his eyes. “Cut off his head, and take it with us,” the boy said. “Dillon can’t do a thing if we take that away.” And then the boy bounded out, playtime over.

The woman produced a stubby dagger that would make the job slow and sloppy.

As he watched her approach, Winston wanted the pain to end, and if death was the only way to end it he would accept that—but he would not let himself die at their hands. And so, as the woman ap­proached with the blade, Winston reached out and gathered his power, narrowing it and focusing it on a single greening crack between the floor tiles.

* * *

Maddy Haas, beaten and bruised but still full of fight, struggled against Ari all the way to the Thiran Gate— her struggles were enough to pull her legs free from the ropes but not her hands.

It was maddening to not know why she was taken or what this was all about—only to know that she was some key variable in what­ever equation these creatures were working. The first thing she saw as he brought her to the gate was the stunning mass of boats in the bay, and the crowds on the shore that kept their distance. She felt a strange force in the air pressing on her, trying to usurp her will, force her to be still. Perhaps she might have caved into it had she not felt so amped up, and had the source of that power not been so distant. Below, three people crested the rocks of the next cove. Even in the dim dawn, she recognized them right away. It was Dillon, Michael and Tory.

Ari ripped the tape off her mouth. “Call to him,” he demanded, but Maddy would not help him in any way, and so in the end, it was Ari who called out.

“Dillon!”

Dillon looked up, then stopped dead in his tracks. She could only imagine what he felt when he saw her there.

“We saved her soul for breakfast,” Ari yelled. “Shall I eat it now?”

She struggled, but his grip only grew tighter. Did he say soul?

“She’s not a part of this!” Dillon screamed. “Let her go!”

“You come to me now. You come to me and I leave her soul where it is. We make good trade. We trade you, for her soul.”

Dillon hesitated, but only for a moment. He bounded toward the base of the stairs. Tory grabbed for him, but he shook her off, and pushed Michael out of his way.

“That’s right, you come to me now.”

“No, Dillon!” Maddy shouted. Dillon was filled with rage, and it blinded him. He would lose this fight. Ari would kill him.

Ari then put his lips against her ear. “You the lucky one,” he said, planting a kiss on her neck. “He dies, you keep your soul. For an hour at least. Not bad.”

She would not accept this. All her life was not going to come down to her being a bargaining chip. She would not be the reason that Dillon failed—she could not allow it!

All at once an explosion of glass and stone shook the Earth. Maddy caught a glimpse of it. The small chapel behind them had buckled outward and its stained glass windows had exploded from the pressure of a green mass which had swelled from within. Spiny limbs and mustard-yellow flowers still spread from the ruined structure like the tentacles of an octopus. It drew Ari’s attention and he loosened his grip. Not much, but it was all Maddy needed. She jerked herself free, swung her tied arms like a broadsword, and knocked him down against the stone of the arch. When he tried to get up, she kicked him in the chin, shattering his jaw, and took off down the steps.

“Maddy!” Dillon had reached the base of the stairs more than a hundred yards below, and began racing up —but not fast enough, be­cause Ari was already rising to his feet behind her, beginning his pur­suit.

She picked up the pace, but with her hands still tied she couldn’t balance herself and went tumbling down the stairs, hitting the steps as she passed the altars of the patron saints. When she got control of her fall and wrestled herself back to her feet, there was someone standing beside her. Not Dillon; not Ari; someone else. Someone who grabbed her and pulled her close to him. It was a face she had seen once before and had never wanted to see again. Long black hair; a face both mas­culine and feminine at once. Okoya.

“No!” Dillon screamed from below. “Stay the hell away from her.”

But Okoya ignored him. Holding her tightly he looked into her eyes. “It is your choice,” Okoya said to her.

She didn’t know what he meant until she looked up the hill to see Ari bounding down toward her. Dillon was much further away and there was no question that Ari would reach her first. What then? Dillon would sacrifice himself to save her soul. His own virtue would destroy him.

And then it all fell into place. There was something she could do. She could remove herself as a variable and stack the equation in Dillon’s favor again.

“You could save him,” Okoya said. “It is your choice.”

He was right. With Okoya’s help, she had the power to turn every­thing, and what an awesome power it was!

Would you give your life for your country? Bussard had once asked her. Would you give your soul?

For her country, perhaps not—not anymore. But for Dillon? For the world? There was only one answer; without pause.

“Do it!” she ordered Okoya, pressing herself into his embrace. “Do it now.”

There was no time for second thoughts. She steeled herself as a red light shot from Okoya’s eyes and nostrils. She didn’t wait for him to find her soul, she opened up her soul for him, practically hurling her essence out